CHAPTER XV

A PERILOUS FIRST ASCENT

“It must be confessed that the higher we climbed, the greater became our contempt for our peak. It certainly seemed that, once over the bergschrund, we ought very soon to be on the top, and so persuaded was I of this, that I hazarded the opinion that by 9.30 we should be seated on the highest point. Whymper alone was less sanguine; and, probably encouraged by the result of his former bet, on hearing my opinion, offered to bet Walker and myself two francs that we should not get up at all, an offer which we promptly accepted. We were now sufficiently near to the bergschrund to be able to form some idea of its nature and difficulty. It certainly was a formidable-looking obstacle running completely along the base of the final peak, or rather ridge from which the peak itself rose. For a long distance the chasm was of great width, and, with its upper edge rising in a wall of ice, fringed with icicles, to a height of, perhaps, 30 feet above the lower edge, was obviously quite impassable. But on the extreme right (looking up), the two lips so nearly met that we thought we might be able to get over, and on the extreme left, it seemed possible, by a considerable détour, to circumvent the enemy, and get round his flank. We finally determined on the latter course, as, to the right, the slope above the chasm seemed to be steeper than at any other point. After the first start, we had been steering tolerably straight forwards up the centre of the glacier, and were now approaching the bergschrund, just under the highest peak of the mountain, at about its most impracticable point. The more direct course would have been to attack it on the right, but, for the reason above stated, we chose the opposite end, so had to strike well away to the left diagonally up the slope. We here first began to suspect that our progress would not be quite so easy and rapid as we had hoped, as the snow became less abundant, and the use of the axe necessary. Still we worked away steadily, until, at 8.10 A.M., in one hour and forty minutes from the Col, we turned the bergschrund, and were fairly on its upper edge, clinging to an ice-step which promised to be only the first of an unpleasantly long series.

“Above us the slope stretched up to some rocks, which continued without interruption to the main ridge, a prominent point on which was just above our heads. The rocks looked quite easy, and it seemed that, by making for them just under the small peak, we should be able to work round the latter, and get on to the main ridge to the right of it without serious difficulty. Almer led, and wielded his axe with his usual vigour, but the ice was fearfully hard, and he found the work very severe, as the steps had to be cut sufficiently large and good to serve for our retreat, if need be. After each blow, he showered down storms of fragments which came upon the hands and legs of his followers with a violence that rendered their position the reverse of pleasant. Still the rocks kept their distance, and it was a long time before we scrambled on to the lowest of them, only to find that, although from below they had appeared quite easy, they were in reality very steep, and so smooth that it was scarcely possible to get along them at all, the hold for hands and feet being almost nil. The rocky peak, too, above us turned out to be much further off than we had supposed, and, to reach the point on the main ridge to the right of it, we had before us a long and difficult climb up and along the face of the rocks. The prospect was not pleasant, but we scrambled along the lower part of the rocks for a short time, and then Almer started off alone to reconnoitre, leaving us rather disconsolate, and Walker and myself beginning to think that there was a considerable probability of our francs, after all, finding their way into Whymper’s pocket. Croz did not approve of the rocks at all, and strongly urged the propriety of getting down on to the ice-slope again, and cutting along it above the bergschrund until we should be immediately under the peak, and then strike straight up towards it. He accordingly cast loose the rope, and crawling cautiously down, began cutting. I am not very nervous, but, as I saw him creeping alone over the ice-covered rocks, I felt an unpleasant qualm, which I was doomed to experience several times before the end of the day. Just as Croz had begun to work Almer returned, and reported that things ahead were decidedly bad, but that he thought we could get on to the arête by keeping up the rocks. We passed his opinion down to Croz, and, while he was digesting it, we communicated to Almer what Croz had been saying to us. Now, up to the present time no two men could have got on better, nor more thoroughly agreed with each other, than Croz and Almer. We had been slightly afraid that the natural antipathy between an Oberlander and a Chamouniard would break out upon every occasion, and that a constant series of squabbles would be our daily entertainment. We were, however, agreeably disappointed, as Almer displayed such an utter abnegation of self, and such deference to Croz’s opinion, that had the latter been the worst-tempered fellow in the world, instead of the really good fellow that he was, he could not have found a cause of quarrel. Upon this occasion, although Almer adhered to his own opinion that it would be better to keep to the rocks, he begged us to follow the advice of Croz, who was equally strong in favour of the ice, should he, on further consideration, prefer that course. Croz protested emphatically against the rocks, but left it to us to decide, but in such a manner that it was plain that a decision adverse to his wishes would produce a rumpus. The position was an awkward one. The idea of cutting along a formidably-steep slope of hard ice immediately above a prodigious bergschrund was most revolting to us, not only on account of the inevitable danger of the proceeding, but also because of the frightful labour which such a course must entail on the two men. On the other hand, a serious difference with Croz would probably destroy all chance of success in our attempt. So convinced, however, were we that the rocks offered the most advisable route that we determined to try the experiment on Croz’s temper, and announced our decision accordingly. The effect was electric; Croz came back again in the steps which he had cut, anger depicted on his countenance, giving free vent to the ejaculations of his native land, and requesting us to understand that, as we had so chosen, we might do the work ourselves, that he would do no more. Affairs were evidently serious, so each of us cried peccavi, and, to calm his irritation, agreed, it must be confessed against our better judgment, to adopt his route. Almer was more amused than annoyed, and concurred without a word, so the storm blew over; the sky was again clear, and we resumed our labours, which, during the discussion, had been suspended for a few minutes.

