Part 12 (1/2)

These great rubbish-heaps are formed, one may say almost entirely, from debris which falls, or is washed down the flanks of mountains, or from cliffs bordering glaciers; and are composed, to a very limited extent only, of matter that is ground, rasped, or filed off by the friction of the ice.

If the contrary view were to be adopted, if it could be maintained that ”glaciers, _by their motion, break off ma.s.ses of rock from the sides and bottoms of their valley courses_, and crowd along every thing that is movable, so as to form large acc.u.mulations of debris in front, and along their sides,”(141) the conclusion could not be resisted, the greater the glacier, the greater should be the moraine.

This doctrine does not find much favour with those who have personal knowledge of what glaciers do at the present time. From De Saussure(142) downwards it has been pointed out, time after time, that moraines are chiefly formed from debris coming from rocks or soil _above_ the ice, not from the bed over which it pa.s.ses. But amongst the writings of modern speculators upon glaciers and glacier-action in bygone times, it is not uncommon to find the notions entertained, that moraines represent the amount of _excavation_ (such is the term employed) performed by glaciers, or at least are comprised of matter which has been excavated by glaciers; that vast moraines have necessarily been produced by vast glaciers; and that a great extension of glaciers necessarily causes the production of vast moraines. Such generalisations cannot be sustained.

We descended in our track to the Lac de Combal, and from thence went over the Col de la Seigne to les Motets, where we slept; on July 13, crossed the Col du Mont Tondu to Contamines (in a sharp thunderstorm), and the Col de Voza to Chamounix. Two days only remained for excursions in this neighbourhood, and we resolved to employ them in another attempt to ascend the Aiguille d'Argentiere, upon which mountain we had been cruelly defeated just eight days before.

It happened in this way.-Reilly had a notion that the ascent of the Aiguille could be accomplished by following the ridge leading to its summit from the Col du Chardonnet. At half-past six, on the morning of the 6th, we found ourselves accordingly on the top of that pa.s.s. The party consisted of our friend Moore and his guide Almer, Reilly and his guide Francois Couttet, myself and Michel Croz. So far the weather had been calm, and the way easy; but immediately we arrived on the summit of the pa.s.s, we got into a furious wind. Five minutes earlier we were warm,-now we were frozen. Fine snow whirled up into the air penetrated every crack in our harness, and a.s.sailed our skins as painfully as if it had been red hot instead of freezing cold. The teeth chattered involuntarily-talking was laborious; the breath froze instantaneously; eating was disagreeable; sitting was impossible!

We looked towards our mountain. Its aspect was not encouraging. The ridge that led upwards had a spiked arete, palisaded with miniature aiguilles, banked up at their bases by heavy snow-beds, which led down, at considerable angles, on one side towards the Glacier de Saleinoz, on the other towards the Glacier du Chardonnet. Under any circ.u.mstances, it would have been a stiff piece of work to clamber up that way. Prudence and comfort counselled, ”Give it up.” Discretion overruled valour. Moore and Almer crossed the Col du Chardonnet to go to Orsieres, and we others returned towards Chamounix.

But when we got some distance down, the evil spirit which prompts men to ascend mountains tempted us to stop, and to look back at the Aiguille d'Argentiere. The sky was cloudless; no wind could be felt, nor sign of it perceived; it was only eight o'clock in the morning; and there, right before us, we saw another branch of the glacier leading high up into the mountain-far above the Col du Chardonnet-and a little couloir rising from its head almost to the top of the peak. This was clearly the right route to take. We turned back, and went at it.

The glacier was steep, and the snow gully rising out of it was steeper.

Seven hundred steps were cut. Then the couloir became _too_ steep. We took to the rocks on its left, and at last gained the ridge, at a point about 1500 feet above the Col du Chardonnet. We faced about to the right, and went along the ridge; keeping on some snow a little below its crest, on the Saleinoz side. Then we got the wind again; yet no one thought of turning, for we were within 250 feet of the summit.

The axes of Croz and Couttet went to work once more, for the slope was about as steep as snow-slope could be. Its surface was covered with a loose, granular crust; dry and utterly incoherent; which slipped away in streaks directly it was meddled with. The men had to cut through this into the old beds underneath, and to pause incessantly to rake away the powdery stuff, which poured down in hissing streams over the hard substratum. Ugh!

how cold it was! How the wind blew! Couttet's hat was torn from its fastenings, and went on a tour in Switzerland. The flour-like snow, swept off the ridge above, was tossed spirally upwards, eddying in _tourmentes_; then, dropt in lulls, or caught by other gusts, was flung far and wide to feed the Saleinoz.

”My feet are getting suspiciously numbed,” cried Reilly: ”how about frost-bites?” ”Kick hard, sir,” shouted the men; ”it's the only way.”

