Scrambles amongst the Alps/Chapter 6

by Edward Whymper

"BUT WHAT IS THIS?"

CHAPTER VI.

THE VAL TOURNANCHE—DIRECT PASS FROM BREIL TO ZERMATT (BREUILJOCH)—ZERMATT—ASCENT OF THE GRAND TOURNALIN, ETC. ETC.

"How like a winter hath my absence been
 From thee, the pleasure of a fleeting year!"

W. Shakespeare.

I crossed the Channel on the 29th of July 1863, embarrassed by the possession of two ladders, each twelve feet long, which joined together like those used by firemen, and shut up like parallel rulers. My luggage was highly suggestive of housebreaking, for, besides these, there were several coils of rope, and numerous tools of suspicious appearance, and it was reluctantly admitted into France, but it passed through the custom-house with less trouble then I anticipated, after a timely expenditure of a few francs.

I am not in love with the douane. It is the purgatory of travellers, where uncongenial spirits mingle together for a time, before they are separated into rich and poor. The douaniers look upon tourists as their natural enemies; see how eagerly they pounce upon the portmanteaux! One of them has discovered something! He has never seen its like before, and he holds it aloft in the face of its owner, with inquisitorial insolence. "But what is this?" The explanation is but half satisfactory. "But what is this?" says he, laying hold of a little box. "Powder." "But that it is forbidden to carry of powder on the railway." "Bah!" says another and older hand, "pass the effects of Monsieur;" and our countryman—whose cheeks had begun to redden under the stares of his fellow-travellers—is allowed to depart with his half-worn tooth-brush, while the discomfited douanier gives a mighty shrug at the strange habits of those "whose insular position excludes them from the march of continental ideas."

My real troubles commenced at Susa. The officials there, more honest and more obtuse than the Frenchmen, declined at one and the same time to be bribed, or to pass my baggage until a satisfactory account of it was rendered; and, as they refused to believe the true explanation, I was puzzled what to say, but was presently relieved from the dilemma by one of the men, who was cleverer than his fellows, suggesting that I was going to Turin to exhibit in the streets; that I mounted the ladder and balanced myself on the end of it, then lighted my pipe and put the point of the baton in its bowl, and caused the baton to gyrate around my head. The rope was to keep back the spectators, and an Englishman in my company was the agent. "Monsieur is acrobat then?" "Yes, certainly." "Pass the effects of Monsieur the acrobat!"

These ladders were the source of endless trouble. Let us pass over the doubts of the guardians of the Hotel d' Europe (Trombetta), whether a person in the possession of such questionable articles should be admitted to their very respectable house, and get to Chatillon, at the entrance of the Val Tournanche. A mule was chartered to carry them, and, as they were too long to sling across its back, they were arranged lengthways, and one end projected over the animal's head, while the other extended beyond its tail. A mule when going up or down hill always moves with a jerky action, and in consequence of this the ladders hit my mule severe blows between its ears and in its flanks. The beast, not knowing what strange creature it had on its back, naturally tossed its head and threw out its legs, and this, of course, only made the blows that it received more severe. At last it ran away, and would have perished by rolling down a precipice, if the men had not caught hold of its tail. The end of the matter was that a man had to follow the mule, holding the end of the ladders, which obliged him to move his arms up and down incessantly, and to bow to the hind quarters of the animal in a way that afforded more amusement to his comrades than it did to him.

I was once more en route for the Matterhorn, for I had heard in the spring of 1863 the cause of the failure of Professor Tyndall, and learnt that the case was not so hopeless as it appeared to be at one time. I found that he arrived as far only as the northern end of "the shoulder." The point at which he says,^[1] they "sat down with broken hopes, the summit within a stone's-throw of us, but still defying us," was not the notch or cleft at d (which is literally within a stone's-throw of the summit), but another and more formidable cleft that intervenes between the northern end of "the shoulder" and the commencement of the final peak. It is marked E on the outline which faces p. 83. Carrel and all the men who had been with me knew of the existence of this cleft, and of the pinnacle which rose between it and the final peak;^[2] and we had frequently talked about the best manner of passing the place. On this we disagreed, but we were both of opinion that when we got to "the shoulder" it would be necessary to bear down gradually to the right or to the left, to avoid coming to the top of the notch. But Tyndall's party, after arriving at "the shoulder," was led by his guides along the crest of the ridge, and, consequently, when they got to its northern end, they came to the top of the notch, instead of the bottom—to the dismay of all but the Carrels. Dr. Tyndall's words are, "The ridge was here split by a deep cleft which separated it from the final precipice, and the case became more hopeless as we came more near." The Professor adds, "The mountain is 14,800 feet high, and 14,600 feet had been accomplished." He greatly deceived himself; by the barometric measurements of Signor Giordano the notch is no less than 800 feet below the summit. The guide Walter (Dr. Tyndall says) said it was impossible to proceed, and the Carrels, appealed to for their opinion (this is their own account), gave as an answer, "We are porters, ask your guides." Bennen, thus left to himself, "was finally forced to accept defeat." Tyndall had nevertheless accomplished an advance of about 400 feet over one of the most difficult parts of the mountain.

There are material discrepancies between the published narratives of Professor Tyndall^[3] and the verbal accounts of the Carrels. The former says the men had to be "urged on," that "they pronounced flatly against the final precipice," "they yielded so utterly," and that Bennen said, in answer to a final appeal made to him, "'What could I do, sir? not one of them would accompany me.' It was the accurate truth." Jean-Antoine Carrel says that when Professor Tyndall gave the order to turn he would have advanced to examine the route, as he did not think that further progress was impossible, but he was stopped by the Professor, and was naturally obliged to follow the others.^[4] These disagreements may well be left to be settled by those who are concerned. Tyndall, Walter, and Bennen, now disappear from this history.^[5]

The Val Tournanche is one of the most charming valleys in the Italian Alps; it is a paradise to an artist, and if the space at my command were greater I would willingly linger over its groves of chestnuts, its bright trickling rills and its roaring torrents, its upland unsuspected valleys and its noble cliffs. The path rises steeply from Chatillon, but it is well shaded, and the heat of the summer sun is tempered by cool air and spray which comes off the ice-cold streams.^[6] One sees from the path, at several places on the right bank of the valley, groups of arches which have been built high up against the faces of the cliffs. Guide-books repeat—on whose authority I know not—that they are the remains of a Roman aqueduct. They have the Roman boldness of conception, but the work has not the usual Roman solidity. The arches have always seemed to me to be the remains of an unfinished work, and I learn from Jean Antoine Carrel that there are other groups of arches, which are not seen from the path, all having the same appearance. It may be questioned whether those seen near the village of Antey are Roman. Some of them are semicircular, whilst others are distinctly pointed. Here is one of the latter, which might pass for fourteenth-century work, or later;—a two-centred arch, with mean voussoirs, and the masonry, in rough courses. These arches are well worth the attention of an archæologist, but some difficulty will be found in approaching them closely.

