Freethinking mountaineers have been latterly in the habit of going up one side of an Alp and coming down the other, and calling the route a pa.s.s. In this confusion of ideas may be recognised the result of the looseness of thought which arises from the absence of technical education. The true believer abhors such heresies, and observes with satisfaction that Providence oftentimes punishes the offenders for their greediness by causing them to be benighted. The faithful know that pa.s.ses must be made _between_ mountains, and not over their tops. Their creed declares that between any two mountains there _must_ be a pa.s.s, and they believe that the end for which big peaks were created-the office they are especially designed to fulfil-is to point out the way one should go. This is the true faith, and there is no other.

We set out upon the 26th of June to endeavour to add one more to the pa.s.ses which are strictly orthodox. We hoped, rather than expected, to discover a quicker route from Courmayeur to Chamounix than the Col du Geant, which was the easiest, quickest, and most direct pa.s.s known at the time across the main chain of Mont Blanc.(187) The misgivings which I had as to the result caused us to start at the unusual hour of 12.40 A.M. At 4.30 we pa.s.sed the chalets of Pre du Bar, and thence, for some distance, followed the track which we had made upon the ascent of Mont Dolent, over the glacier of the same name (p. 182). At a quarter past 8 we arrived at the head of the glacier, and at the foot of the only steep gradient upon the whole of the ascent.

It was the beau-ideal of a pa.s.s. There was a gap in the mountains, with a big peak on each side (Mount Dolent and the Aig. de Triolet). A narrow thread of snow led up to the lowest point between those mountains, and the blue sky beyond said, Directly you arrive here you will begin to go down.

We addressed ourselves to our task, and at 10.15 A.M. arrived at the top of the pa.s.s.

Had things gone as they ought, within six hours more we should have been at Chamounix. Upon the other side we knew that there was a couloir in correspondence with that up which we had just come. If it had been filled with snow all would have been well. It turned out to be filled with ice.

Croz, who led, pa.s.sed over to the other side, and reported that we should get down somehow, but I knew from the sound of his axe how the somehow would be, and settled myself to sketch, well a.s.sured that _I_ should not be wanted for an hour to come. What I saw is shown in the engraving. A sharp aiguille (nameless), perhaps the sharpest in the whole range, backed on the left by the Aig. de Triolet; queer blocks of (probably) protogine sticking out awkwardly through the snow; and a huge cornice from which big icicles depended, that broke away occasionally and went skiddling down the slope up which we had come. Of the Argentiere side I could not see anything.

Croz was tied up with our good Manilla rope, and the whole 200 feet were payed out gradually by Almer and Biener before he ceased working. After two hours' incessant toil, he was able to anchor himself to the rock on his right. He then untied himself, the rope was drawn in, Biener was attached to the end and went down to join his comrade. There was then room enough for me to stand by the side of Almer, and I got my first view of the other side. For the first and only time in my life I looked down a slope more than a thousand feet long, set at an angle of about 50, which was a sheet of ice from top to bottom. It was unbroken by rock or crag, and anything thrown down it sped away unarrested until the level of the Glacier d'Argentiere was reached. The entire basin of that n.o.ble glacier(188) was spread out at our feet, and the ridge beyond, culminating in the Aig. d'Argentiere, was seen to the greatest advantage. I confess, however, that I paid very little attention to the view, for there was no time to indulge in such luxuries. I descended the icy staircase and joined the others, and then we three drew in the rope tenderly as Almer came down. His was not an enviable position, but he descended with as much steadiness as if his whole life had been pa.s.sed on ice-slopes of 50. The process was repeated; Croz again going to the front, and availing himself very skilfully of the rocks which projected from the cliff on our right.

Our 200 feet of rope again came to an end, and we again descended one by one. From this point we were able to clamber down by the rocks alone for about 300 feet. They then became sheer cliff, and we stopped for dinner, about 2.30 P.M., at the last place upon which we could sit. Four hours'

incessant work had brought us rather more than half-way down the gully. We were now approaching, although we were still high above, the schrunds at its base, and the guides made out, in some way unknown to me, that Nature had perversely placed the only snow-bridge across the topmost one towards the centre of the gully. It was decided to cut diagonally across the gully to the point where the snow-bridge was supposed to be. Almer and Biener undertook the work, leaving Croz and myself firmly planted on the rocks to pay out the rope to them as they advanced.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE SUMMIT OF THE COL DOLENT.]