_Their_ fingers were kept alive by their work; but it was cold for the feet, and they kicked and hewed simultaneously. I followed their example too violently, and made a hole clean through my footing. A clatter followed as if crockery had been thrown down a well.

I went down a step or two, and discovered in a second that all were standing over a cavern (not a creva.s.se, speaking properly) that was bridged over by a thin vault of ice, from which great icicles hung in groves. Almost in the same minute Reilly pushed one of his hands right through the roof. The whole party might have tumbled through at any moment. ”Go ahead, Croz, we are over a chasm!” ”We know it,” he answered, ”and we can't find a firm place.”

In the blandest manner, my comrade inquired if to persevere would not be to do that which is called ”tempting Providence.” My reply being in the affirmative, he further observed, ”Suppose we go down?” ”Very willingly.”

”Ask the guides.” They had not the least objection; so we went down, and slept that night at the Montanvert.

Off the ridge we were out of the wind. In fact, a hundred feet down _to windward_, on the slope fronting the Glacier du Chardonnet, we were broiling hot; there was not a suspicion of a breeze. Upon that side there was nothing to tell that a hurricane was raging a hundred feet higher,-the cloudless sky looked tranquillity itself: whilst to leeward the only sign of a disturbed atmosphere was the friskiness of the snow upon the crests of the ridges.

We set out on the 14th, with Croz, Payot, and Charlet, to finish off the work which had been cut short so abruptly, and slept, as before, at the Chalets de Lognan. On the 15th, about midday, we arrived upon the summit of the aiguille, and found that we had actually been within one hundred feet of it when we turned back upon the first attempt.

It was a triumph to Reilly. In this neighbourhood he had performed the feat (in 1863) of joining together ”two mountains, each about 13,000 feet high, standing on the map about a mile and a half apart.” Long before we made the ascent he had procured evidence which could not be impugned, that the Pointe des Plines, a fict.i.tious summit which had figured on other maps as a distinct mountain, could be no other than the Aiguille d'Argentiere, and he had accordingly obliterated it from the preliminary draft of his map. We saw that it was right to do so. The Pointe des Plines did not exist. We had ocular demonstration of the accuracy of his previous observations.

I do not know which to admire most, the fidelity of Mr. Reilly's map, or the indefatigable industry by which the materials were acc.u.mulated from which it was constructed. To men who are sound in limb it may be amusing to arrive on a summit (as we did upon the top of Mont Dolent), sitting astride a ridge too narrow to stand upon; or to do battle with a ferocious wind (as we did on the top of the Aiguille de Trelatete); or to feel half-frozen in midsummer (as we did on the Aiguille d'Argentiere). But there is extremely little amus.e.m.e.nt in making sketches and notes under such conditions. Yet upon all these expeditions, under the most adverse circ.u.mstances, and in the most trying situations, Mr. Reilly's brain and fingers were always at work. Throughout all he was ever alike; the same genial, equable-tempered companion, whether victorious or whether defeated; always ready to sacrifice his own desires to suit our comfort and convenience. By a happy union of audacity and prudence, combined with untiring perseverance, he eventually completed his self-imposed task-a work which would have been intolerable except as a labour of love-and which, for a single individual, may well-nigh be termed Herculean.

We separated upon the level part of the Glacier d'Argentiere, Reilly going with Payot and Charlet _via_ the chalets of Lognan and de la Pendant, whilst I, with Croz, followed the right bank of the glacier to the village of Argentiere.(143) At 7 P.M. we entered the humble inn, and ten minutes afterwards heard the echoes of the cannon which were fired upon the arrival of our comrades at Chamounix.(144)

CHAPTER XI.

THE FIRST Pa.s.sAGE OF THE MOMING Pa.s.s-ZINAL TO ZERMATT.

”A daring leader is a dangerous thing.”

EURIPIDES.

On July 10, Croz and I went to Sierre, in the Valais, _via_ the Col de Balme, the Col de la Forclaz, and Martigny. The Swiss side of the Forclaz is not creditable to Switzerland. The path from Martigny to the summit has undergone successive improvements in these latter years; but mendicants permanently disfigure it.

We pa.s.sed many tired pedestrians toiling up this oven, persecuted by trains of parasitic children. These children swarm there like maggots in a rotten cheese. They carry baskets of fruit with which to plague the weary tourist. They flit around him like flies; they thrust the fruit in his face; they pester him with their pertinacity. Beware of them!-taste, touch not their fruit. In the eyes of these children, each peach, each grape, is worth a prince's ransom. It is to no purpose to be angry; it is like flapping wasps-they only buzz the more. Whatever you do, or whatever you say, the end will be the same. ”Give me something,” is the alpha and omega of all their addresses. They learn the phrase, it is said, before they are taught the alphabet. It is in all their mouths. From the tiny toddler up to the maiden of sixteen, there is nothing heard but one universal chorus of-”Give me something; will you have the goodness to give me something?”