We sauntered up the valley, and got to Breil when all were asleep. A halo round the moon promised watery weather, and we were not disappointed, for, on the next day (August 1), rain fell heavily, and when the clouds lifted for a time, we saw that new snow lay thickly over everything higher than 9000 feet. J. A. Carrel was ready and waiting (as I had determined to give the bold cragsman another chance); and he did not need to say that the Matterhorn would be impracticable for several days after all this new snow, even if the weather were to arrange itself at once. Our first day together was accordingly spent upon a neighbouring summit, the Cimes Blanches; a degraded mountain, well known for its fine panoramic view. It was little that we saw; for, in every direction except to the south, writhing masses of heavy clouds obscured everything; and to the south our view was intercepted by a peak higher than the Cimes Blanches, named the Grand Tournalin.^[7] But we got some innocent pleasure out of watching the gambolings of a number of goats, who became fast friends after we had given them some salt; in fact, too fast, and caused us no little annoyance when we were descending. "Carrel," I said, as a number of stones whizzed by which they had dislodged, "this must be put a stop to." "Diable!" he grunted, "it is very well to talk, but how will you do it?" I said that I would try; and sitting down, poured a little brandy into the hollow of my hand, and allured the nearest goat with deceitful gestures. It was one who had gobbled up the paper in which the salt had been carried—an animal of enterprising character—and it advanced fearlessly and licked up the brandy. I shall not easily forget its surprise. It stopped short, and coughed, and looked at me as much as to say, "Oh, you cheat!" and spat and ran away; stopping now and then to cough and spit again. We were not troubled any more by those goats. More snow fell during the night, and our attempt on the Matterhorn was postponed indefinitely. As there was nothing to be done at Breil, I determined to make the tour of the mountain, and commenced by inventing a pass from Breil to Zermatt,^[8] in place of the hackneyed Theodule. Any one who looks at the map will see that the latter pass makes a considerable detour to the east, and, apparently, goes out of the way. I thought that it was possible to strike out a shorter route, both in distance and in time, and we set out on the 3d of August, to carry out the idea. We followed the Theodule path for some time, but quitted it when it bore away to the east, and kept straight on until we struck the moraine of the Mont Cervin glacier. Our track still continued in a straight line up the centre of the glacier to the foot of a tooth of rock, which juts prominently out of the ridge (Furggengrat) connecting the Matterhorn with the Theodulehorn. The head of the glacier was connected with this little peak by a steep bank of snow; but we were able to go straight up, and struck the Col at its lowest point, a little to the right (that is to say, to the east) of the above-mentioned peak. On the north there was a snow-slope corresponding to that on the other side, but half-an-hour took us to its base; we then bore away over the nearly level plateau of the Furggengletscher, making a straight track to the Hörnli, from whence we descended to Zermatt by one of the well-known paths. This pass has been dubbed the Breuiljoch by the Swiss surveyors. It is a few feet higher than the Theodule, and it may be recommended to those who are familiar with that pass, as it gives equally fine views, and is accessible at all times. But it will never be frequented like the Theodule, as the snow-slope at its summit, at certain times, will require the use of the axe. It took us six hours and a quarter to go from one place to the other, which was an hour longer than we would have occupied by the Theodule, although the distance in miles is less.

It is stated in one of the MS. note-books of the late Principal J. D. Forbes, that this depression, now called the Breuiljoch, was formerly the pass between the Val Tournanche and Zermatt, and that it was abandoned for the Theodule in consequence of changes in the glaciers.^[9] The authority for the statement was not given. I presume it was from local tradition, but I readily credit it; for, before the time that the glaciers had shrunk to so great an extent, the steep snow-slopes above mentioned, in all probability, did not exist; but, most likely, the glaciers led by very gentle gradients up to the summit; in which case the route would have formed the natural highway between the two places. It is far from impossible, if the glaciers continue to diminish at their present rapid rate,^[10] that the Theodule itself, the easiest and the most frequented of all the higher Alpine passes, may, in the course of a few years, become somewhat difficult; and if this should be the case, the prosperity of Zermatt will probably suffer.^[11] Carrel and I wandered out again in the afternoon, and went, first of all, to a favourite spot with tourists near the end of the Gorner glacier (or, properly speaking, the Boden glacier), to a little verdant flat—studded with Euphrasia officinalis—the delight of swarms of bees, who gather there the honey which afterwards appears at the table d'hôte.

On our right the glacier-torrent thundered down the valley through a gorge with precipitous sides, not easily approached; for the turf at the top was slippery, and the rocks had everywhere been rounded by the glacier,—which formerly extended far away. This gorge seems to have been made chiefly by the torrent, and to have been excavated subsequently to the retreat of the glacier. It seems so because not merely upon its walls are there the marks of running water, but even upon the rounded rocks at the top of its walls, at a height of seventy or eighty feet above the present level of the torrent, there are some of those queer concavities which rapid streams alone are known to produce on rocks.

A little bridge, apparently frail, spans the torrent just above the entrance to this gorge, and from it one perceives, being fashioned in the rocks below, concavities similar to those to which reference has just been made. The torrent is seen hurrying forwards. Not everywhere. In some places the water strikes projecting angles, and, thrown back by them, remains almost stationary, eddying round and round: in others, obstructions fling it up in fountains, which play perpetually on the tender surfaces of overhanging masses; and sometimes do so in such a way that the water not only works upon the under surfaces, but round the corner; that is to say, upon the surfaces which are not opposed to the general direction of the current. In all cases concavities are being produced. Projecting angles are rounded, it is true, and are more or less convex, but they are overlooked on account of the prevalence of concave forms.

Cause and effect help each other here. The inequalities of the
WATER-WORN KOCKS IN THE GORGE BELOW THE GORNER GLACIER.torrent bed and walls cause its eddyings, and the eddies fashion the concavities. The more profound the latter become, the more disturbance is caused in the water. The destruction of the rocks proceeds at an ever-increasing rate; for the larger the amount of surface that is exposed, the greater are the opportunities for the assaults of heat and cold.

When water is in the form of glacier it has not the power of making concavities, such as these, in rocks, and of working upon surfaces which are not opposed to the direction of the current. Its nature is changed; it operates in a different way, and it leaves marks which are readily distinguished from those produced by torrent-action.

STRIATIONS PRODUCED BY GLACIER-ACTION (AT GRINDELWALD).

The prevailing forms which result from glacier-action are more or less convex. Ultimately, all angles and almost all curves are obliterated, and large areas of flat surfaces are produced. This perfection of abrasion is rarely found, except in such localities as have sustained a grinding much more severe than that which has occurred in the Alps; and, generally speaking, the dictum of the veteran geologist Studer, quoted below, is undoubtedly true.^[12] Not merely can the operations of extinct glaciers be traced in detail by means of the bosses of rock popularly termed roches moutonnées, but their effects in the aggregate, on a range of mountains or an entire country, can be recognised sometimes at a distance of fifteen or twenty miles from the incessant repetition of these convex forms.

It will not be uninteresting to consider, for a few moments, the way in which they are produced by glaciers; but first of all we must look back to the time when they had no existence.

§ 1. If ever the surface of the earth was as true as if it had been turned out from a lathe, it was certainly not so when the great glaciers—whose poor remnants we now see in the Alps—began to stretch far away from the mountains on to the lowlands of Switzerland and on to the plain of Piedmont,—unless geology is a lie. If geological reasoning is not a delusion and a snare, age upon age had passed away before this took place; rocks had crumbled into dust, and their particles had been re-arranged; lightning had struck the peaks; frost had cleft their ridges; avalanches had swept their slopes; earthquakes had fissured the soil; and torrents had transported the débris far and wide,—had eaten into the clefts, had scored the slopes, and had deepened the fissures for an indefinite length of time. It was, therefore, not a bran new world upon which the glaciers commenced to work—a globe which had been, as it were, just turned out of a mould; but it was scarred and weather-beaten; there were upon it hills and dales innumerable, cracks and chasms, asperities and depressions, which heat and cold had penetrated, and water had still further deepened. The world was incalculably old when this modern glacial period began its operations; and, although it continued for a long time, the glaciers were unable to obliterate the effects of the older and greater powers. The roches moutonnées owe their peculiar form to the grinding of ice certainly, but they were blocked out anterior to the formation of the glaciers. They were, when the ice quitted them, to what they were before the glaciers began to work, very much like what an old worn coin is to one that is newly struck. The hollows were not so much affected, but the eminences were ground down; the depressions of the modelling remained, but the parts in relief were taken away. It requires, therefore, some little effort to imagine what the rock forms were like before the glaciers of the glacial period began to operate upon them, but we cannot be wrong in assuming that the forms were similar to those exhibited by weathered rocks at the present time.