It is generally admitted that veritable ice-slopes (understanding by ice something more than a crust of hard snow over soft snow) are only rarely met with in the Alps. They are frequently spoken of, but such as that to which I refer are _very_ rarely seen, and still more seldom traversed. It is, however, always possible that they may be encountered, and on this account, if for no other, it is necessary for men who go mountaineering to be armed with ice-axes, and with good ones. The form is of more importance than might be supposed. Of course, if you intend to act as a simple amateur, and let others do the work, and only follow in their steps, it is not of much importance what kind of ice-axe you carry, so long as its head does not fall off, or otherwise behave itself improperly.(189) There is no better weapon for cutting steps in ice than a common pick-axe, and the form of ice-axe which is now usually employed by the best guides is very like a miniature pick. My own axe is copied from Melchior Anderegg's. It is of wrought iron, with point and edge steeled. Its weight, including spiked handle, is four pounds. For cutting steps in ice, the pointed end of the head is almost exclusively employed; the adze-end is handy for polishing them up, but is princ.i.p.ally used for cutting in hard snow. Apart from its value as a cutting weapon, it is invaluable as a grapnel. It is naturally a rather awkward implement when it is not being employed for its legitimate purpose, and is likely to give rise to much strong language in crushes at railway termini, unless its head is protected with a leathern cap, or in some other way. Many attempts have been made, for the sake of convenience, to fashion an ice-axe with a movable head, but it seems difficult or impossible to produce one except at the expense of cutting qualities, and by increasing the weight.

[Ill.u.s.tration: MY ICE-AXE.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: KENNEDY ICE-AXE.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE "LESLIE STEPHEN" AXE.]

Mr. T. S. Kennedy (of the firm of Fairbairn & Co.), whose practical acquaintance with mountaineering, and with the use and manufacture of tools, makes his opinion particularly valuable, has contrived the best that I have seen; but even it seems to me to be deficient in rigidity, and not to be so powerful a weapon as the more common kind with the fixed head. The simple instrument which is shown in the annexed diagram is the invention of Mr. Leslie Stephen, and it answers the purposes for which he devised it, namely, for giving better hold upon snow and ice than can be obtained from the common alpenstock, and for cutting an occasional step.

The amateur scarcely requires anything more imposing, but for serious ice-work a heavier weapon is indispensable.

To persons armed with the proper tools, ice-slopes are not so dangerous as many places which appeal less to the imagination. Their ascent or descent is necessarily laborious (to those who do the work), and they may therefore be termed difficult. They _ought_ not to be dangerous. Yet they always seem dangerous, for one is profoundly convinced that if he slips he will certainly go to the bottom. Hence, any man, who is not a fool, takes particular care to preserve his balance, and, in consequence, we have the noteworthy fact that accidents have seldom or never taken place upon ice-slopes.

The same slopes covered with snow are much less impressive, and _may_ be much more dangerous. They may be less slippery, the balance may be more easily preserved, and if one man slips he may be stopped by his own personal efforts, provided the snow which over-lies the ice is consolidated and of a reasonable depth. But if, as is more likely to be the case upon an angle of 50 (or anything approaching that angle), there is only a thin stratum of snow which is not consolidated, the occurrence of a slip will most likely take the entire party as low as possible, and in addition to the chance of broken necks, there will be a strong probability that some, at least, will be smothered by the dislodged snow.

Such accidents are far too common, and their occurrence, as a rule, may be traced to the want of caution which is induced by the apparent absence of danger.

I do not believe that the use of the rope, in the ordinary way, affords the least _real_ security upon ice-slopes. Nor do I think that any benefit is derived from the employment of crampons. Mr. Kennedy was good enough to present me with a pair some time ago, and one of these has been engraved.