“The half-dozen steps that led us to the ice were about the most unpleasant I ever took. The rocks were glazed with ice; there was nothing in particular to hold on by, and without the trusty rope I should have looked a long time before trusting myself to move. As it was, I was very considerably relieved when we were all standing in the steps, and Croz, again roped on to us, began at 9.35 to cut in front. I must do him the justice to say that, so soon as we were committed to his line of march, he worked splendidly, bringing the whole force of his arm to bear in the blows with which he hewed the steps. Never halting for a moment nor hesitating, he hacked away, occasionally taking a glance behind to see that all was right. We could not but admire the determination with which he laboured, but the exertion was fearful, and we became momentarily more of opinion that our original decision was the wisest. The slope on which we were was inclined at an angle of 50°, never less, sometimes more, for the most part of hard blue ice, bare of snow. This was bad enough; but far worse were places which we occasionally came to, where there was a layer of soft, dry, powdery snow, without cohesion, so that it gave no footing, and steps had to be cut through it into the ice below, steps which were filled up almost as soon as cut, and which each man had to clear out with his hands before trusting his feet in them. All the time the great bergschrund yawned about 100 feet below us, and the knowledge of this fact kept us well on the alert, although, from the steepness of the slope below, the chasm itself was not visible. One hears people talk occasionally of places where the rope should not be used, because one person slipping might entail the loss of the whole party; but I never heard a guide give vent to any such idea, and certain I am that had any one of us now proposed to take off the rope and go alone on that account, Almer and Croz would never have allowed it, and, indeed, would not have advanced another step. It must be admitted, however, that all along this slope, had one of us unfortunately slipped, the chance of the others being able to hold him up would have been very small, and the probability of the party in their fall being shot over, instead of into, the bergschrund, still smaller. But, in my opinion, the use of the rope on such places gives so much more confidence, if it is no real protection, that the chances of a slip are much diminished, and certainly a party can progress more rapidly. For an hour Croz kept on his way unwearied, cutting the steps for the most part beautifully, but occasionally giving us rather a long stride, where every one held on like grim death, while each man in succession passed. But at last even his powerful frame required rest; so Almer relieved him, and went to the front.

“All this time we had risen but little, but we were now very nearly under the highest peak, and it was necessary to think of getting on to the ridge; so we at last fairly turned our faces to the slope, and began cutting straight up what appeared to be a great central couloir. Unlike most couloirs, this one did not run without interruption to the ridge above, but came to an abrupt termination at a considerable distance below it, leaving an intervening space of rock, which promised some trouble. But we were yet far from the lowest point of these rocks, and every step towards them cost no small amount of time and labour. I have rarely been on harder ice, and, as blow after blow fell with so little apparent result in raising us towards our goal, an inexpressible weariness of spirit and a feeling of despair took possession of me. Nevertheless we did mount, and at 11.30, after two hours of terribly hard work (for the guides), we grasped with our hands the lowest of the crags. To get on them, however, was no easy task, as they were exceedingly smooth, and coated with ice. Almer scrambled up, how I know not, and, taking as much rope as possible, crawled on until he was fest, when, by a combined operation of pulling from above and pushing from below, each of us in turn was raised a few steps. We hoped that this might be an exceptional bit, and that higher up matters would improve. But it was a vain hope; the first few steps were but a foretaste of what was to follow, and every foot of height was gained with the greatest difficulty and exertion. As we climbed with the tips of our fingers in some small crevice, and the tips of our toes just resting on some painfully minute ledge, probably covered with ice or snow, one question gradually forced itself upon us, almost to the exclusion of the previously absorbing one, whether we should get to the top of the mountain, and this was, how on earth we should ever get down again—get down, that is to say, in any other state than that of débris. The idea that it would be possible to descend these rocks again, except with a rush in the shape of an avalanche, seemed rather absurd; and at last, some one propounded the question to Almer and Croz, but those worthies shirked the answer, and gave us one of those oracular replies which a good guide always has at the tip of his tongue when he is asked a question to which he does not wish to give a straightforward response, to the effect that we should probably get down somehow. They were, perhaps, of opinion that one thing at a time was sufficient, and that they had work enough to settle the question of how we were to get up. Our progress was unavoidably slow, and the positions in which one was detained, while the man in front was going the full length of his tether, were far from agreeable; while hanging on by my eyelids, the view, seen between my legs, of the smooth wall of rock and ice on which we had been so long engaged, struck me as being singularly impressive, and gave me some occupation in discussing mentally where I should stop, if in an oblivious moment I chanced to let go. But to all things must come an end, and, at 12.30 P.M., with a great sigh of relief, we lifted ourselves by a final effort on to the main ridge, which had so long mocked at our efforts to reach it, and, to our huge delight, saw the summit of the mountain on our right, led up to by a very steep arête of rocks, but evidently within our reach.