§ 2. Glacier ice is plastic, and can be moulded by pressure to almost any form. Hence, if a glacier could remain perfectly stationary, it would be moulded, by means of its own weight, to the surface upon which it reposed. But glaciers move, and consequently the bottom of one is never completely moulded to its rock-bed. The pressure from the weight of the ice is opposed by the motion of the glacier, and the ice is urged past depressions before it can be moulded to them.

For example, let Fig. 1 of the diagram on p. 144 represent a section of a portion of the bottom of a glacier which is beginning to work upon weathered rocks; g, g, indicating the glacier, and the arrow the direction in which the glacier is moving. The ice, after passing the eminences a, b, c, does not completely fill the hollows d, e, f.^[13]

These things can be observed at the sides of most considerable glaciers, and particularly well at several places on each bank of the Gorner glacier. At several places (such as at d in Fig. 1) one can get underneath and see the ice bridging hollows; and notice proof of its motion, and that it is partially moulded to the rocks, in the flutings upon the bottom of the glacier leading up to the eminences by which they have been caused.

Fig. 1.
Fig. 2.
Fig. 3.
Fig. 4.
Fig. 5.

§ 3. It is, therefore, evident that when a glacier passes over ground such as has been indicated in § 1, it is supported upon a number of points, and bridges many hollows; that the parts of the rock which the ice touches sustain the entire weight and friction of the glacier, and are alone abraded, while the hollows escape. § 4. But whilst the motion of the glacier is urging it onwards and over depressions, the weight of its ice is pressing it into the depressions, and hence the ice strikes the next projection at a lower level than it left the last one. For example, after passing the hollow D, the ice strikes the eminence B at a lower level than it left A (Fig. 1).

§ 5. The immediate effect is, that the minor asperities of the rock suffer, and chiefly those which are opposed to the direction of motion of the glacier. They may be actually crushed, or fragments which are already loose may be brushed or scraped away; in any case they disappear (Fig. 2).

§ 6. In consequence of this, the glacier becomes supported upon a larger area, and its power is exerted over a greater surface. It follows, also, that the amount, in depth, of the matter which is removed constantly diminishes, if the power that is employed continues to be the same.

§ 7. A long continuance of abrasion, from the friction of the ice and by the rasping of foreign matter contained in it, lowers the level of the rock eminences; but surfaces of fractures or depressions in the rock which are not opposed to the direction of the motion of the glacier remain unabraded, if they are perpendicular to the direction of the motion, or anything like perpendicular to it; and they will continue to exist (although becoming less and less) until the entire bed of the glacier (that is, the surface of the rocks) has been reduced, over large areas, nearly to a plane surface.

Rocks which have been rounded by glacier action (such as in Figs. 2, 3) are termed roches moutonnées, and unabraded surfaces of roches moutonnées (such as D, F, Figs. 2, 3) are termed lee-sides. The lee-sides often afford useful indications of the directions in which extinct glaciers have moved.

§ 8. If glaciers still continue to work upon roches moutonnées, the effects which are produced are only an extension of those described in § 7. The highest points of the rocks are most affected, while the sides of depressions escape wholly, or partially, according as they are unopposed or opposed, to the direction of the motion of the glacier. Eminences are entirely removed in course of time", and their positions, and those of cracks or depressions, are only indicated by faintly-marked convexities and concavities (Fig. 4). These may at length disappear, and large areas of rock may be reduced to plane surfaces.

Such surfaces are common in Greenland, in close proximity to, and extending underneath, existing glaciers. I propose to call them roches nivelées, to distinguish them from roches moutonnées.^[14]

§ 9. Striations are frequently produced on rocks by the passage of glaciers (see illustration on p. 141). They are caused by foreign matter in the bottoms of the glaciers, fixed in the ice, or rolling or sliding between it and the rocks. This foreign matter is partly made up of fragments which have been removed from the rock-bed by the action of the glacier, and partly from rocks which have fallen on to the surface of the glacier, and which have subsequently tumbled into crevasses, or otherwise worked their way down.^[15]

Generally speaking, striations are common upon rocks which are only 'moutonnées,' but they are rarer, or entirely wanting, upon roches nivelées. They indicate a comparatively early and coarse stage of glacier-action.

§ 10. More or less water is always found flowing underneath glaciers. It is produced by ablation of the surface of the glacier, and by other causes. In the earlier stages of glacier action (§§ 2-7) it finds a free course among the depressions beneath the ice; but as the rocks become smoother and flatter it has more difficulty in discovering outlets, and must materially assist in reducing the friction of the ice upon the rocks, and in the production of highly-polished surfaces, by causing less violent and more uniform abrasion.

Such, it appears to me, are the ways in which glaciers work upon rocks, and produce surfaces moutonnées or nivelées. Before I quit this subject, I wish to make one or two remarks upon the facts which have been stated, and to draw one or two conclusions which they seem to warrant.

1. The production of the peculiar rounded rock-forms which are termed roches moutonnées, is to be attributed to the extremely slow rate at which the bottoms of glaciers move, not less than to the plasticity of the ice. That the rate is very slow may be inferred from the fact, that the smallest fractures on rocks upon which glacier has worked for any length of time, have their weather and their lee sides. That is to say, before the ice is able to move in some cases over cavities only an eighth of an inch across, it is forced down into them, and strikes the little cliffs or slopes which are opposed to the direction of its motion at a lower level than it left those on the other side,—which latter ones remain sharp and unrounded. This can frequently be observed, even in most minute fractures, upon glaciated rocks which the ice has not long quitted.^[16] Fig. 5, p. 144, represents an example; the arrow points out the direction in which the glacier has moved, B the weather, and A the lee side.

This affords a means of distinguishing glacier from water action in hand specimens of rock.^[17]

2. There is reason to believe that if glaciers were to move with rapidity, instead of with such extreme deliberation, angular surfaces would not be rounded, but flat surfaces would be produced from the beginning. That is to say, instead of turning out surfaces, such as are shown in the section, Fig. 3, p. 144, after many centuries of work, glaciers might produce similar ones to Fig. 4, or even flatter, in the course of a few hours. The amount of flatness which would be produced would depend upon the rate of the motion and the bulk of the ice.

Professor Steenstrup, of Copenhagen, read to me in 1867, from an unpublished MS. in his possession, a highly interesting account of some extraordinary effects which were produced in Iceland, in the year 1721, by glacier in rapid motion. It seems that in the neighbourhood of the mountain Kötlugja, in the extreme south of the island, large bodies of water formed underneath, or within, the glaciers (either on account of the interior heat of the earth, or from other causes), and at length acquired irresistible power, tore the glaciers from their moorings on the land, and swept or floated them over every obstacle into the sea. Prodigious masses of ice were thus borne for a distance of about ten miles over land in the space of a few hours; and their bulk was so enormous, that they covered the sea for seven miles from the shore, and remained aground in one hundred fathoms. The denudation on the land was upon a grand scale. All superficial accumulations were swept away, and the bed-rock was exposed. It was described, in graphic language, how all irregularities and depressions were obliterated, and a smooth surface of several miles area was laid bare, and that this area had the appearance of having been "planed by a plane."^[18]

Admitting the possibility of exaggeration in the narrative as quoted below, there is not, I think, any reason to doubt the literal accuracy of the particular point to which attention has just been drawn; and hence it would appear that the effects produced on rocks by glacier ice in rapid motion may be identical with those caused by it after a great lapse of time, when it is working at its ordinary rate.

3. These results are not surprising when we remember that glaciers are always endeavouring to work in right lines. This is proved by the marks they leave, which Agassiz has well pointed out (see note to p. 146) are always more or less rectilinear.

This disposition to work in right lines, combined with inability to operate upon depressions (except to the limited extent already shown), points to the reason why it is that 'ultimately all angles, and almost all curves, are obliterated, and large areas of flat surfaces are produced' (p. 141).