They are the best variety I have seen of the species, but I only feel comfortable with them on my feet in places where they are not of the slightest use, that is in situations where there is no possibility of slipping, and would not wear them upon an ice-slope for any consideration whatever. All such advent.i.tious aids are useless if you have not a good step in the ice to stand upon, and if you have got that, nothing more is wanted except a few nails in the boots.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Crampon]

Almer and Biener got to the end of their tether; the rope no longer a.s.sured their safety, and they stopped work as we advanced and coiled it up. Shortly afterwards they struck a streak of snow that proved to be just above the bridge of which they were in search. The slope steepened, and for thirty feet or so we descended face to the wall, making steps by kicking with the toes, and thrusting the arms well into the holes above, just as if they had been rounds in a ladder. At this time we were crossing the uppermost of the schrunds. Needless to say that the snow was of an admirable quality; this performance would otherwise have been impossible.

It was soon over, and we then found ourselves upon a huge rhomboidal ma.s.s of ice, and still separated from the Argentiere glacier by a gigantic creva.s.se. The only bridge over this lower schrund was at its eastern end, and we were obliged to double back to get to it. Cutting continued for half-an-hour after it was pa.s.sed, and it was 5.35 P.M. before the axes stopped work, and we could at last turn back and look comfortably at the formidable slope upon which seven hours had been spent.(190)

The Col Dolent is not likely to compete with the Col du Geant, and I would recommend any person who starts to cross it to allow himself plenty of time, plenty of rope, and ample guide-power. There is no difficulty whatever upon any part of the route, excepting upon the steep slopes immediately below the summit on each side. When we arrived upon the Glacier d'Argentiere, our work was as good as over. We drove a straight track to the chalets of Lognan, and thence the way led over familiar ground. Soon after dusk we got into the high road at les Tines, and at 10 P.M. arrived at Chamounix. Our labours were duly rewarded. Houris brought us champagne and the other drinks which are reserved for the faithful, but before my share was consumed I fell asleep in an arm-chair. I slept soundly until daybreak, and then turned into bed and went to sleep again.

CHAPTER XVI.

THE FIRST ASCENT OF THE AIGUILLE VERTE.

"Few have the fort.i.tude of soul to honour, A friend's success, without a touch of envy."

aeSCHYLUS.

Michel Croz now parted from us. His new employer had not arrived at Chamounix, but Croz considered that he was bound by honour to wait for him, and thus Christian Almer, of Grindelwald, became my leading guide.

Almer displayed apt.i.tude for mountaineering at an early age. Whilst still a very young man he was known as a crack chamois-hunter, and he soon developed into an accomplished guide. Those who have read Mr. Wills'

graphic account of the first ascent of the Wetterhorn(191) will remember that, when his party was approaching the top of the mountain, two stranger men were seen climbing by a slightly different route, one of whom carried upon his back a young fir-tree, branches, leaves, and all. Mr. Wills'

guides were extremely indignant with these two strangers (who were evidently determined to be the first at the summit), and talked of giving them blows. Eventually they gave them a cake of chocolate instead, and declared that they were good fellows. "Thus the pipe of peace was smoked, and tranquillity reigned between the rival forces." Christian Almer was one of these two men.

This was in 1854. In 1858-9 he made the first ascents of the Eigher and the Monch, the former with a Mr. Harrington (?), and the latter with Dr.

Porges. Since then he has wandered far and near, from Dauphine to the Tyrol.(192) With the exception of Melchior Anderegg, there is not, perhaps, another guide of such wide experience, or one who has been so invariably successful; and his numerous employers concur in saying that there is not a truer heart or a surer foot to be found amongst the Alps.

[Ill.u.s.tration: CHRISTIAN ALMER.(193)]

Before recrossing the chain to Courmayeur, we ascended the Aiguille Verte.

In company with Mr. Reilly I inspected this mountain from every direction in 1864, and came to the conclusion that an ascent could more easily be made from the south than upon any other side. We set out upon the 28th from Chamounix to attack it, minus Croz, and plus a porter (of whom I will speak more particularly presently), leaving our comrade very downcast at having to kick his heels in idleness, whilst we were about to scale the most celebrated of his native Aiguilles.