“The work of the last four hours and a half had been so exciting that we had forgotten to eat, and, indeed, had not felt the want of food; but now the voice of nature made itself heard, and we disposed ourselves in various positions on the ridge, which in many places we might have straddled, and turned our attention to the provisions. As we sat facing the final peak of the Ecrins, we had on our left the precipice which falls to the head of the Glacier Noir. Without any exaggeration, I never saw so sheer a wall; it was so smooth and regular that it might have been cut with a knife, as a cheese is cut in two. Looking over, we saw at once that, as we had thought probable, had we been able to get from La Bérarde on to the ridge at the head of the Glacier du Vallon, it would have been impossible to get down on to the Glacier Noir, as the cliffs are almost as precipitous as those down which we were looking. On the right bank of the Glacier Noir towered the dark crags of the Pelvoux, Crête du Pelvoux, and Ailefroide, a most glorious sight, presenting a combination of, perhaps, the finest rock-forms in the Alps; I certainly never saw so long and steep a line of cliffs, rising so abruptly from a glacier.

“At 12.50 we started again, Almer leading. We had first to cross a very short but very narrow neck of snow, and Almer had scarcely set foot on this, when a great mass of snow, which had appeared quite firm and part of the ridge, suddenly gave way, and fell with a roar to the Glacier Noir below. Almer’s left foot was actually on this snow when it gave way. He staggered, and we all thought he was over, but he recovered himself and managed to keep steady on the firm ridge. It is true he was roped; but the idea of a man being dropped with a sudden jerk, and then allowed to hang suspended, over that fearful abyss, was almost too much for my equanimity, and for the second time a shudder ran through my veins. This little isthmus crossed, we tackled the rocks which rose very steeply above our heads, and climbed steadily up along the arête, generally rather below the edge on the side of the Glacier de l’Encula. The work was hard enough, but easier than what we had gone through below, as the rocks were free from ice, and the hold for hands and feet was much better, so that there was no fear of slipping. I don’t think a word was said from the time we quitted our halting-place until we were close to the top, when the guides tried to persuade us to go in front, so as to be the first to set foot on the summit. But this we declined; they had done the work, let them be the first to reap the reward. It was finally settled that we should all go on together as much as possible, as neither party would give way in this amicable contest. A sharp scramble in breathless excitement ensued, until, at 1.25 P.M., the last step was taken, and we stood on the top of the Ecrins, the worthy monarch of the Dauphiné Alps.

enlarge-image

The Ecrins (in the centre) from the Glacier Blanc. By Signor Vittorio Sella. To face p. 247.
The Ecrins (in the centre) from the Glacier Blanc.
By Signor Vittorio Sella.
To face p. 247.

“In that supreme moment all our toils and dangers were forgotten in the blissful consciousness of success, and the thrill of exultation that ran through me, as I stood, in my turn, on the very highest point of the higher pinnacle—a little peak of rock with a cap of snow—was cheaply purchased by what we had gone through. Close to us was a precisely similar point, of much the same height, which scarcely came up to the rank of a second summit. It could have been reached in a few seconds from our position, but, as our point was actually the higher of the two, and was also more convenient for sitting down, we remained where we were. I must confess to a total inability to describe the wonderful panorama that lay extended before us. I am not one of those happily constituted individuals who, after many hours of excitement, can calmly sit on the apex of a mountain, and discuss simultaneously cold chicken and points of topography. I am not ashamed to confess that I was far too excited to study, as I ought to have done, the details of a view which, for extent and variety, is altogether without a parallel in my Alpine experience. Suffice it to say that over the whole sky there was not one single cloud, and that we were sitting on the most elevated summit south of Mont Blanc, and it may fairly be left to the imagination to conceive what we saw, as, at an elevation of 13,462 feet, we basked in the sun, without the cold wind usually attendant at these heights. There was not a breath of air, and the flame of a candle would have burnt steadily without a flicker. In our immediate neighbourhood, after the range of the Pelvoux, before described, the most striking object was the great wall of the Meije, the western summit of which, from here, came out distinctly the highest. The Aiguilles d’Arves stood out exceedingly well, and, although 2000 feet lower than our position, looked amazingly high. Almost the only trace of civilisation we could distinctly make out was the Lautaret road, a portion of which, probably near the entrance of the valley leading to the Glacier d’Arsines, was plainly visible. On the side of the mountain towards La Bérarde, what principally struck us was a very great and extensive glacier, apparently not marked on the map, which appeared to be an arm of the Glacier du Vallon, but far more considerable itself than the whole glacier is depicted on the French map. Of the extent of the view, and the wonderfully favourable condition of the atmosphere, a fair idea may be gained from the fact that we clearly identified the forms and ridges of the Matterhorn and Weisshorn, the latter at a distance of 120 miles, as the crow flies, and that those were by no means the most distant objects visible.