It should be observed that glaciated rocks, of the forms termed moutonnées, cannot possibly have been eroded to any great depth by glaciers during the modern ^[19] glacial period.

The degree of flatness of glaciated rocks bears a direct relation to the amount of power which has been employed. In the earlier stages (§§ 2-7) the forms are round; in the more advanced ones, they are flat. The rotundity of the form of roches moutonnées is proof that no great amount of destruction has taken place; and their lee-sides are additional and equally strong evidence.

4. For, unless it can be shown to have been produced subsequently to the retreat of the ice, even a single lee-side to a glaciated rock informs us that we see a surface which was exposed to the atmosphere before the glaciers began to work; while many lee-sides, found together, one after another, within an area of a few yards (and they are often so found in localities where enormous depth of excavation has been presumed to have taken place through glacier agency), renders it certain that the entire surface of the bed-rock has been lowered, at the most, but a few yards.

Weathered rocks, upon a small scale, do not take shapes such as are figured in this diagram, but rather such as those which are shown in Fig. 1, p. 144. We do not find deep pits or troughs produced in rocks (whatever may be their nature or composition) by weathering or through any of the ordinary operations of nature. Still less do we find a large number of such pits or troughs close to one another. Therefore, when we see lee-sides as at D and F, Fig. 3, p. 144 (separated, perhaps, from each other by a distance of less than a dozen feet; and representing, as it has been already stated, the remains of hollows or fractures which existed before the glacier began to work), it is certain that the eminences B C, between them, have been lowered only a few feet; and probable that the depth of the rock which has been removed does not exceed the length of a line drawn from D to F. The unworn lee-sides to glaciated rocks have, therefore, a special value, as they afford indications (although imperfect ones), of the amount of excavation that has been performed by the glaciers which worked above and around them.

5. In § 6 it was stated that the amount, in depth, of the matter which is removed constantly diminishes, if the power that is employed continues to be the same. That is to say, if a glacier 1000 feet thick, moving down a valley at the rate of 300 feet per annum, is able to remove a depth of one inch from the whole of those portions of the surfaces that it touches, in the course of one year, the amount that it will remove in the course of the next (assuming that the depth of 1000 feet is maintained, and the rate of motion is the same) will not be one inch, but will be something less; because the power employed will be distributed over a greater area. It does not, however, follow that the bulk of the matter which is removed will be less and less from the very beginning.

There cannot, however, be a doubt but that, after a certain lapse of time, the bulk of the matter removed becomes less and less.

For these reasons. The rock that is removed is taken away by friction. Of two kinds. The first, of the foreign matter imbedded in the bottom of the glacier (or rolling underneath it) against the bed-rock, which foreign matter it has been already stated (§9) is derived from two sources—viz. from the rock-bed itself, and from masses which have fallen on to the surface of the glacier, and afterwards worked their way down.

It is obvious, as the rocks which are being operated upon by the glacier become more and more smooth, that the supply from the first of these sources must constantly diminish. It is equally certain that when the rock-bed has lost many of its asperities, and the glacier—so to speak—fits more closely to it, the matter which falls from above has greater difficulty in getting between the ice and the rock-bed. Here are two ways of accounting for the fact that striations are rare or wanting upon roches nivelées, and it will now be perceived why it was said (§9) that striations "indicate a comparatively early and coarse stage of glacier action."

There remains to be considered the friction of the ice itself against the rock-bed. This, too, must diminish as the surfaces over which the glacier passes become smoother and flatter. The more thoroughly parallel the bottom of the glacier and the bed-rock are to each other, the less friction will there be, and the less abrasion.

There is therefore good reason to believe that not only is the depth of rock removed from any given place less and less year by year, but that the total amount of matter removed by the glacier constantly diminishes. Just as a smoothing-plane, that is set fine, will take shaving after shaving from a plank (each shaving being thinner than the last), and at length glides over the wood without producing any effect except a kind of rude polishing; so a glacier, passing over rocks, takes shaving after shaving (in the form of sand or mud), and at length glides on, and puts the finishing touches, by polishing, to the surfaces which it had formerly prepared by rasping and filing.

The calculations of the effects that have been produced by glacier agency, which are based on the assumption that the amount of material removed is the same from one year to another, are necessarily fallacious. There are not, moreover, any data from which the amount of work can be calculated that glaciers perform in any given time; but there are indications in that direction, and, so far as they go, they seem to point to the conclusion that the effects which they have produced, in the way of making hollows, are much less important than many suppose.

6. If I were asked whether the action of glacier upon rocks should be considered as chiefly destructive or conservative, I should answer, without hesitation, principally as conservative. It is destructive, certainly, to a limited extent; but, like a mason who dresses a column that is to be afterwards polished, the glacier removes a small portion of the stone upon which it works, in order that the rest may be more effectually preserved. By obliterating the inequalities of the rock, and, consequently, by reducing the area of the surfaces which are exposed to the atmosphere to a minimum, the glacier, when it retires, leaves the rock in the best possible condition to withstand the attacks of heat, cold, and water.

It has been pointed out, times without number (even by those who are in the habit of accusing glaciers of the most frightful destructiveness), that the polished surfaces which they leave behind them seem to be imperishable. All who know are agreed that centuries, nay, thousands of years, pass away, and still the roches moutonnées retain their form.

In regard to the action of the glacier, when it is in full life and activity, all are not so agreed. But when one finds evidence that glaciers which existed through vast periods of time did nothing more than round pre-existing weathered forms, dress rough and uneven surfaces, and did not even entirely destroy the destructive work of the older and greater powers: while those powers were at the same time delving into the rocks which the glaciers were not covering; were not reducing the area of exposed surfaces, but, on the contrary, were continually increasing them, and were hurling down vast masses, of which but a small portion fell on to the glaciers (but which small portion probably equalled or exceeded in bulk all that the glaciers were removing), the conclusion can hardly be avoided that glaciers, in their life as well as after their death, either considered by themselves or in comparison with other powers, should be regarded as eminently conservative in their acts and in their intentions.

We finished up the 3d of August with a walk over the Findelen glacier, and returned to Zermatt at a later hour than we intended, both very sleepy. This is noteworthy only on account of that which followed. We had to cross the Col de Valpelline on the next day, and an early start was desirable. Monsieur Seiler, excellent man, knowing this, called us himself, and when he came to my door, I answered, "All right, Seiler, I will get up," and immediately turned over to the other side, saying to myself, "First of all, ten minutes more sleep." But Seiler waited and listened, and, suspecting the case, knocked again. "Herr Whymper, have you got a light?" Without thinking what the consequences might be, I answered, "No," and then the worthy man actually forced the lock off his own door to give me one. By similar and equally friendly and disinterested acts, Monsieur Seiler has acquired his enviable reputation.

At 4 a.m. we left his Monte Rosa Hotel, and were soon pushing our way through the thickets of grey alder that skirt the path up the exquisite little valley which leads to the Z'muttgletscher^[20] Nothing can seem or be more inaccessible than the Matterhorn upon this side; and even in cold blood one holds the breath when looking at its stupendous cliffs. There are but few equal to them in size in the Alps, and there are none which can more truly be termed precipices. Greatest of them all is the immense north cliff,—that which bends over towards the Z'muttgletscher. Stones which drop from the top of that amazing wall fall for about 1500 feet before they touch anything; and those which roll down from above, and bound over it, fall to a much greater depth, and leap well nigh 1000 feet beyond its base. This side of the mountain has always seemed sombre—sad—terrible; it is painfully suggestive of decay, ruin, and death; and it is now, alas! more than terrible by its associations.

"There is no aspect of destruction about the Matterhorn cliffs," says Professor Buskin. Granted;—when they are seen from afar. But approach, and sit down by the side of the Z'muttgletscher, and you will hear that their piecemeal destruction is proceeding ceaselessly—incessantly. You will hear, but, probably, you will not see; for even when the descending masses thunder as loudly as heavy guns, and the echoes roll back from the Ebihorn opposite, they will still be as pin-points against this grand old face, so vast is its scale!