Our course led us over the old Mer de Glace-the glacier made famous by De Saussure and Forbes. The heat of the day was over, but the little rills and rivulets were still flowing along the surface of the ice: cutting deep troughs where the gradients were small; leaving ripple-marks where the water was with more difficulty confined to one channel; and falling over the precipitous walls of the great creva.s.ses, sometimes in bounding cascades, and sometimes in diffused streams, which marked the perpendicular faces with graceful sinuosities.(194) As night came on, their music died away, the rivulets dwindled down to rills; the rills ceased to murmur, and the sparkling drops, caught by the hand of frost, were bound to the ice, coating it with an enamelled film which lasted until the sun struck the glacier once more.

[Ill.u.s.tration: ON THE MER DE GLACE.]

We camped on the Couvercle (7800) under a great rock, and at 3.15 the next morning started for our aiguille, leaving the porter in charge of the tent and of the food. Two hours' walking over crisp snow brought us up more than 4000 feet, and within about 1600 feet of the summit. From no other direction can it be approached so closely with equal facility. Thence the mountain steepens. After his late severe piece of ice-work, Almer had a natural inclination for rocks; but the lower rocks of the final peak of the Verte were not inviting, and he went on and on, looking for a way up them, until we arrived in front of a great snow couloir that led from the Glacier de Talefre right up to the crest of the ridge connecting the summit of the Verte with the mountain called Les Droites. This was the route which I intended to be taken; but Almer pointed out that the gully narrowed at the lower part, and that, if stones fell, we should stand some chance of getting our heads broken; and so we went on still more to the east of the summit, to another and smaller couloir which ran up side by side with the great one. At 5.30 we crossed the schrund which protected the final peak, and, a few minutes afterwards, saw the summit and the whole of the intervening route. "Oh! Aiguille Verte," said my guide, stopping as he said it, "you are dead, you are dead;" which, being translated into plain English, meant that he was c.o.c.k-sure we should make its ascent.

Almer is a quiet man at all times. When climbing he is taciturn-and this is one of his great merits. A garrulous man is always a nuisance, and upon the mountain-side he may be a danger, for actual climbing requires a man's whole attention. Added to this, talkative men are hindrances; they are usually thirsty, and a thirsty man is a drag.

Guide-books recommend mountain-walkers to suck pebbles, to prevent their throats from becoming parched. There is not much goodness to be got out of the pebbles; but you cannot suck them and keep the mouth open at the same time, and hence the throat does not become dry. It answers just as well to keep the mouth shut, without any pebbles inside,-indeed, I think, better; for if you have occasion to open your mouth, you can do so without swallowing any pebbles.(195) As a rule, amateurs, and particularly novices, _will not_ keep their mouths shut. They attempt to "force the pace," they go faster than they can go without being compelled to open their mouths to breathe, they pant, their throats and tongues become parched, they drink and perspire copiously, and, becoming exhausted, declare that the dryness of the air, or the rarefaction of the air (everything is laid upon the air), is in fault. On several accounts, therefore, a mountain-climber does well to hold his tongue when he is at his work.

At the top of the small gully we crossed over the intervening rocks into the large one, and followed it so long as it was filled with snow. At last ice replaced snow, and we turned over to the rocks upon its left. Charming rocks they were; granitic in texture,(196) gritty, holding the nails well.

At 9.45 we parted from them, and completed the ascent by a little ridge of snow which descended in the direction of the Aiguille du Moine. At 10.15 we stood on the summit (13,540), and devoured our bread and cheese with a good appet.i.te.

I have already spoken of the disappointing nature of purely panoramic views. That seen from Mont Blanc itself is notoriously unsatisfactory.

When you are upon that summit you look down upon all the rest of Europe.