enlarge-image

Slab climbing. By Mr. Leonard Rawlence.
Slab climbing. By Mr. Leonard Rawlence.

enlarge-image

A narrow rock ridge. By Mr. Leonard Rawlence.
A narrow rock ridge.
By Mr. Leonard Rawlence.

enlarge-image

On the Dent du Géant. By the late Mr. W. F. Donkin.
On the Dent du Géant.
By the late Mr. W. F. Donkin.

enlarge-image

The top at last! To face p. 252.
The top at last!
To face p. 252.

“So soon as the first excitement consequent on success had subsided, we began seriously to meditate upon what during the ascent had frequently troubled us, viz. the descent. With one consent we agreed that unless no other route could be found, it would be most unadvisable to attempt to go down the way we had mounted. The idea of the rocks, to be followed by the ice-slope below—in a doubly dangerous state after being exposed all day to the scorching sun—was not to be entertained without a shudder. The only alternative route lay along the opposite arête to that which had led us to the top, and, although we could not see far in this direction, we determined, after very little discussion, to try it. Accordingly, after twenty minutes’ halt, we each pocketed a small fragment of the stone that was lying on the snow, and, regretting that we had no bottle to leave, and no materials with which to construct a cairn, took our departure at 1.45 from the lofty perch which, I fancy, is not likely to receive many subsequent visitors. Passing immediately below the second point before mentioned, so that our hands almost rested on it, and also several similar pinnacles, our work commenced. I never, before or since, was on so narrow an arête of rock, and really from step to step I was at a loss to imagine how we were to get on any further. We kept, as a rule, just below the edge, as before, on the side of the Glacier de l’Encula, along a series of ledges of the narrowest and most insecure character; but we were always sufficiently near the top to be able to look over the ridge, down the appalling precipices which overhang, first the Glacier Noir, and later, the Glacier du Vallon. Of course, every single step had to be taken with the greatest care, only one person moving in turn, and the rest holding on for dear life, Croz coming last to hold all up. In spite of the great difficulty of the route, the obstacles were only such as required more or less time to surmount, and although the slightest nervousness on the part of any one of us would have endangered the whole party and delayed us indefinitely, in the absence of that drawback we got on pretty well. We were beginning to hope that the worst was over, when Almer suddenly stopped short, and looked about him uneasily. On our asking him what was the matter, he answered vaguely that things ahead looked bad, and that he was not sure that we could pass. Croz accordingly undid the rope, as also did Almer, and the two went forward a little, telling us to remain where we were. We could not see what was the nature of the difficulty, but we could see the countenances of the men, which sufficiently showed us that the hitch was serious. Under any other circumstances we should have been amused at Almer’s endeavours to communicate his views to Croz in an amazing mixture of pantomime, bad German, and worse French. He evidently was trying to persuade Croz of something, which Croz was not inclined to agree to, and we soon made out that the point at issue was, whether we could get over this particular place, or whether we must return to the summit, and go down the way we had come. Croz was of the latter opinion, while Almer obstinately maintained that, bad as the place was, we could get over it, and proceeded to perform some manœuvres, which we could not clearly see, by way of showing the correctness of his opinion. Croz, however, was unconvinced, and came back to us, declaring plainly that we should have to return. We shouted to Almer, who was still below, but he evidently had not the slightest intention of returning, and in a few moments called upon us to come on, an injunction which we cheerfully obeyed as, in our opinion, anything would be preferable to a retreat, and Croz perforce followed. A very few steps showed us the nature of the difficulty. The arête suddenly narrowed to a mere knife-edge of rock, while on one side a smooth wall, some 4000 feet in height, fell sheer towards the Glacier du Vallon, and on the other side, above the Glacier de l’Encula, the slope was not much less steep and equally smooth. To pass below the ridge on either side was obviously quite impossible; to walk along the ridge, which was by no means level, was equally so, and the only way of getting over the difficulty, therefore, was to straddle it, an operation which the sharpness of the ridge, putting aside all other considerations, would render the reverse of agreeable. However, there, perched in the middle of this fiendish place, sat Almer, with one leg over Glacier du Vallon and the other over the Glacier de l’Encula, calm and unmoved, as if the position was quite an everyday one. He had not got the rope on, and as he began moving along the ridge we shrieked at him to take care, to which he responded with a ‘ja, gewiss!’ and a chuckle of satisfaction. We threw him the end of the rope, and then cautiously moved, one at a time, towards him. I must confess that when I found myself actually astride on this dizzy height I felt more inclined to remain there for ever, contemplating the Glacier du Vallon, on to which I might have dropped a stone, than to make my way along it. The encouraging voice of Almer, however, urged me on, and I gradually worked myself along with my hands until I was close up to him and Walker, with no damage save to the seat of my trousers. Whymper and Croz followed. From this point forwards we had for half-an-hour, without exception, the most perilous climbing, I ever did. We crept along the cliffs, sometimes on one side of the ridge, sometimes on the other, frequently passing our arms over the summit, with our feet resting on rather less than nothing. Almer led with wonderful skill and courage, and gradually brought us over the worst portion of the arête, below which the climbing was bad enough, but not quite such nervous work as before, and we were able to get along rather quicker. At length, at 3.45, in two hours from the top, we were not far above the well-marked gap in the ridge, between the highest peak and the one marked on the French map 3980 mètres, or 13,058 feet. There we thankfully left the arête, and, turning to the right, struck straight down the ice-slope towards the bergschrund. Almost every step had to be cut, but, in spite of all he had done, Almer’s vigour seemed unimpaired, and resolutely declining Croz’s offers to come to the front, he hacked away, so that we descended steadily, if slowly. We could not see the bergschrund, and were therefore uncertain for what exact point to steer, for we knew that at only one place would it be possible to get over it at all, where from below we had seen that the two edges nearly met—at all others the breadth and height would be far too great for a jump. For some distance we kept straight down, but after a time bore rather to the left, cutting diagonally along the slope, which was inclined at an angle of 52°, and, below us, curled over so rapidly, that we could see the glacier on to which we wished to descend, but could not see what lay between us and it. Passing over a patch of ice-covered rocks which projected very slightly from the general level of the slope, we were certain that we could not be far above the schrund, but did not quite see how we were to get down any further without knowing whether we were above a practicable point or not. It was suggested that one of the party should be let down with a rope, but, while we were discussing who should be the one, Almer cut a few steps more, and then, stooping down and craning over, gave a yell of exultation, and exclaimed that it was all right, and that we might jump over. By a marvellous bit of intuition, or good luck, he had led us to the only point where the two edges of the chasm so nearly met that we could get across. He cut down as low as possible, and then, from the last step, each man, in turn, sprang without difficulty on to the lower edge of the crevasse, and at 4.45 the problem of getting off the mountain was solved.