If you would see the 'aspects of destruction,' you must come still closer, and climb its cliffs and ridges, or mount to the plateau of the Matterhorngletscher, which is cut up and ploughed up by these missiles, and strewn on the surface with their smaller fragments; the larger masses, falling with tremendous velocity, plunge into the snow and are lost to sight.

The Matterhorngletscher, too, sends down its avalanches, as if in rivalry with the rocks behind. Bound the whole of its northern side it does not terminate in the usual manner by gentle slopes, but comes to a sudden end at the top of the steep rocks which lie betwixt it and the Z'muttgletscher; and seldom does an hour pass without a huge slice breaking away, and falling with dreadful uproar on to the slopes below, where it is re-compacted.

The desolate, outside pines of the Z'mutt forests, stripped of their bark, and blanched by the weather, are a fit foreground to a scene that can hardly be surpassed in solemn grandeur. It is a subject worthy of the pencil of a great painter, and one which would tax the powers of the very greatest.

Higher up the glacier the mountain is less savage in appearance, but it is not less impracticable; and, three hours later, when we arrived at the island of rock, called the Stockje (which marks the end of the Z'muttgletscher proper, and which separates its higher feeder, the Stockgletscher, from its lower but greater one, the Tiefenmatten), Carrel himself, one of the least demonstrative of men, could not refrain from expressing wonder at the steepness of its faces, and at the audacity that had prompted us to camp upon the south-west ridge; the profile of which is seen very well from the Stockje^[21] Carrel then saw the north and north-west sides of the mountain for the first time, and was more firmly persuaded than ever, that an ascent was possible only from the direction of Breil. Three years afterwards I was traversing the same spot with the guide Franz Biener, when all at once a puff of wind brought to us a very bad smell; and, on looking about, we discovered a dead chamois half-way up the southern cliffs of the Stockje. We clambered up, and found that it had been killed by a most uncommon and extraordinary accident. It had slipped on the upper rocks, had rolled over and over down a slope of débris, without being able to regain its feet, had fallen over a little patch of rocks that projected through the débris, and had caught the points of both horns on a tiny ledge, not an inch broad. It had just been able to touch the débris, where it led away down from the rocks, and had pawed and scratched until it could no longer touch. It had evidently been starved to death, and we found the poor beast almost swinging in the air, with its head thrown back and tongue protruding, looking to the sky as if imploring help.

We had no such excitement as this in 1863, and crossed this easy pass to the chalets of Prerayen in a very leisurely fashion. From the summit to Prerayen let us descend in one step. The way has been described before; and those who wish for information about it should consult the description of Mr. Jacomb, the discoverer of the pass^[22] Nor need we stop at Prerayen, except to remark that the owner of the chalets (who is usually taken for a common herdsman) must not be judged by appearances. He is a man of substance; he has many flocks and herds; and although, when approached politely, is courteous, he can (and probably will) act as the master of Prerayen, if his position is not recognised, and with all the importance of a man who pays taxes to the extent of 500 francs per annum to his government.

The hill-tops were clouded when we rose from our hay on the 5th of August. We decided not to continue the tour of our mountain immediately, and returned over our track of the preceding day to the highest chalet on the left bank of the valley,^[23] with the intention of attacking the Dent d'Erin on the next morning. We were interested in this summit, more on account of the excellent view which it commanded of the south-west ridge and the terminal peak of the Matterhorn, than from any other reason.

The Dent d'Erin had not been ascended at this time, and we had diverged from our route on the 4th, and had scrambled some distance up the base of Mont Brulé, to see how far its south-western slopes were assailable. We were divided in opinion as to the best way of approaching the peak. Carrel, true to his habit of sticking to rocks in preference to ice, counselled ascending by the long buttress of the Tête de Bella Cia (which descends towards the west, and forms the southern boundary of the last glacier that falls into the Glacier de Zardesan), and thence traversing the heads of all the tributaries of the Zardesan to the western and rocky ridge of the Dent. I, on the other hand, proposed to follow the Glacier de Zardesan itself throughout its entire length, and from the plateau at its head (where my proposed route would cross Carrel's) to make directly towards the summit, up the snow-covered glacier slope, instead of by the western ridge. The hunchback, who was accompanying us on these excursions, declared in favour of Carrel's route, and it was accordingly adopted.

The first part of the programme was successfully executed; and at 10.30 a.m. on the 6th of August, we were sitting astride the western ridge, at a height of about 12,500 feet, looking down upon the Tiefenmatten glacier. To all appearance another hour would place us on the summit; but in another hour we found that we were not destined to succeed. The ridge (like all of the principal rocky ridges of the great peaks upon which I have stood) had been completely shattered by frost, and was nothing more than a heap of piled-up fragments. It was always narrow, and where it was narrowest it was also the most unstable and the most difficult. On neither side could we ascend it by keeping a little below its crest,—on the side of the Tiefenmatten because it was too steep, and on both sides because the dislodgment of a single block would have disturbed the equilibrium of all those which were above. Forced, therefore, to keep to the very crest of the ridge, and unable to deviate a single step either to the right or to the left, we were compelled to trust ourselves upon unsteady masses, which trembled under our tread, which sometimes settled down, grating in a hollow and ominous manner, and which seemed as if a little shake would send the whole roaring down in one awful avalanche.

I followed my leader, who said not a word, and did not rebel until we came to a place where a block had to be surmounted which lay poised across the ridge. Carrel could not climb it without assistance, or advance beyond it until I joined him above; and as he stepped off my back on to it, I felt it quiver and bear down upon me. I doubted the possibility of another man standing upon it without bringing it down. Then I rebelled. There was no honour to be gained by persevering, or dishonour in turning from a place which was dangerous on account of its excessive difficulty. So we returned to Prerayen, for there was too little time to allow us to re-ascend by the other route, which was subsequently shown to be the right way up the mountain.

Four days afterwards a party of Englishmen (including my friends, W. E. Hall, Crauford Grove, and Reginald Macdonald), arrived in the Valpelline, and (unaware of our attempt) on the 12th, under the skilful guidance of Melchior Anderegg, made the first ascent of the Dent d'Erin by the route which I had proposed. This is the only mountain which I have essayed to ascend, that has not, sooner or later, fallen to me. Our failure was mortifying, but I am satisfied that we did wisely in returning, and that if we had persevered, by Carrel's route, another Alpine accident would have been recorded. I have not heard that another ascent has been made of the Dent d'Erin.^[24]

On the 7th of August we crossed the Va Cornère pass,^[25] and had a good look at the mountain named the Grand Tournalin as we descended the Val de Chignana. This mountain was seen from so many points, and was so much higher than any peak in its immediate neighbourhood, that it was bound to give a very fine view; and (as the weather continued unfavourable for the Matterhorn) I arranged with Carrel to ascend it the next day, and despatched him direct to the village of Val Tournanche to make the necessary preparations, whilst I, with Meynet, made a short cut to Breil, at the back of Mont Panquero, by a little pass locally known as the Col de Fenêtre. I rejoined Carrel the same evening at Val Tournanche, and we started from that place at a little before 5 a.m. on the 8th, to attack the Tournalin.

Meynet was left behind for that day, and most unwillingly did the hunchback part from us, and begged hard to be allowed to come. "Pay me nothing, only let me go with you;" "I shall want but a little bread and cheese, and of that I won't eat much;" "I would much rather go with you than carry things down the valley." Such were his arguments, and I was really sorry that the rapidity of our movements obliged us to desert the good little man.

Carrel led over the meadows on the south and east of the bluff upon which the village of Val Tournanche is built, and then by a zig-zag path through a long and steep forest, making many short cuts, which showed he had a thorough knowledge of the ground. After we came again into daylight, our route took us up one of those little, concealed, lateral valleys which are so numerous on the slopes bounding the Val Tournanche.