There is nothing to look up to; all is below; there is no one point for the eye to rest upon. The man who is there is somewhat in the position of one who has attained all that he desires,-he has nothing to aspire to; his position must needs be unsatisfactory. Upon the summit of the Verte there is not this objection. You see valleys, villages, fields; you see mountains interminable rolling away, lakes resting in their hollows; you hear the tinkling of the sheep-bells as it rises through the clear mountain air, and the roar of the avalanches as they descend to the valleys: but above all there is the great white dome, with its shining crest high above; with its sparkling glaciers that descend between b.u.t.tresses which support them: with its brilliant snows, purer and yet purer the farther they are removed from this unclean world.(197)

Even upon this mountain-top it was impossible to forget the world, for some vile wretch came to the Jardin and made hideous sounds by blowing through a horn. Whilst we were denouncing him a change came over the weather; c.u.mulous clouds gathered in all directions, and we started off in hot haste. Snow began to fall heavily before we were off the summit-rocks, our track was obscured and frequently lost, and everything became so sloppy and slippery that the descent took as long as the ascent. The schrund was recrossed at 3.15 P.M., and thence we raced down to the Couvercle, intending to have a carouse there; but as we rounded our rock a howl broke simultaneously from all three of us, for the porter had taken down the tent, and was in the act of moving off with it. "Stop, there!

what are you doing?" He observed that he had thought we were killed, or at least lost, and was going to Chamounix to communicate his ideas to the _guide chef_. "Unfasten the tent, and get out the food." Instead of doing so the porter fumbled in his pockets. "Get out the food," we roared, losing all patience. "Here it is," said our worthy friend, producing a dirty piece of bread about as big as a halfpenny roll. We three looked solemnly at the fluff-covered morsel. It was past a joke,-he had devoured everything. Mutton, loaves, cheese, wine, eggs, sausages-all was gone-past recovery. It was idle to grumble, and useless to wait. We were light, and could move quickly,-the porter was laden inside and out. We went our hardest,-he had to shuffle and trot. He streamed with perspiration; the mutton and cheese oozed out in big drops,-he larded the glacier. We had our revenge, and dried our clothes at the same time, but when we arrived at the Montanvert the porter was as wet as we had been upon our arrival at the Couvercle. We halted at the inn to get a little food, and at a quarter past eight re-entered Chamounix, amidst firing of cannon and other demonstrations of satisfaction on the part of the hotel-keepers.

One would have thought that the ascent of this mountain, which had been frequently a.s.sailed before without success, would have afforded some gratification to a population whose chief support is derived from tourists, and that the prospect of the perennial flow of francs which might be expected to result from it would have stifled the jealousy consequent on the success of foreigners.(198)

It was not so. Chamounix stood on its rights. A stranger had ignored the "regulations," had imported two foreign guides, and, furthermore, he had added injury to that insult-he had not taken a single Chamounix guide.

Chamounix would be revenged! It would bully the foreign guides; it would tell them they had lied,-that they had not made the ascent! Where were their proofs? Where was the flag upon the summit?

Poor Almer and Biener were accordingly chivied from pillar to post, from one inn to another, and at length complained to me. Peter Perrn, the Zermatt guide, said on the night that we returned that this was to happen, but the story seemed too absurd to be true. I now bade my men go out again, and followed them myself to see the sport. Chamounix was greatly excited. The _bureau_ of the _guide chef_ was thronged with clamouring men. Their ringleader-one Zacharie Cachat-a well-known guide, of no particular merit, but not a bad fellow, was haranguing the mult.i.tude. He met with more than his match. My friend Kennedy, who was on the spot, heard of the disturbance and rushed into the fray, confronted the burly guide, and thrust back his absurdities into his teeth.

There were the materials for a very pretty riot; but they manage these things better in France than we do, and the gensdarmes-three strong-came down and dispersed the crowd. The guides quailed before the c.o.c.ked hats, and retired to cabarets to take little gla.s.ses of absinthe and other liquors more or less injurious to the human frame. Under the influence of these stimulants, they conceived an idea which combined revenge with profit. "You have ascended the Aiguille Verte, you say. _We_ say we don't believe it. _We_ say, do it again! Take three of us with you, and we will bet you two thousand francs to one thousand, that you won't make the ascent!"