“At the door of the hotel was standing a young Frenchman, with whom we got into conversation, observing that we had just made the ascent of the highest mountain in the country. ‘Oh,’ replied he, ‘sans doute, le Pic de Belledonne’; a rather elevated Rigi in the neighbourhood. We informed him that our conquest was not the Pic de Belladonne, but the Pic des Ecrins, on hearing which he smiled blandly, never having heard the name before, and, evidently meditating how he might avoid showing his ignorance, finally contented himself with a spasmodic ‘Ah!’ After a short pause, he inquired whether we had been up Mont Blanc, and, on my replying in the negative, went on to say that he had, about ten days before. We were astonished, as, without wishing to reflect on the appearance of the worthy Gaul, I must say that he did not give us the idea of a man capable of such a performance. However, we, in our turn, smiled blandly, and inquired whether, so early in the season, he had found the ascent difficult, and whether he had had a good view from the summit. ‘From the summit!’ said he; ‘I did not go to the summit.’ We ventured to inquire how high his wanderings had reached. ‘Mon Dieu!’ replied he, ‘jusqu’au Montanvert!’ Our politeness was not proof against this, so we broke off the conversation abruptly, and retired to indulge our merriment unchecked.”

The Ecrins is now frequently climbed. A new way up the rocky south side was discovered by a Frenchman, and is now usually taken for the ascent, the descent being accomplished by the north face which the party that included Mr Moore went up by and which has just been described. The route is now well known, and thus it is possible to hit off the easiest passages, but the traverse of what is known to the guides as ‘the Couloir Whymper’ always requires the greatest care.

CHAPTER XVI

THUNDERSTORMS IN THE ALPS

THE fatal accident caused by lightning on the Wetterhorn in 1902 has emphasized the curious fact that, except on that occasion, and once before, many years ago, when Mrs Arbuthnot was killed on the Schildthorn, no lives[10] have been lost in a thunderstorm on the Alps. This is the more remarkable when we glance through books on mountaineering, and notice how often climbers have been exposed to the full fury of summer storms, and what narrow escapes they have had. In July 1863, Mr and Mrs Spence Watson, with two friends and two guides, made an excursion from the Æggischhorn to the high glacier pass of the Jungfraujoch, an admirable account of the day’s adventures having been contributed by Mr Watson to The Alpine Journal, from which I extract the following details.