This valley, the Combe de Ceneil, has a general easterly trend, and contains but one small cluster of houses (Ceneil). The Tournalin is situated at the head of the Combe, and nearly due east of the village of Val Tournanche, but from that place no part of the mountain is visible. After Ceneil is passed it comes into view, rising above a cirque of cliffs (streaked by several fine waterfalls), at the end of the Combe. To avoid these cliffs the path bends somewhat to the south, keeping throughout to the left bank of the valley, and at about 3500 feet above Val Tournanche, and 1500 feet above Ceneil and a mile or so to its east, arrives at the base of some moraines, which are remarkably large considering the dimensions of the glaciers which formed them. The ranges upon the western side of the Val Tournanche are seen to great advantage from this spot; but here the path ends and the way steepens.

When we arrived at these moraines, we had a choice of two routes. One, continuing to the east, over the moraines themselves, the débris above them, and a large snow-bed still higher up, to a kind of col or depression to the south of the peak, from whence an easy ridge led towards the summit. The other, over a shrunken glacier on our north-east (now, perhaps, not in existence), which led to a well-marked col on the north of the peak, from whence a less easy ridge rose directly to the highest point. We followed the first named of these routes, and in a little more than half-an-hour stood upon the Col, which commanded a most glorious view of the southern side of Monte Rosa, and of the ranges to its east, and to the east of the Val d'Ayas.

Whilst we were resting at this point a large party of vagrant chamois arrived on the summit of the mountain from the northern side, some of whom—by their statuesque position—seemed to appreciate the grand panorama by which they were surrounded, while others amused themselves, like two-legged tourists, in rolling stones over the cliffs. The clatter of these falling fragments made us look up. The chamois were so numerous that we could not count them; clustered around the summit, totally unaware of our presence; and they scattered in a panic, as if a shell had burst amongst them, when saluted by the cries of my excited comrade; plunging wildly down in several directions, with unfaltering and unerring bounds, with such speed and with such grace that we were filled with admiration and respect for their mountaineering abilities.

The ridge that led from the Col towards the summit was singularly easy, although well broken up by frost, and Carrel thought that it would not be difficult to arrange a path for mules out of the shattered blocks; but when we arrived on the summit we found ourselves separated from the very highest point by a cleft which had been concealed up to that time: its southern side was nearly perpendicular, but it was only fourteen or fifteen feet deep. Carrel lowered me down, and afterwards descended on to the head of my axe, and subsequently on to my shoulders, with a cleverness which was almost as far removed from my awkwardness as his own efforts were from those of the chamois. A few easy steps then placed us on the highest
CARREL LOWERED ME DOWN.point. It had not been ascended before, and we commemorated the event by building a huge cairn, which was seen for many a mile, and would have lasted for many a year, had it not been thrown down by the orders of Canon Carrel, on account of its interrupting the sweep of a camera which he took to the lower summit in 1868, in order to photograph the panorama. According to that well-known mountaineer, the summit of the Grand Tournalin is 6100 feet above the village of Val Tournanche, and 11,155 feet above the sea. Its ascent (including halts) occupied us only four hours.

I recommend the ascent of the Tournalin to any person who has a day to spare in the Val Tournanche. It should be remembered, however (if its ascent is made for the sake of the view), that these southern Pennine Alps seldom remain unclouded after mid-day, and, indeed, frequently not later than 10 or 11 a.m. Towards sunset the equilibrium of the atmosphere is restored, and the clouds very commonly disappear. I advise the ascent of this mountain not on account of its height, or from its accessibility or inaccessibility, but simply for the wide and splendid view which may be seen from its summit. Its position is superb, and the list of the peaks which can be seen from it includes almost the whole of the principal mountains of the Cottian, Dauphiné, Graian, Pennine, and Oberland groups. The view has, in the highest perfection, those elements of picturesqueness which are wanting in the purely panoramic views of higher summits. There are three principal sections, each with a central or dominating point, to which the eye is naturally drawn. All three alike are pictures in themselves; yet all are dissimilar. In the south, softened by the vapours of the Val d'Aoste, extends the long line of the Graians, with mountain after mountain 12,000 feet and upwards in height. It is not upon these, noble as some of them are, that the eye will rest, but upon the Viso, far off in the background. In the west and towards the north the range of Mont Blanc, and some of the greatest of the Central Pennine Alps (including the Grand Combin and the Dent Blanche), form the background, but they are overpowered by the grandeur of the ridges which culminate in the Matterhorn. Nor in the east and north, where pleasant grassy slopes lead downwards to the Val d'Ayas, nor upon the glaciers and snow-fields above them, nor upon the Oberland in the background, will the eye long linger, when immediately in front, several miles away, but seeming close at hand, thrown out by the pure azure sky, there are the glittering crests of Monte Rosa.

Those who would, but cannot, stand upon the highest Alps, may console themselves with the knowledge that they do not usually yield the views that make the strongest and most permanent impressions. Marvellous some of the panoramas seen from the greatest peaks undoubtedly are; but they are necessarily without those isolated and central points which are so valuable pictorially. The eye roams over a multitude of objects (each, perhaps, grand individually), and, distracted by an embarrassment of riches, wanders from one to another, erasing by the contemplation of the next the effect that was produced by the last; and when those happy moments are over, which always fly with too great rapidity, the summit is left with an impression that is seldom durable, because it is usually vague.

No views create such lasting impressions as those which are seen but for a moment, when a veil of mist is rent in twain, and a single spire or dome is disclosed. The peaks which are seen at these moments are not, perhaps, the greatest or the noblest, but the recollection of them outlives the memory of any panoramic view, because the picture, photographed by the eye, has time to dry, instead of being blurred, while yet wet, by contact with other impressions. The reverse is the case with the bird's-eye panoramic views from the great peaks, which sometimes embrace a hundred miles in nearly every direction. The eye is confounded by the crowd of details, and unable to distinguish the relative importance of the objects which are seen. It is almost as difficult to form a just estimate (with the eye) of the respective heights of a number of peaks from a very high summit, as it is from the bottom of a valley. I think that the grandest and the most satisfactory stand-points for viewing mountain scenery are those which are sufficiently elevated to give a feeling of depth, as well as of height, which are lofty enough to exhibit wide and varied views, but not so high as to sink everything to the level of the spectator. The view from the Grand Tournalin is a favourable example of this class of panoramic views.

We descended from the summit by the northern route, and found it tolerably stiff clambering as far as the Col; but thence, down the glacier, the way was straightforward, and we joined the route taken on the ascent at the foot of the ridge leading towards the east. In the evening we returned to Breil.

There is an abrupt rise in the valley about two miles to the north of the village of Val Tournanche, and just above this step the torrent has eaten its way into its bed and formed an extraordinary chasm, which has long been known by the name Gouffre des Busserailles. We lingered about this spot to listen to the thunder of the concealed water, and to watch its tumultuous boiling as it issued from the gloomy cleft, but our efforts to peer into the mysteries of the place were baffled. In November 1865, the intrepid Carrel induced two trusty comrades—the Maquignaz's of Val Tournanche—to lower him by a rope into the chasm and over the cataract. The feat required iron nerves, and muscles and sinews of no ordinary kind; and its performance alone stamps Carrel as a man of dauntless courage. One of the Maquignaz's subsequently descended in the same way, and these two men were so astonished at what they saw, that they forthwith set to work with hammer and chisel to make a way into this romantic gulf. In a few days they constructed a rough but convenient plank gallery into the centre of the gouffre, along its walls; and, on payment of a toll of half-a-franc, any one can now enter the Gouffre des Busserailles.

I cannot, without a couple of sections and a plan, give an exact idea to the reader of this remarkable place. It corresponds in some of its features to the gorge figured upon page 140, but it exhibits in a much more notable manner the characteristic action and power of running water. The length of the chasm or gouffre is about 320 feet, and from the top of its walls to the surface of the water is about 110 feet. At no part can the entire length or depth be seen at a glance; for, although the width at some places is 15 feet or more, the view is limited by the sinuosities of the walls. These are everywhere polished to a smooth, vitreous-in-appearance surface, In some places the torrent has wormed into the rock, and has left natural bridges. The most extraordinary features of the Gouffre des Busserailles, however, are the caverns (or marmites as they are termed), which the water has hollowed out of the heart of the rock. Carrel's plank path leads into one of the greatest,—a grotto that is about 28 feet across at its largest diameter, and 15 or 16 feet high; roofed above by the living rock, and with the torrent roaring 50 feet or thereabouts below, at the bottom of a fissure. This cavern is lighted by candles, and talking in it can only be managed by signs.

I visited the interior of the gouffre in 1869, and my wonder at its caverns was increased by observing the hardness of the hornblende out of which they have been hollowed. Carrel chiselled off a large piece, which is now lying before me. It has a highly polished, glassy surface, and might be mistaken, for a moment, for ice-polished rock. But the water has found out the atoms which were least hard, and it is dotted all over by minute depressions, much as the face of one is who has suffered from smallpox. The edges of these little hollows are rounded, and the whole surfaces of the depressions are polished nearly, or quite, as highly as the general surface of the fragment.^[26] The water has drilled more deeply into some veins of steatite than in other places, and the presence of the steatite may possibly have had something to do with the formation of the gouffre.

I arrived at Breil again after an absence of six days, well satisfied with my tour of the Matterhorn, which had been rendered very pleasant by the willingness of my guides, and by the kindliness of the natives. But it must be admitted that the inhabitants of the Val Tournanche are behind the times. Their paths are as bad as, or worse than, they were in the time of De Saussure, and their inns are much inferior to those on the Swiss side. If it were otherwise there would be nothing to prevent the valley becoming one of the most popular and frequented of all the valleys in the Alps; but, as it is, tourists who enter it seem to think only about how soon they can get out of it, and hence it is much less known than it deserves to be on account of its natural attractions.

I believe that the great hindrance to the improvement of the paths in the Italian valleys generally is the wide-spread impression that the innkeepers would alone directly benefit by any amelioration of their condition. To a certain extent this view is correct; but inasmuch as the prosperity of the natives is connected with that of the innkeepers, the interests of both are pretty nearly identical. Until their paths are rendered less rough and swampy, I think the Italians must submit to see the golden harvest principally reaped in Switzerland and Savoy. At the same time, let the innkeepers look to the commissariat. Their supplies are not unfrequently deficient in quantity, and, according to my experience, very often deplorable in quality.

I will not venture to criticise in detail the dishes which are brought to table, since I am profoundly ignorant of their constitution. It is commonly said amongst Alpine tourists that goat flesh represents mutton, and mule does service for beef and chamois. I reserve my own opinion upon this point until it has been shown what becomes of all the dead mules. But I may say, I hope, without wounding the susceptibilities of my acquaintances among the Italian innkeepers, that it would tend to smoothen their intercourse with their guests if requests for solid food were less frequently regarded as criminal. The deprecating airs with which inquiries for really substantial food are received always remind me of a Dauphiné innkeeper, who remarked that he had heard a good many tourists travel in Switzerland. "Yes," I answered, "there are a good many." "How many?" "Well," I said, "I have seen a hundred or more sit down at a table d'hôte." He lifted up his hands—"Why," said he, "they would want meat every day!" "Yes, that is not improbable." " In that case," he replied, "I think we are better without them."

---

1. Saturday Review, August 8, 1863.
2. The pinnacle, in fact, had a name,—'L'ange Anbé.'
3. Saturday Review, 1863, and Macmillan's Magazine, 1869.
4. I have entered into this matter because much surprise has been expressed that Carrel was able to pass this place, without any great difficulty, in 1865, which turned back so strong a party in 1862. The cause of Professor Tyndall's defeat was simply that his second guide (Walter) did not give aid to Bennen when it was required, and that the Carrels would not act as guides after having been hired as porters. J. A. Carrel not only knew of the existence of this place before they came to it; but always believed in the possibility of passing it, and of ascending the mountain; and had he been leader to the party I do not doubt that he might have taken Tyndall to the top. But when appealed to to assist Bennen (a Swiss, and the recognised leader of the party), was it likely that he (an Italian, a porter), who intended to be the first man up the mountain by a route which he regarded peculiarly his own, would render any aid?

   It is not so easy to understand how Dr. Tyndall and Bennen overlooked the existence of this cleft, for it is seen over several points of the compass, and particularly well from the southern side of the Theodule pass. Still more difficult is it to explain how the Professor came to consider that he was only a stone's-throw from the summit; for, when he got to the end of "the shoulder," he must have been perfectly aware that the whole height of the final peak was still above him.

5. Dr. Tyndall ascended the Matterhorn in 1868. See Appendix.
6. Information upon the Val Tournanche will be found in De Saussure's Voyages dans les Alpes, vol. iv. pp. 379-81, 406-9; in Canon Carrel's pamphlet, La Vallée de Valtornenche en 1867; and in King's Italian Valleys of the Alps, pp. 220-1.
7. I shall speak again of this mountain, and therefore pass it over for the present.
8. See the map of the Matterhorn and its glaciers.
9. My attention was directed to this note by Mr. A. Adams-Reilly.
10. The summit of the Theodule pass is 10,899 feet above the sea. It is estimated that of late about a thousand tourists have crossed it per annum. In the winter, when the crevasses are bridged over and partially filled up, and the weather is favourable, cows and sheep pass over it from Zermatt to Val Tournanche, and vice versa.

    In the middle of August, 1792, De Saussure appears to have taken mules from Breil, over the Val Tournanche glacier to the summit of the Theodule; and on a previous journey he did the same, also in the middle of August. He distinctly mentions (§ 2220) that the glacier was completely covered with snow, and that no crevasses were open. I do not think mules could have been taken over the same spot in any August during the past ten years without great difficulty. In that month the glacier is usually very bare of snow, and many crevasses are open. They are easily enough avoided by those on foot, but would prove very troublesome to mules.

    A few days before we crossed the Breuiljoch in 1863, Mr. F. Morshead made a parallel pass to it. He crossed the ridge on the western side of the little peak, and followed a somewhat more difficult route than ours. In 1865 I wanted to use Mr. Morshead's pass (see Chap, xv.), but found that it was not possible to descend the Zermatt side; for, during the two years which had elapsed, the glacier had shrunk so much that it was completely severed from the summit of the pass, and we could not get down the rocks that were exposed.

11. The admirable situation of Zermatt has been known for, at least, thirty years, but it is only within the last twelve or fourteen that it has become an approved Alpine centre. Thirty years ago the Theodule pass, the Weissthor, and the Col d'Herens, were, I believe, the only routes ever taken from Zermatt across the Pennine Alps. At the present time there are (inclusive of these passes and of the valley road) no less than twenty-four different ways in which a tourist may go from Zermatt. The summits of some of these cols are more than 14,000 feet above the level of the sea, and a good many of them cannot be recommended either for ease, or as offering the shortest way from Zermatt to the valleys and villages to which they lead.

    Zermatt itself is still only a village with 500 inhabitants (about thirty of whom are guides), with picturesque chalet dwellings, black with age. The hotels, including the inn on the Riffelberg, all belong to one proprietor (M. Alexandre Seller), to whom the village and valley are very much indebted for their prosperity, and who is the best person to consult for information, or in all cases of difficulty.