After starting on a lovely morning, the weather changed, and when they got to the pass they encountered a severe storm of wind, snow, and hail. They quickly turned to descend, the snow falling so heavily that they could not for a time see their old tracks. Suddenly a loud peal of thunder was heard, “and shortly after,” writes Mr Watson, “I observed that a strange singing sound like that of a kettle was issuing from my alpenstock. We halted, and finding that all the axes and stocks emitted the same sound, stuck them into the snow. The guide from the hotel now pulled off his cap, shouting that his head burned, and his hair seemed to have a similar appearance to that which it would have presented had he been on an insulated stool under a powerful electrical machine. We all of us experienced the sensation of pricking or burning in some part of the body, more especially in the head and face, my hair also standing on end in an uncomfortable but very amusing manner. The snow gave out a hissing sound, as though a shower of hail were falling; the veil in the wide-awake of one of the party stood upright in the air; and on waving our hands, the singing sound issued loudly from the fingers. Whenever a peal of thunder was heard the phenomenon ceased, to be resumed before its echoes had died away. At these times we felt shocks, more or less violent, in those portions of the body which were most affected. By one of these shocks my right arm was paralysed so completely that I could neither use nor raise it for several minutes, nor, indeed, till it had been severely rubbed by Claret, and I suffered much pain in it at the shoulder joint for some hours. At half-past twelve the clouds began to pass away, and the phenomenon finally ceased, having lasted twenty-five minutes. We saw no lightning, and were puzzled at first as to whether we should be afraid or amused. The young guide was very much alarmed, but Claret, who had twice previously heard the singing (unaccompanied by the other symptoms), laughed so heartily at the whole affair that he kept up our spirits.”

enlarge-image

On a ridge in the Oberland.
On a ridge in the Oberland.

enlarge-image

The second largest glacier in the Alps. By Royston Le Blond. To face p. 259.
The second largest glacier in the Alps. By Royston Le Blond.
To face p. 259.

The position of the party, was, however, by no means safe, yet though I have often heard the buzzing of ice-axes and rocks when in a thunderstorm on the mountains, I have never seen any ill effects from it.

A little later another description appears in The Alpine Journal, by Mr C. Packe, who, during the descent of a peak in the Pyrenees, was astonished to hear a curious creaking sound proceeding from behind him. He was carrying various heavy articles at the time, and imagined that the noise was due to the straining of the straps of his knapsack. He presently unslung his load, and was amazed to find a strange buzzing noise proceeding from his rifle, “as though it had been an air gun trying to discharge itself. As I held it away from me, pointed upwards,” he continues, “the noise became stronger, and as I in vain sought to account for it, I thought it possible that some large insect—a bee or beetle—might have got down the barrel, and be trying to escape. I held the barrel downwards, with a view to shake it out; but on lowering the gun the sound at once ceased, but was renewed as often as I raised it.” It then began to occur to Mr Packe that the sound was electrical, and he felt sure this was so when he found that his alpenstock had joined in the buzzing. He therefore made a hasty retreat out of the highly charged upper regions. Several peals of thunder had previously been heard but no lightning was seen. A violent storm had, however, been experienced in a neighbouring district. That similar conditions may seem delightful to one man and entirely odious to another will strike whoever reads the following short extract from an account of a climb in the Pyrenees made by Mons. Henri Brulle. It was translated by Count Russell for The Alpine Journal, and runs as follows:

“Another time I crossed the Vignemale alone, en col, under conditions which made this expedition the pleasantest of my souvenirs. A furious storm was raging. Enveloped in the morning in a dense fog, annoyed in the steep couloirs of the Cerbillonas by vultures which swept over me like avalanches, just grazing me with their long wings, assailed during three hours by hailstones of such size that they bruised and stunned me, deafened by thunder, and so electrified that I was hissing and crepitating, I notwithstanding reached the summit at half-past four in the evening, amidst incessant detonations. In descending the glacier I got lost in a labyrinth of crevasses, and while balancing myself on an ice-wave I nearly dropped my ice-axe. As a climax, night came on as black as ink, and I had to grope and feel my way down the endless valley of Ossoue. It was eleven o’clock at night when I reached Gavarnie, almost starved and quite exhausted, but having lived the crowning day of my life.”

“On 17th August last I left the Hochjoch Haus with Gabriel Spechtenhauser with the intention of ascending the Weisskugel at the head of the Oetzthal. The weather for the past week had been very changeable, but when we started at 3 A.M. it was fine and starlight. A German gentleman with two guides and two others with two guides started at the same time. As long as the aid of a lantern was desirable we kept together, but as it grew light Gabriel and I gradually drew ahead. As day broke clouds began to gather, and when we halted for breakfast at 6.10 A.M. they hung so heavy on the Weisskugel that after breakfast, instead of going straight on, we diverged to the top of the rocks leading down towards Kurzras, with the intention of waiting a short time to see what the weather would do, and if it did not mend, of going down to Kurzras, where a friend was awaiting me.

“Here I remember handing Gabriel my map to put in his pocket to keep dry, and knew nothing more till I woke to the consciousness that he was lifting me up from where I was lying on the rocks, some 20 feet, I suppose, lower than the point where we had been standing. I was bleeding from a cut on the head, and my right arm was very painful, and turned out afterwards to be broken. Gabriel said that he had been knocked down also, but not rendered insensible, and, falling on his hands towards the upward slope, was not hurt. He also said that he was to a certain extent conscious of there having been a sudden glare and explosion, but I knew nothing of it. The German and his two guides, who at the time were just below the first summit, but not within sight of us, were so alarmed at the lightning and thunder, that they turned at once and never stopped till they reached Kurzras. The other party, who had not got beyond the rocks where we halted during the ascent, waited there for us, and Joseph Spechtenhauser, one of their guides, came to meet us and see if we wanted assistance. However, I was quite myself when I came to, which was directly Gabriel lifted me up, and the mountain is so easy that my disabled arm was of little consequence. I did not notice any more thunder or lightning after the flash that knocked us down, and the day cleared up to a lovely one. I have every reason to be pleased with Gabriel’s kindness and attention to me without regard to himself, and very much regret that my accident prevented me from carrying out any of the other expeditions which I had promised myself the pleasure of making in his company.”

One of the most exciting accounts of an adventure in the Alps is Mr Tuckett’s description of “A Race for Life,”[11] on the Eiger. Hardly less stirring is a paper in The Alpine Journal by the same famous climber, from which he most kindly allows me to give a long quotation, telling of a narrow escape during one of the most appalling thunderstorms that could be experienced. The party were making the ascent of the Roche Melon, a peak 11,593 feet high not far from the Mont Cenis. The weather was unsettled, and grew worse as they mounted.

“Proceeding very cautiously through the whirling wreaths of vapour lest we should suddenly drop over upon Italy and hurt it—or ourselves—we struck up the ‘final incline’—as an American companion of mine once dubbed the cone of Vesuvius as we looked down upon it from its rim—and at 11.15 stood beside the ruins of the signal and enjoyed a very magnificent view of nothing in particular. As we had plenty of time at our disposal—three and a half hours sufficing for the descent to Susa—and the wind was keen and damp, our first proceeding was to search for the chapel, which we knew must be quite close to the summit of the peak; and, about 30 feet lower down, on the southern side, which was entirely free from snow, we came upon a tight little wooden building, some 6 or 7 feet long and high by 5 broad, very carefully constructed, with flat bands of thin iron on the outside covering the lines of junction of the planks, so as effectually to keep out both wind and moisture. Opposite the door, which we found carefully bolted, was a wooden shelf against the wall serving as an altar, on which stood a small bronze statuette of the Virgin, whilst on either hand hung the usual curious medley of votive paintings, engravings, crosses, tapers etc., not to mention certain pious scribblings. Taking great care to disturb nothing, we arranged a loose board and our packs on the rather damp floor so as to form a seat, and waited for the clouds to disperse and disclose the superb panorama that we knew should here be visible.

“Here I may be allowed to mention that a chapel, said to have been originally excavated in the rock, and subsequently buried under ice or snow, was here dedicated to the Virgin by a crusader of Asti, Boniface by name, of the house of Rovero, in fulfilment of a vow made whilst a captive in the hands of the Saracens. More recently the present wooden structure has taken its place, and every year, on 5th August, pilgrims resort to it in considerable numbers. Lower down on the Susa side is a much more substantial structure, at a height of 9396 feet, called the Cà d’Asti, in allusion to the circumstances of its foundation. The last is a solidly, not to say massively, constructed circular edifice of stone and mortar, some 15 or 16 feet in diameter, and perhaps rather more in height, with a vaulted roof of solid masonry covered externally with tiles, and surmounted by an iron cross. Seen from below, it stands out boldly on a mass of crags which conceal the actual summit of the Roche Melon, and close by are some low sheds, which appear ordinarily to serve as shelter for flocks of sheep browsing on the grassy slopes around, but on the night preceding the festa of 5th August, furnish sleeping quarters for the assembled pilgrims, who attend mass in the adjoining chapel, if the weather, as frequently happens, does not permit of its being celebrated on the summit of the mountain, in what is probably the most elevated shrine in Europe.