12. "Un des faits les mieux constatés est que l'érosion des glaciers se distingue de celle des eaux en ce que la premiere produit des roches convexes ou moutonnées, tandis que la seconde donne lieu a des concavites."—Prof. B. Studer, Origine des Lacs Suisses.
13. The outline is a tracing from a photograph of weathered, tinglaciated rocks.
14. De Saussure was the author of the term roches moutonnées, and he gave (§ 1061) the following reason for its adoption:—"Farther off, behind the village of Juviana or Envionne, rocks are seen having the shape which I call moutonnée. . . The hillocks (montagnes) to which I apply this expression, are composed of a group of rounded prominences (têtes arrondies). . . These contiguous and frequent domes (rondeurs) give, as a whole, the impression of a well-furnished fleece, or one of those wigs which are also called moutonnées."

    The term was an appropriate one, applied as De Saussure used it, but it is unmeaning when applied to the more perfectly glaciated, levelled surfaces.

15. "One who is familiar with the track of this mighty engine will recognise at once where the large boulders have hollowed out their deeper furrows, where small pebbles have drawn their finer marks, where the stones with angular edges have left their sharp scratches, where sand and gravel have rubbed and smoothed the rocky surface, and left it bright and polished. . . These marks are not to be mistaken by any one who has carefully observed them; the scratches, furrows, grooves, are always rectilinear, tending in the direction in which the glacier is moving, and most distinct on that side of the surface-inequalities facing the direction of the moving mass, while the lee-side remains mostly untouched. . . .

    "Here and there on the sides of the glacier it is possible to penetrate between the walls and the ice to a great depth, and even to follow such a gap to the very bottom of the valley; and everywhere do we find the surface of the ice fretted as I have described it, with stones of every size, from the "pebble to the boulder, and also with sand and gravel of all sorts, from the coarsest grain to the finest, and these materials, more or less firmly set in the ice, form the grating surface with which, on its onward movement down the Alpine valleys, it leaves everywhere unmistak cable traces of its passage." — Agassiz, in The Atlantic Monthly.

16. Glaciated rocks which have been exposed to the atmosphere for any length of time, lose, of course, all such delicate touches.
17. See p. 167.
18. The account of Professor Steenstrup was, I believe, copied many years ago, when he was travelling in Iceland, from an original Icelandic MS. Professor Paijkull, of Upsala, was favoured by Professor Steenstrup with a sight of his MS., and printed some extracts from it in his work En Sommer i Island, Copenhagen, 1867. The following paragraphs, which refer to this possibly unique occurrence, are taken from the English translation of that work:—

    "At the commencement of the eruption a stream burst forth, consisting principally of half-melted snow and large masses of ice, which tumbled about in the sea like floating islands; while, simultaneously, another stream issued in a south-easterly direction, and inflicted great injury on the land. The first of these two streams filled the sea with ice to such an extent that even from the highest mountains it was impossible to see open water till it was broken up by the action of the waves. It then drifted westward as far as Reykjanes, and up into the rivers along the coast, so that large icebergs were left standing in the bed of the river in the Ölfusá. The greater portion, however, of the ice that had been washed down from the glacier remained fixed aground at a distance of about seven miles from land, in a hundred fathoms water. It formed, moreover, a high ridge over the land from the sea as far as Hafrsey, a fjeld on Myrdalssandr. ... A stream of similar terrific character broke out on the following day, and submerged the masses of ice that had been previously discharged into the sea, as far as the eye could reach. Further, it made its way through Kerlingar valley, and dammed up the stream there. The deluge, or, more properly speaking, the ice, carried, moreover, immense masses of rock with it; and in the vicinity of Hjorleifshofdi, a mountain on Myrdalssandr, a rock of twenty fathoms in height, entirely disappeared; not to speak of other instances. One can form some idea of the altitude of this barrier of ice, when it is mentioned that from Höfdabrekka farm, which lies high up on a fjeld of the same name, one could not see Hjörleifshofdi opposite, which is a fell 640 feet in height; but in order to do so, had to clamber up a mountain slope east of Höfdabrekka, 1200 feet high. The distance between Höfdabrekka and Hjörleifshofdi is one (Danish) geographical mile, or the fifteenth part of a degree."

19. Geologists begin to speak of glacial periods of a much more remote date than that to which I am referring.
20. The path on the right bank (southern side) of the valley is much more picturesque than that on the other side. For our route, see the maps of the valley of Zermatt and the valley of Valpelline.
21. Professor Ruskin's view of "the Cervin from the north-west" (Modern Painters, vol. iv.) is taken from the Stockje. The Col du Lion is the little depression on the ridge, close to the margin of the engraving, on the right hand side; the third tent-platform was formed at the foot of the perpendicular cliff, on the ridge, exactly one-third way between the Col du Lion and the summit. The battlemented portion of the ridge, a little higher up, is called the "crête du coq;" and the nearly horizontal portion of the ridge above it is "the shoulder." It is high testimony to the accuracy of Mr. Ruskin's work that it is possible to point out minutiæ such as these upon an engraving that was published fourteen years ago.
22. Peaks, Passes, and Glaciers—second series.

    The summit of the Col de Yalpelline is about 11,650 feet above the sea. The pass is the easiest one in the Alps of this height, and (if the best route is followed) it may be crossed during fine weather, and under favourable circumstances, without cutting a single step. It may be added, at the same time, that if one does not take the best route, the pass may become one of first-rate difficulty. Much time and trouble will be saved by strictly adhering to the left bank (eastern side) of the Zardesan glacier. Mr. Jacomb followed the right bank.

    There is a very fine view from the point that is situated about two-thirds of a mile S. by E. of the summit of the Col. This point (marked 3813 mètres=12,410 feet, on the map of the Valley of Zermatt) has no name. It is connected with the Col by snow-covered glacier at a very moderate angle, and from it one looks well over the Tête Blanche, which is 200 feet less in elevation. It was ascended by the author in 1866.

23. See map of the Valley of Valpelline. The chalet is marked "la vielle."

    The reader will probably notice the discrepancies between this part of the map of the Valley of Zermatt and that of the Valley of Valpelline. The latter one is correct. The former is after the Swiss Government map, which is extremely accurate on the Swiss side of the frontier line, but does not pretend to be so on the Italian side.

24. On p. 10 it is stated that there was not a pass from Prerayen to Breil in 1860, and this is correct. On July 8, 1868, my enterprising guide, Jean-Antoine Carrel, started from Breil at 2 a.m. with a well-known comrade—J. Baptiste Bic, of Val Tournanche—to endeavour to make one. They went towards the glacier which descends from the Dent d'Erin to the south-east, and on arriving at its base, ascended at first by some snow between it and the cliffs on its south, and afterwards took to the cliffs themselves. [This glacier they called the glacier of Mont Albert, after the local name of the peak which on Mr. Reilly's map of the Valpelline is called ' Les Jumeaux.' On Mr. Reilly's map the glacier is called 'Glacier d'Erin.'] They ascended the rocks to a considerable height, and then struck across the glacier, towards the north, to a small 'rognon' (isolated patch of rocks) that is nearly in the centre of the glacier. They passed above this, and between it and the great seracs. Afterwards their route led them towards the Dent d'Erin, and they arrived at the base of its final peak by mounting a couloir (gully filled with snow), and the rocks at the head of the glacier. They gained the summit of their pass at 1 p.m., and, descending by the glacier of Zardesan, arrived at Prerayen at 6.30 p.m.

    As their route joins that taken by Messrs. Hall, Grove, and Macdonald, on their ascent of the Dent d'Erin in 1863, it is evident that that mountain can be ascended from Breil. Carrel considers that the route taken by himself and his comrade Bic can be improved upon; and, if so, it is possible that the ascent of the Dent d'Erin can be made from Breil in less time than from Prerayen. Breil is very much to be preferred as a starting-point.

25. See p. 11. The height of this pass, according to Canon Carrel, is 10,335 feet.
26. The depressions in glaciated rocks (which are not water-worn) are more or less angular. See p. 148.