“The Roche Melon stands just in the track of the great storms which, brewed in the heated plains of Lombardy and Piedmont, come surging up through the valley of the Dora Riparia, and burst, hurling and crashing over the depression of Mont Cenis, to find or make a watery grave in the valley of the Arc. Of their combined fierceness and grandeur we were soon to have only too favourable an opportunity of judging, for scarcely more than five minutes after we had comfortably established ourselves under shelter, suddenly, without a moment’s warning, a perfect mitraille of hail smote the roof above us, tore through the mist like grape-shot through battle-smoke, and whitened the ground like snow. We closed the door carefully, for now came flash after flash of brilliant lightning, with sharp, angry, snapping thunder, which, if we had been a quarter of an hour later, would have made our position on the exposed northern side anything but pleasant. We congratulated ourselves on our good fortune, but were glad to pitch our axes amongst the débris of rock above us and await patiently the hoped-for dispersal of the fog. In a few minutes the hail ceased, the mist became somewhat brighter, rifts appeared in all directions, and, issuing forth, we were amply rewarded by such glimpses of the wonderful view as, if not fully satisfactory for topographical purposes, were, in a picturesque and artistic point of view, indescribably grand and interesting. The extent of level country visible is a remarkable feature in the view from the Roche Melon, as also in that from the summit of the Pourri, where Imseng not a little amused me on first catching sight of the plains of France stretching away till lost in the haze, by shouting in a fit of uncontrollable enthusiasm, ‘Ach! Das ist wunderschön!—ganz eben!’[12]

It was as though we were in a vast nest of excited snakes, or a battery of frying-pans, or listening at a short distance to the sustained note of a band of cigali in a chestnut wood—a mixture of comparisons which may serve sufficiently to convey the impression that the general effect was indescribable. I listened and looked and tried experiments for some time, but suddenly it burst out with an energy that suggested a coming explosion, or some equally unpleasant dénouement, and, dropping my axe, to whose performance I had been listening, I fairly bolted for the chapel.

enlarge-image

13,300 feet above the sea.
13,300 feet above the sea.

enlarge-image

On the Furggen Grat.
On the Furggen Grat.

enlarge-image

A “personally conducted” party on the Breithorn.
A “personally conducted” party on the Breithorn.

enlarge-image

Packing the knapsack after lunch. To face p. 269.
Packing the knapsack after lunch.
To face p. 269.

“We had now spent a couple of hours on the summit, and had succeeded in getting, bit by bit, a sight of most of the principal features of the very remarkable view, with the exception of Monte Viso, which persistently sulked; so at 1.15, as there seemed a probability of the weather becoming worse before it improved, we quitted our excellent shelter, and, after putting everything in order and carefully closing and bolting the door, sallied forth into the mist, which was again enshrouding the mountain, apparently as the advance guard of the fiercest storm in the neighbourhood, which we had for some time been watching as it swept solemnly towards us down the valley of the Dora.

“There is a sort of track, rather than well-defined path, down the bare, rocky, and débris-covered southern face of the mountain, but in the fog and momentarily increasing gloom of the coming tempest it was not always very easy to distinguish it. Still, we descended rapidly, and in less than half an hour had dropped down some 2000 feet to a point where, during an instant’s lift, we descried the outline of the Cà d’Asti five minutes below us, just as the edge of the coming hail smote us with a fury which it was hard at times to face. We dashed on—it was a regular sauve qui peut—blinded and staggering under the pitiless pelting and the fury of the blast, gained the door of the chapel, which faced the storm, deposited our axes outside, and darted in, thankful again to find ourselves under so good a roof just when it was most needed.

“For, if there had been at times wild goings on upon the summit during the morning, they were merely a faint prelude to the elemental strife which now raged around. The wind roared and the hail hissed in fiendish rivalry, and yet both seemed silenced when the awful crashes of thunder burst above and about us. We were in the very central track and focus of the storm, and, as we sat crouched upon the floor, the ground and the building seemed to reel beneath the roar of the detonations, and our heads almost to swim with the fierce glare of the lightning. I had carefully closed the door, not only to keep the wind and hail out, but also because lightning is apt to follow a current of air, and, to the right on entering, at about the height of a man, was a small unglazed window some 2 feet square. Opposite the door was the altar, on the step of which I seated myself. Imseng took a place by my side, between me and the window, whilst Christian perched himself on the coil of rope with his back to the wall, not far from the door, and between it and the window. A quarter of a hour may have gone by when a flash of intense vividness seemed almost to dart through the window, and so affected Imseng’s nerves that he hastily quitted his seat by me and coiled himself up near Christian, remarking that ‘that was rather too close to be pleasant.’ Then came four more really awful flashes, followed all but instantaneously by sharp, crackling thunder, which sounded like a volley of bullets against a metal target, and then a fifth with a slightly increased interval between it and the report. I was just remarking to Christian that I thought the worst was past, and that we should soon be liberated, adding, ‘How fortunate we are for the second time to-day to get such shelter just in the nick of time,’ when—crash! went everything, it seemed, all at once: