Scrambles amongst the Alps/Appendix

by Edward Whymper

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A. Progress of the Great Tunnel through the Alps.

The advanced galleries of the Mont Cenis tunnel were successfully joined upon Dec. 26, 1870.^[1] Their progress in 1870 was unusually rapid. In the first eleven months, 1511 mètres were driven; whereas in the whole of 1869 they progressed only 1431 mètres. At the end of 1870 about 1000 mètres of the tunnel still remained to be lined with masonry, and it was anticipated that it could be quite finished, ready for use, by July or August 1871. The railway from Susa to Bardonnêche will also be completed by that time, but the line that is to connect Modaue with St. Michel will not be ready until about the end of the year, so that the opening of the tunnel will probably be delayed until this latter period.

Signor F. Giordano (inspector of Italian mines) made some observations upon the natural temperature of the rock in the tunnel, at the end of 1870; and I learn that the highest reading he obtained (near the centre) was 85°1 Faht. The temperature of the air at the same part was slightly above 86°. About 85° will doubtless be the temperature of the middle of the tunnel for a considerable time, although it is sure to cool gradually. Travellers who go through it in the winter time will, therefore, pass from an almost arctic climate to a sub-tropical one in a distance of three and a half miles.^[2]

The following paragraph (appended as a note to pp. 78-9) explains itself:—

A Coal-pit on Fire.—On Friday morning, Jan. 13, it was discovered that one of the coal-pits at West Ardsley, near Leeds, belonging to the West Yorkshire Iron and Coal Company, had taken fire, and the most serious consequences were imminent. The men and boys, amounting to several hundreds, were drawn out of the pit with the utmost rapidity, and the usual measures taken for extinguishing such fires. This pit is fortunately worked by machine coal-cutters, driven by compressed air. The pipes which convey the compressed air into the workings were promptly connected with the water reservoir at the surface, and the water transmitted through the pipes to the place where the fire was raging. Through the great pressure of the water, the shaft being 170 yards deep, there was a powerful stream steadily playing upon the burning matter, and in less than an hour the fire was subdued and all danger overcome. It seems that at the spot where the fire took place there is a 'throw,' or 'fault,' and some gas had accumulated, which, on the firing of a shot, was ignited, and thus set fire to the coal and waste. The fortunate circumstance that the pit is worked by air-machinery has saved the proprietors from the loss of many thousands of pounds, which otherwise would have been inevitable, and a very large population would have been thrown out of employment during this very inclement season.—Standard, Jan. 17, 1871.

B. The Death of Bennen.^[3]

On February 28, 1864, Mr. P. C. Gosset and Mr. B—— started from the village of Ardon (about mid-way between Sion and Martigny), to make the ascent of the Haut-de-Cry (9688 feet), with the guides J. J. Nance, F. Rebot, A. Bevard, and J. J. Bennen. They arrived within a few hundred feet of the summit before mid-day, and determined to complete the ascent by following the crest of a ridge leading towards the east. Before this could be done it was necessary to cross some steep snow; and, while passing this, an avalanche was unfortunately started. Bennen and Mr. B—— perished; the others happily escaped. The following narrative, from the pen of Mr. Gosset, illustrates, in a very impressive manner, the danger of traversing new-fallen snow at considerable inclinations:—

"We had to go up a steep snow-field, about 800 feet high, as well as I remember. It was about 150 feet broad at the top, and 400 or 500 at the bottom. It was a sort of couloir on a large scale. During the ascent we sank about one foot deep at every step. Bennen did not seem to like the look of the snow very much. He asked the local guides whether avalanches ever came down this couloir, to which they answered that our position was perfectly safe. We had mounted on the northern side of the couloir, and having arrived at 150 feet from the top, we began crossing it on a horizontal curve, so as to gain the E. arête. The inflexion or dip of the couloir was slight, not above 25 feet, the inclination near 35°. We were walking in the following order:—Bevard, Nance, Bennen, myself, B., and Rebot. Having crossed over about three-quarters of the breadth of the couloir, the two leading men suddenly sank considerably above their waists. Bennen tightened the rope. The snow was too deep to think of getting out of the hole they had made, so they advanced one or two steps, dividing the snow with their bodies. Bennen turned round and told us he was afraid of starting an avalanche; we asked whether it would not be better to return and cross the couloir higher up. To this the three Ardon men opposed themselves; they mistook the proposed precaution for fear, and the two leading men continued their work. After three or four steps gained in the aforesaid manner, the snow became hard again. Bennen had not moved—he was evidently undecided what he should do; as soon, however, as he saw hard snow again, he advanced and crossed parallel to, but above, the furrow the Ardon men had made. Strange to say, the snow supported him. While he was passing I observed that the leader, Bevard, had ten or twelve feet of rope coiled round his shoulder. I of course at once told him to uncoil it and get on the arête, from which he was not more than fifteen feet distant. Bennen then told me to follow. I tried his steps, but sank up to my waist in the very first. So I went through the furrows, holding my elbows close to my body, so as not to touch the sides. This furrow was about twelve feet long, and as the snow was good on the other side, we had all come to the false conclusion that the snow was accidentally softer there than elsewhere. Bennen advanced; he had made but a few steps when we heard a deep, cutting sound. The snow-field split in two about fourteen or fifteen feet above us. The cleft was at first quite narrow, not more than an inch broad. An awful silence ensued; it lasted but a few seconds, and then it was broken by Bennen's voice, 'We are all lost.' His words were slow and solemn, and those who knew him felt what they really meant when spoken by such a man as Bennen. They were his last words. I drove my alpenstock into the snow, and brought the weight of my body to bear on it. I then waited. It was an awful moment of suspense. I turned my head towards Bennen to see whether he had done the same thing. To my astonishment I saw him turn round, face the valley, and stretch out both arms. The snow on which we stood began to move slowly, and I felt the utter uselessness of any alpenstock. I soon sank up to my shoulders, and began descending backwards. From this moment I saw nothing of what had happened to the rest of the party. With a good deal of trouble I succeeded in turning round. The speed of the avalanche increased rapidly, and before long I was covered up with snow. I was suffocating when I suddenly came to the surface again. I was on a wave of the avalanche, and saw it before me as I was carried down. It was the most awful sight I ever saw. The head of the avalanche was already at the spot where we had made our last halt. The head alone was preceded by a thick cloud of snow-dust; the rest of the avalanche was clear. Around me I heard the horrid hissing of the snow, and far before me the thundering of the foremost part of the avalanche. To prevent myself sinking again, I made use of my arms much in the same way as when swimming in a standing position. At last I noticed that I was moving slower; then I saw the pieces of snow in front of me stop at some yards' distance; then the snow straight before me stopped, and I heard on a large scale the same creaking sound that is produced when a heavy cart passes over frozen snow in winter. I felt that I also had stopped, and instantly threw up both arms to protect my head in case I should again be covered up. I had stopped, but the snow behind me was still in motion; its pressure on my body was so strong, that I thought I should be crushed to death. This tremendous pressure lasted but a short time; I was covered up by snow coming from behind me. My first impulse was to try and uncover my head—but this I could not do, the avalanche had frozen by pressure the moment it stopped, and I was frozen in. Whilst trying vainly to move my arms, I suddenly became aware that the hands as far as the wrist had the faculty of motion. The conclusion was easy, they must be above the snow. I set to work as well as I could; it was time, for I could not have held out much longer. At last I saw a faint glimmer of light. The crust above my head was getting thinner, but I could not reach it any more with my hands; the idea struck me that I might pierce it with my breath. After several efforts I succeeded in doing so, and felt suddenly a rush of air towards my mouth. I saw the sky again through a little round hole. A dead silence reigned around me; I was so surprised to be still alive, and so persuaded at the first moment that none of my fellow-sufferers had survived, that I did not even think of shouting for them. I then made vain efforts to extricate my arms, but found it impossible; the most I could do was to join the ends of my fingers, but they could not reach the snow any longer. After a few minutes I heard a man shouting; what a relief it was to know that I was not the sole survivor! to know that perhaps he was not frozen in and could come to my assistance! I answered; the voice approached, but seemed uncertain where to go, and yet it was now quite near. A sudden exclamation of surprise! Rebot had seen my hands. He cleared my head in an instant, and was about to try and cut me out completely, when I saw a foot above the snow, and so near to me that I could touch it with my arms, although they were not quite free yet. I at once tried to move the foot; it was my poor friend's. A pang of agony shot through me as I saw that the foot did not move. Poor B. had lost sensation, and was perhaps already dead. Rebot did his best: after some time he wished me to help him, so he freed my arms a little more so that I could make use of them. I could do but little, for Rebot had torn the axe from my shoulder as soon as he had cleared my head (I generally carry an axe separate from my alpenstock—the blade tied to the belt, and the handle attached to the left shoulder). Before coming to me Rebot had helped Nance out of the snow; he was lying nearly horizontally, and was not much covered over. Nance found Bevard, who was upright in the snow, but covered up to the head. After about twenty minutes the two last-named guides came up. I was at length taken out; the snow had to be cut with the axe down to my feet before I could be pulled out. A few minutes after one o'clock p.m. we came to my poor friend's face. . . . I wished the body to be taken out completely, but nothing could induce the three guides to work any longer, from the moment they saw that it was too late to save him. I acknowledge that they were nearly as incapable of doing anything as I was. When I was taken out of the snow the cord had to be cut. We tried the end going towards Bennen, but could not move it; it went nearly straight down, and showed us that there was the grave of the bravest guide the Valais ever had, and ever will have. The cold had done its work on us; we could stand it no longer, and began the descent."

C. Struck by Lightning upon the Matterhorn.^[4]

[Mr. R. B. Heathcote, of Chingford, Essex, whilst attempting to ascend the Matterhorn by the southern route, was unfortunately used as a lightning-conductor, when he was within 500 feet of the summit of the mountain. It may be observed that the Matterhorn (like all isolated Alpine rock summits) is frequently struck by lightning. Signor Giordano has pointed out elsewhere that he found numerous traces of electric discharges upon the top of the mountain.]^[5]

"On July 30, 1869, in company with Peter Perrn, Peter Taugwalder junior, and Jos. Maquignaz, I commenced the ascent. The atmosphere was clear, and the wind southerly. When very near to the summit an extremely loud thunder-clap was heard, and we thought it prudent to descend. We commenced the descent in the following order:—Taugwalder first, myself next, then Perrn, and Maquignaz last. On approaching the Col de Felicité^[6] I received a sharp, stinging blow on the leg, and thought, at first, that a stone had been dislodged; but a loud thunder-clap at once told me what it was. Perrn also said that he had been hit on the leg. In a few moments I received a hit on the right arm, which seemed to run along it, and resembled a shock from a galvanic battery. At the same time all the men gave a startled shriek, and exclaimed that they were hit by lightning. The storm continued near us for some little time, and then gradually died away. On arriving at the cabane I found that Perrn had a long sore on his arm; next morning his leg was much swollen and very weak. We descended to Breil on the following day, and crossed to Zermatt. The same day my hand began to swell, and it continued very weak for about a week. Maquignaz's neck was much swollen on each side; the lightning hitting him (according to his account) on the back, and upon each side of the neck. Taugwalder's leg was also slightly swollen. The thunder was tremendous—louder than I have ever heard it before. There was no wind, nor rain, and everything was in a mist."

D. Note to Chapter VIII.See p. 179.

It was stated in the commencement of this chapter that-the Pointe des Ecrins was the highest mountain in France. I have learned, since that paragraph was written, that Captain Mieulet has determined that the height of the Aiguille Verte is 13,540 feet; that mountain is consequently 78 feet higher than the Pointe des Ecrins, and is the highest in France.

E. Subsequent History of the Matterhorn.^[7]

The Val Tournanche natives who started to facilitate the way up the south-west ridge of the Matterhorn for MM. Giordano and Sella, pitched their tent upon the third platform, at the foot of the Great Tower (12,992 feet), and enjoyed several days of bad weather under its shelter. On the first fine day (13th of July) they began their work, and about midday on the 14th got on to the 'shoulder,' and arrived at the base of the final peak (the point where Bennen stopped on July 28, 1862). The counsels of the party were then divided. Two—Jean-Antoine Carrel and Joseph Maquignaz—wished to go on; the others were not eager about it. A discussion took place, and the result was they all commenced to descend, and whilst upon the 'cravate' (13,524) they heard our cries from the summit.^[8] Upon the 15th they went down to Breil and reported their ill-success to M. Giordano (see p. 392). That gentleman was naturally much disappointed, and pressed the men to set out again.^[9] Said he, "Until now I have striven for the honour of making the first ascent,—fate has decided against me,—I am beaten. Patience! Now, if I make further sacrifices it will be on your account, for your honour, and for your interests. Will you start again to settle the question, or, at least, to let there be no more uncertainty?" The majority of the men (in fact the whole of them with the exception of Jean-Antoine) refused point-blank to have anything more to do with the mountain. Carrel, however, stepped forward, saying, "As for me, I have not given it up; if you (turning to the Abbé Gorret) or the others will come, I will start again immediately." "Not I!" said one. "No more for me," cried a second. "If you would give me a thousand francs I would not go back," said a third. The Abbé Gorret alone volunteered. This plucky priest was concerned in the very first attempts upon the mountain,^[10] and is an enthusiastic mountaineer. Carrel and the Abbe would have set out by themselves had not J. B. Bich and J.-A. Meynet (two men in the employ of Favre the innkeeper) come forward at the last moment. M. Giordano also wished to accompany them, but the men knew the nature of the work they had to undertake, and positively declined to be accompanied by an amateur.

These four men left Breil at 6.30 a.m. on July 16, at 1 p.m. arrived at the third tent-platform, and there passed the night. At daybreak on the 17th they continued the ascent by the route which had been taken before; passed successively the Great Tower, the 'crête du coq,' the 'cravate,' and the 'shoulder,'^[11] and at 10 a.m. gained the point at the foot of the final peak from which the explorers had turned back on the 14th.^[12] They had then about 800 feet to accomplish, and, says the Abbe, "nous allions entrer en pays inconnu, aucun n'étant jamais allé aussi loin."

The passage of the cleft which stopped Bennen was accomplished, and then the party proceeded directly towards the summit, over rocks which for some distance were not particularly difficult. The steep cliffs down which we had hurled stones (on the 14th) then stopped their way, and Carrel led round to the left or Z'Mutt side. The work at this part was of the very greatest difficulty, and stones and icicles which fell rendered the position of the party very precarious;^[13] so much so that they preferred to turn up directly towards the summit, and climb by rocks that the Abbe termed "almost perpendicular." He added, "This part occupied the most time, and gave us the greatest trouble." At length they arrived at a fault in the rocks which formed a roughly horizontal gallery. They crept along this in the direction of a ridge that descended towards the north-west, or thereabouts, and when close to the ridge, found that they could not climb on to it; but they perceived that, by descending a gully with perpendicular sides, they could reach the ridge at a lower point. The bold Abbe was the heaviest and the strongest of the four, and he was sacrificed for the success of the expedition. He and Meynet remained behind, and lowered the others, one by one, into the gully. Carrel and Bich clambered up the other side, attained the ridge descending towards the north-west, shortly afterwards gained an "easy route,^[14] they galloped," and in a few minutes reached the southern end of the summit-ridge.

The time of their arrival does not appear to have been noticed. It was late in the day, I believe about 3 p.m. Carrel and his comrade only waited long enough to plant a flag by the side of the cairn that we had built three days previously, then descended at once, rejoined the others, and all four hurried down as fast as possible to the tent. They were so pressed for time that they could not eat ! and it was 9 p.m. before they arrived at their camp at the foot of the Great Tower. In descending they followed the gallery above mentioned throughout its entire length, and so avoided the very difficult rocks over which they had passed on the ascent. As they were traversing the length of the 'shoulder' they witnessed the phenomenon to which I have already adverted at the foot of p. 400.

When Carrel and Bich were near the summit they saw our traces upon the Matterhorngletscher, and suspected that an accident had occurred; they did not, however, hear of the Matterhorn catastrophe until their return to Breil, at 3 p.m. upon the 18th. The details of that sad event were in the mouths of all, and it was not unnaturally supposed, in the absence of correct information, that the accident was a proof that the northern side was frightfully dangerous. The safe return of the four Italians was regarded, on the other hand, as evidence that the Breil route was the best. Those who were interested (either personally or otherwise) in the Val Tournanche made the most of the circumstances, and trumpeted the praises of the southern route. Some went farther, and instituted comparisons between the two routes to the disadvantage of the northern one, and were pleased to term our expedition on the 13-14th of July precipitate, and so forth. Considering the circumstances which caused us to leave the Val Tournanche on the 12th of July, these remarks were not in the best possible taste, but I have no feeling regarding them. There may be some, however, who may be interested in a comparison of the two routes, and for their sakes I will place the essential points in juxtaposition. We (that is the Taugwalders and myself) were absent from Zermatt 53 hours. Excluding halts and stoppages of one sort or another, the ascent and descent occupied us 23 hours. Zermatt is 5315 feet above the level of the sea, and the Matterhorn is 14,780; we had therefore to ascend 9465 feet. As far as the point marked 10,820 feet the way was known, so we had to find the way over only 3960 feet. The members of our party (I now include all) were very unequal in ability, and none of us could for a moment be compared as cragsmen with Jean-Antoine Carrel. The four Italians who started from Breil on the 16th of July were absent during 56½ hours, and as far as I can gather from the published account, and from conversation with the men, excluding halts, they took for the ascent and descent 23¾ hours. The hotel at Breil is 6890 feet above the sea, so they had to ascend 7890 feet. As far as the end of the 'shoulder' the way was known to Carrel, and he had to find the way over only about 800 feet. All four men were born mountaineers, good climbers, and they were led by the most expert cragsman I have seen. The weather in each instance was fine. It is seen, therefore, that these four nearly equally matched men took a longer time to ascend 1500 feet less height than ourselves, although we had to find the way over more than four times as much untrodden ground as they. This alone would lead any mountaineer to suppose that their route must have been more difficult than ours.^[15] I know the greater part of the ground over which they passed, and from my knowledge, and from the account of Mr. Grove, I am sure that their route was not only more difficult, but that it was much more difficult than ours.

This was not the opinion in the Val Tournanche at the end of 1865, and the natives confidently reckoned that tourists would flock to their side in preference to the other. It was, I believe, the Canon Carrel of Aosta (who always takes great interest in such matters) who first proposed the construction of a cabane upon the southern side of the Matterhorn. The project was taken up with spirit, and funds for its execution were speedily provided—principally by the members of the Italian Alpine Club, or by their friends. The indefatigable Carrel found a natural hole upon the ledge called the 'cravate' (13,524), and this, in course of time, was turned, under his direction, into a respectable little hut. Its position is superb, and gives a view of the most magnificent character.

Whilst this work was being carried out, my friend Mr. F. Craufurd Grove consulted me respecting the ascent of the Matterhorn. I recommended him to ascend by the northern route, and to place himself in the hands of Jean-Antoine Carrel. Mr. Grove found, however, that Carrel distinctly preferred the southern side, and they ascended accordingly by the Breil route. Mr. Grove has been good enough to supply the following account of his expedition. He carries on my description of the southern route from the highest point I attained on that side (a little below the 'cravate') to the summit, and thus renders complete my descriptions of the two sides.

"In August 1867 I ascended the Matterhorn from Breil, taking as guides three mountaineers of the Valtournanche—J. A. Carrel, J. Bich, and S. Meynet,—Carrel being the leader. At that time the Matterhorn had not been scaled since the famous expedition of the Italian guides mentioned above.

"Our route was identical with that which they followed in their descent when, as will be seen, they struck out on one part of the mountain a different line from that which they had taken in ascending. After gaining the Col du Lion, we climbed the south-western or Breil arête by the route which has been described in these pages, passing the night at the then unfinished hut constructed by the Italian Alpine Club on the 'cravate.' Starting from the hut at daylight, we reached at an early hour the summit of the 'shoulder,' and then traversed its arête to the final peak of the Matterhorn. The passage of this arête was perhaps the most enjoyable part of the whole expedition. The ridge, worn by slow irregular decay into monstrous and rugged battlements, and guarded on each side by tremendous precipices, is grand beyond all description, but does not, strange to say, present any remarkable difficulty to the climber, save that it is exceedingly trying to the head. Great care is of course necessary, but the scramble is by no means of so arduous a nature as entirely to absorb the attention; so that a fine climb, and rock scenery, of grandeur perhaps unparalleled in the Alps, can both be appreciated.

"It was near the end of this arête, close to the place where it abuts against the final peak, that Professor Tyndall's party turned in 1862,^[16] arrested by a cleft in the ridge. From the point where they stopped the main tower of the Matterhorn rises in front of the climber, abrupt, magnificent, and apparently inaccessible. The summit is fully 750 feet in vertical height above this spot, and certainly, to my eye, appeared to be separated from me by a yet more considerable interval; for I remember, when at the end of the arête, looking upward at the crest of the mountain, and thinking that it must be a good 1000 feet above me.

"When the Italian guides made their splendid ascent, they traversed the arête of the shoulder to the main peak, passed the cleft which has been mentioned (p. 133), clambered on to the tremendous north-western face of the mountain (described by Mr. Whymper at pp. 388 and 393), and then endeavoured to cross this face so as to get on to the Z'Mutt arête.^[17] The passage of this slope proved a work of great difficulty and danger. I saw it from very near the place which they traversed, and was unable to conceive how any human creatures managed to crawl over rocks so steep and so treacherous. After they had got about half-way across, they found the difficulties of the route and the danger from falling stones so great, that they struck straight up the mountain, in the hope of finding some safer way. They were to a certain extent successful, for they came presently to a small ledge, caused by a sort of fault in the rock, running horizontally across the north-western face of the mountain a little distance below the summit. Traversing this ledge, the Italians found themselves close to the Z'Mutt arête, but still separated from it by a barrier, to outflank which it was necessary to descend a perpendicular gully. Carrel and Bich were lowered down this, the other two men remaining at the top to haul up their companions on their return, as otherwise they could not have got up again. Passing on to the Z'Mutt arete without further difficulty, Carrel and Bich climbed by that ridge to the summit of the mountain. In returning, the Italians kept to the ledge for the whole distance across the north-western face, and descended to the place where the arête of the shoulder abuts against the main peak by a sort of rough ridge of rocks between the north-western and southern faces. When I ascended in 1867, we followed this route in the ascent and in the descent. I thought the ledge difficult, in some places decidedly dangerous, and should not care to set foot on it again; but assuredly it neither is so difficult nor so continuously dangerous as those gaunt and pitiless rock-slopes which the Italians crossed in their upward route.

"The credit of making the Italian ascent of the Matterhorn belongs undoubtedly to J.-A. Carrel and to the other mountaineers who accompanied him. Bennen led his party bravely and skilfully to a point some 750 feet below the top. From this point, however, good guide though he was, Bennen had to retire defeated; and it was reserved for the better mountain-craft of the Val-tournanche guide to win the difficult way to the summit of the Matterhorn."

Mr. Craufurd Grove was the first traveller who ascended the Matterhorn after the accident, and the natives of Val Tournanche were, of course, greatly delighted that his ascent was made upon their side. Some of them, however, were by no means well pleased that J.-A. Carrel was so much regarded. They feared, perhaps, that he would acquire the monopoly of the mountain. Just a month after Mr. Grove's ascent, six Valtournanchians set out to see whether they could not learn the route, and so come in for a share of the good things which were expected to arrive. They were three Maquignaz's, Cæsar Carrel (my old guide), J.-B. Carrel, and a daughter of the last named! They left Breil at 5 a.m. on Sept. 12, and at 3 p.m. arrived at the hut, where they passed the night. At 7 a.m. the next day they started again (leaving J.-B. Carrel behind), and proceeded along the 'shoulder' to the final peak; passed the cleft which had stopped Bennen, and clambered up the comparatively easy rocks on the other side until they arrived at the base of the last precipice, down which we had hurled stones on July 14, 1865. They (young woman and all) were then about 350 feet from the summit! Then, instead of turning to the left, as Carrel and Mr. Grove had done, Joseph and J.-Pierre Maquignaz paid attention to the cliff in front of them, and managed to find a means of passing up, by clefts, ledges, and gullies, to the summit. This was a shorter (and it appears to be an easier) route than that taken by Carrel and Grove, and it has been followed by all those who have since then ascended the mountain from the side of Breil.^[18] Subsequently, a rope was fixed over the most difficult portions of the final climb.

In the meantime they had not been idle upon the other side. A hut was constructed upon the eastern face, at a height of 12,526 feet above the sea, near to the crest of the ridge which descends towards Zermatt (north-east ridge). This was done at the expense of Monsieur Seiler and of the Swiss Alpine Club. Mons. Seiler placed the execution of the work under the direction of the Knubels, of the village of St. Nicholas, in the Zermatt valley; and Peter Knubel, along with Joseph Marie Lochmatter of the same village, had the honour of making the second ascent of the mountain upon the northern side with Mr. Elliott. This took place on July 24-25, 1868.^[19] Since then numerous ascents have been made, and of these the only one which calls for mention is that by Signor Giordano, on September 3-5, 1868. This gentleman came to Breil several times after his famous visit in 1865, with the intention of making the ascent, but he was always baffled by weather. In July 1866 he got as high as the 'cravate' (with J.-A. Carrel and other men), and was detained there five days and nights, unable to move either up or down! At last, upon the above-named date, he was able to gratify his desires, and accomplished the feat of ascending the mountain upon one side and descending it upon the other. Signor Giordano is, I believe, the only geologist who has ascended the Matterhorn. He spent a considerable time in the examination of its structure, and became benighted on its eastern face in consequence. I am indebted to him for the valuable note and the accompanying section which follow the Table of Ascents.^[20]

The two tables upon pp. 422-23 explain themselves. The first exhibits at a glance all the attempts which were made to ascend the Matterhorn before July 1865, whether by natives or whether by stranger-amateurs; and the second, all of the ascents which have been actually made since that date. Besides these successes, there have been a large number of failures. I have been compelled to omit all mention of the latter, merely on account of their number. Great trouble has been taken to make the following tables accurate; but it is, of course, possible that some names have been omitted which should have been inserted.

The ascents have been equally divided between the two routes. The northern one still remains, I believe, just what it was in 1865, with the exception of the hut built upon the eastern face. The southern route, however, has been rendered very much easier by the ropes which have been placed over all the difficult places. It is another thing whether it is safer than it was. Unless a greater amount of supervision is given to these ropes than I expect will be given to them, and unless they are replaced from time to time by new ones, they will be likely to render it more, rather than less, hazardous. In difficulty, there is now probably little or no difference between the routes. Very poor climbers may make, and have made, the ascent. Novices, in my opinion, ought to be invariably deterred from attempting it, and if it ever becomes fashionable (like the ascent of Mont Blanc, for example), the most disastrous consequences may be anticipated.

F. TABLE OF ATTEMPTS MADE TO ASCEND THE MATTERHORN

PREVIOUS TO THE FIRST ASCENT.

No. of Attempt.	Date.	Names.	Side upon which the attempt was made, and place arrived at.	Greatest height attained.	Remarks.
1	1855-9.	J.-Antoine Carrel. J.-Jacques Carrel. Victor Carrel. Gab. Maquignaz. Abbé Gorret.	Breil side "Chimney."	12,650	Several attempts were made before this height was attained; the men concerned cannot remember how many. See p. 84.
2	1860. July	Alfred Parker. Charles Parker. Sandbach Parker.	Zermatt side. East face.	11,500?	Without guides. p. 85.
3	August	V. Hawkins. J. Tyndall.	Breil side Hawkins got to foot of "Great Tower," Tyndall a few feet higher.	12,992 13,050 ?	Guides—J. J. Bennen and J.-Jacques Carrel. Pp. 85-7.
4	1861. July	Messrs. Parker	Zermatt side. East face.	11,700 ?	No guides. P. 87.
5	Aug. 29	J.-Antoine Carrel. J.-Jacques Carrel.	Breil side "Créte du Coq."	13,230 ?	See p. 95.
6	Aug. 29-30	Edward Whymper	Breil side "Chimney."	12,650	Camped upon the mountain, with an Oberland guide. Pp. 90-5.
7	January	T. S. Kennedy	Zermatt side. East face.	11,000 ?	Winter attempt. Pp. 96-7.
8	July 7-8	R. J. S. Macdonald. Edward Whymper.	Breil side Arête below "Chimney."	12,000	Guides—Johann zum Taugwald and Johann Kronig. Pp. 102-3.
9	July 9-10	R. J. S. Macdonald. Edward Whymper.	Breil side "Great Tower."	12,992	Guides—J.-A. Carrel and Pession. P. 104.
9„	July 18-19	{{{1}}}„⁠{{{1}}}„	Breil side Somewhat higher than the lowest part of the "Cravate."	13,400	Alone. Pp. 105-119.
10	July 23-24	{{{1}}}„⁠{{{1}}}„	Breil side "Crête du Coq."	13,150	Guides—J.-A. Carrel, Cæsar Carrel, and Luc Meynet. P. 123.
11	July 25-26	{{{1}}}„⁠{{{1}}}„	Breil side Nearly as high as the highest part of the "Cravate."	13,460	With Luc Meynet. Pp. 125-6.
12	July 27-28	J. Tyndall	Breil side "The Shoulder," to foot of final peak.	13,970	Guides—J. J. Bennen and Anton Walter; porters—J.-Antoine Carrel, Cæsar Carrel, and another. Pp. 126-9, 133-4.
13	1863. Aug. 10-11	Edward Whymper	Breil side "Crâte du Coq."	13,280	Guides—J.-A. Carrel, Cæsar Carrel, Luc Meynet, and two porters. Pp. 169-176.
14	1865. June 21	{{{1}}}„⁠{{{1}}}„	South-east face	11,200 ?	Guides—Michel Croz, Christian Almer, Franz Biener; porter-Luc Meynet. Pp. 290-3.

G. ASCENTS OF THE MATTERHORN.

No. of Ascent	Date.	Names.	Route taken.	Remarks.
1	1865. July 13-15	Lord Francis Douglas. D. Hadow. Charles Hudson. Edward Whymper.	Zermatt (Or Northern route.)	Guides—Michel Croz, Peter Taugwalder père, Peter Taugwalder fils. See pp. 384-94.
2	July 16-18	Jean-Antoine Carrel. J. Baptiste Bich. Amé Gorret. J.-Augustin Meynet	Breil (Or Southern route.)	The first two named only ascended to the summit. See pp. 393, 416-7.
3	1867. Aug. 13-15	F. Craufurd Grove.	Breil	Guides—J.-A. Carrel, Salamon Meynet, and J. B. Bich.
4	Sept. 12-14	Jos. Maquignaz. J.-Pierre Maquignaz. Victor Maquignaz. Cæsar Carrel. J.-B. Carrel.	Breil	An easier route was discovered by this party than that taken upon July 17, 1865. The first two named only ascended to the summit.
5	Oct. 1-3	W. Leighton Jordan	Breil	Guides—the three Maquignaz's just named, Cæsar Carrel, and F. Ansermin. The Maquignaz's and Mr. Jordan alone reached the summit.
6	1868. July 24-25	J. M. Elliott	Zermatt	Guides—Jos. Marie Lochmatter and Peter Knubel.
7	July 26-28	J. Tyndall	Up Breil side and down Zermatt side.	Guides—Jos. and Pierre Maquignaz, and three others.
8	Aug. 2-4	O. Hoiler. F. Thioly.	Seem to have ascended from Zermatt and descended to Breil.	Account given in hotel-book at Breil is not very clear. Guides seem to have been Jos. and Victor Maquignaz and Elie Pession.
9	Aug. 3-4	G. E. Foster	Zermatt	Guides—Hans Baumann, Peter Bernett, and Peter Knubel.
10	Aug. 8[21]	Paul Guessfeldt	Zermatt	Guides—Jos. Marie Lochmatter, Nich. Knubel, and Peter Knubel.
11	Sept. 1-2	A. G. Girdlestone. F. Craufurd Grove. W. E. U. Kelso.	Zermatt	Guides—Jos. Marie Lochmatter and the two Knubels.
12	Sept. 2-3	G. B. Marke	Zermatt	Guides—Nich. Knubel and Pierre Zurbriggen (Saas).
13	Sept. 3-5	F. Giordano	Ascended Breil side and descended to Zermatt.	Guides—J.-A. Carrel and Jos. Maquignaz.
14	Sept. 8-9.	Paul Sauzet	Breil	Guides—J.-A. Carrel and Jos. Maquignaz.
15	1869. July 20.	James Eccles	Breil	Guides—J.-A. Carrel, Bich, and two Payots (Chamounix).
16	Aug. 26-27.	R. B. Heathcote	Breil	Guides—the four Maquignaz's (Val Tournanche).
17	July 20(?)	?	Zermatt	One ascent only was made in 1870. No details have come to hand.

D. Courte Note sur la Géologie du Matterhorn. Par Signor F. Giordano, Ingenieur en Chef des Mines d'ltalie, etc. etc.

Le Matterhorn ou Mont Cervin est formé depuis la base jusqu'au sommet de roches stratifiées en bancs assez réguliers, qui sont tous légèrement rélevès vers l'Est, savoir vers le Mont Rose. Ces roches quoiqu’évidemment d'origine sédimentaire ont une structure fortement cristalline qui doit être l'effet d'une puissante action de métamorphisme très-développée dans cette région des Alpes. Dans la serie des roches constituantes du Mont Cervin l'on peut faire une distinction assez marquée, savoir celles formant la base inférieure de la montagne, et celles formant le pic proprement dit.

Les roches de la base qu'on voit dans le Val Tournanche, dans le vallon de Z'Mutt, au col de Théodule et ailleurs, sont en général des schistes talqueux, serpentineux, chloriteux, et amphiboliques, alternant fort souvent avec des schistes calcaires à noyeaux quartzeux. Ces schistes calcaires de couleur brunâtre alternent ça et la avec des dolomies, des cargueules, et des quartzites tegulaires. Cette formation calcaréo-serpentineuse est très etendue dans les environs. Le pic au contraire est tout formé d'un gneiss talqueux, souvent à gros éléments, alternant parfois a quelques bancs de schistes talqueux et quartzeux, mais sans bancs calcaires. Vers le pied ouest du pic, le gneiss est remplacé par de l'euphotide granitoïde massive, qui semble y former une grosse lentille se fondant de tous côtés dans le gneiss même. Du reste les roches du Cervin montrent partout des exemples fort instructifs de passages graduels d'une structure à l'autre, résultant du métamorphisme plus ou moins avancé.

Le pic actuel n'est que le reste d'une puissante formation géologique ancienne, triasique peut-être, dont les couches puissantes de plus de 3500 mètres enveloppaient tout autour comme un immense manteau le grand massif granitoïde et feldspathique du Mont Rose. Aussi son étude détaillée, qui par exception est rendue fort facile par la profondeur des vallons d'ou il surgit, donne la clef de la structure géologique de beaucoup d'autres montagnes des environs. On y voit partout le phénomène assez curieux d'une puissante formation talqueuse très-cristalline,presque granitoïde, régulièrement superposée à une formation schisteuse et calcarifère. Cette même constitution géologique est en partie la cause de la forme aigue et de l'isolement du pic qui en font la merveille des voyageurs. En effet, tandis que les roches feuilletées de la base étant facilement corrodées par l'action des météores et de l'eau ont été facilement creusées en vallées larges et profondes, la roche supérieure qui constitue la pyramide donne lieu par sa dureté à des fendillements formant des parois escarpées qui conservent au pic ce profil elancé et caractéristique alpin. Les glaciers qui entourent son pied de tous les cotes en emportant d'une manière continue les débris tombant de ses flancs, contribuent pour leur part à maintenir cet isolement de la merveilleuse pyramide qui sans eux serait peut-être deja ensevelie sous ses propres ruines.

CEOLOGICAL SECTION OF THE MATTERHORN. (MONT CERVIN)
BY SIGNOR F. GIORDANO.

References to the Geological Section of the Matterhorn.

I.	Gneiss talqueux quartzifère. Beaucoup de traces de foudres.
II.	Banc de 3 à 4 mètres de schistes serpentineux et talqueux verts.
III.	Gneiss talqueux à éléments plus ou moins schisteux, avec quelque lit de quartzite.
"	Gneiss et micaschistes ferrugineux à éléments très-fins, beaucoup de traces de foudre.
IV.	Gneiss alternant avec des schistes talqueux et à des felsites en zones blanches et grises.
V.	Petite couche de schistes serpentineux, vert sombre.
VI.	Gneiss et micaschiste avec zones quartzifères rubanées.
VII.	Gneiss talqueux à éléments schisteux.
VIII.	⁠Id.⁠id.⁠ verdâtre, porphyroïde à éléments moyens.
IX.	Gneiss talqueux granitoïde à gros éléments et avec des cristaux de feldspath.
X.	Schistes grisâtres.
XI.	Micaschistes ferrugineux.
XII.	Gneiss talqueux vert sombre.
XIII.	Gneiss et schistes quartzeux, couleur vert clair.
XIV.	Euphotide massive (feldspath et diallage) à éléments cristallins bien développés, traversée par des veines d'eurite blanchâtre. Cette roche forme un banc ou plutôt une lentille de plus de 500 mètres de puissance intercalee au gneiss talqueux.[22]
XV.	Gneiss talqueux alternant avec des schistes talqueux et micacés.
XVI.	Schistes compactes couleur vert clair.
XVII.	Calcaire cristallin micacé (calcschiste) avec veines et rognons de quartz. Il alterne avec des schistes verts chloriteux et serpentineux.
XVIII.	Schistes verts chloriteux, serpentineux et talqueux, avec des masses stéatiteuses.
XIX.	Calcschistes (comme ci-dessus) formant un banc de plus de 100 mètres.[23]
XX.	Schistes verts chloriteux.
XXI.	Calcschistes (comme ci-dessus).
XXII.	Il suit ci dessous une série fort puissante de schistes verts serpentineux, chloriteux, talqueux et stéatiteux alternant encore avec des calcschistes. En plusieurs localités les schistes deviennent très-amphibologiques à petits cristaux noirs. Cette puissante formation calcaréo-serpentineuse repose inférieurement sur des micaschistes et des gneiss anciens.

I. Stratification of Snow and Formation of Glacier-Ice.

In the spring of 1866, the late Principal J. D. Forbes urged me to endeavour to find out more about the 'veined structure' of glaciers, which he then, and, I believe, until his death considered, was very much in want of elucidation. After thinking the subject over, it seemed to me that its difficulties were so considerable that it would be useless to attempt to grapple with them except in a thorough manner, and that it would be necessary to scrutinise and to follow out the gradual transition of snow into glacier-ice, from beginning to end, in at least one glacier. Superficial examination was almost worthless, for it was well known that the veined structure, or structures, existed in glacier-ice above the snow-line; and hence it appeared that the only effectual procedure would be to sink a number of pits or trenches through the superincumbent snow, commencing at the very birthplace of the glacier, and watching its growth and structural development as it descended to the lower regions. This opinion I still entertain.

I left England at the end of July, with the intention of sinking several pits in the Stock glacier, which descends towards the north-east from the Col de Valpelline.^[24] In the first instance it was desirable that a trench should be made in some position that was free from local interference, and in this respect the Col de Valpelline was an excellent station. It was a snowy plateau—almost a plain (without any protruding ridges or rocks)—which gave birth to two great glaciers—one (the Stock glacier) descending gently towards the north-east, the second (the Valpelline glacier) falling away rather more rapidly to the south-west. Wretched weather and miserable workmen retarded the work, and only one pit was sunk in the time at my disposal. This was a little more than 22 feet in depth; and, although it threw scarcely any light upon the veined structure, it yielded some information respecting stratification of snow and the formation of glacier-ice. I will describe, first of all, how the work was done; and secondly, what we observed.

I arrived at Zermatt on the 30th of July, possessed of a pickaxe (one end of the head pointed and the other adze-shaped) and a couple of shovels; engaged three common peasants as labourers, and Franz Biener as guide, and waited some days for the weather to improve. On the afternoon of August 2 we started, and camped on the rocks of the Stockje,^[25] at a height of about 9000 feet. It was a very gusty night, and snow fell heavily. Great avalanches poured down incessantly from the surrounding slopes into the basin of the Tiefenmatten glacier, and minor ones from the slopes of our tent. We left our camp at 9.20 a.m. on the 3d, and proceeded to the summit of the Col (11,650) against a bitterly cold wind, and with the clouds embracing everything. I marked out a place for excavation, immediately at the summit of the pass,^[26] 24 feet long by 5 wide, and the men soon threw out enough snow to protect themselves from the wind. Two walls of the pit were dressed tolerably smooth, a third was left rough, and the fourth was occupied by an inclined plane that led from the surface to the workers. Two men were always at work; one hewing with the pick, and the other throwing out with the shovel. The others rested, and relieved the workers about every fifteen minutes. For seven or eight feet down they got along rapidly, as the stuff could be thrown out; but after a time the progress became much slower, for the snow had to be carried out in baskets.

After 5 hours' exposure to the wind and drifting snow I was half frozen, and in a much worse state than the men, who kept themselves alive by their work. All our faces were massed with icicles. At length I beat a retreat, and descended to the tent with Biener. The mists were so dense that we dared not use either veils or spectacles, and I was snow-blind in consequence for two days afterwards. On the morning of the 4th my eyelids refused to open, and the light was painful even when they were closed. The men started off at 6.45, leaving me with my head tied up in a handkerchief, unable to eat or even to smoke! Biener came back at 4.30 p.m. and reported that the snow seemed to be getting softer rather than harder the farther they descended. On the 5th (Sunday) my condition was slightly improved, and on Monday morning I was able to make a start, and ascended to the Col to see what the labourers had done in my absence. They certainly had not overworked themselves; for while on the first day they had got down more than 9 feet in 5 hours, they had, during the time I had been away, only accomplished 4 feet more. They said that on Sunday night 3 feet of snow had drifted into the pit, and almost as much on Friday night. This, of course, had considerably added to the work. They were extremely anxious to get away; which was not surprising, as the wind was blowing ferociously from the north-west, and was tearing away sheets of snow from the summit of the pass. It was impossible to stand against it, and in a single hour we should have been all frozen if we had remained upon the surface. I told them (rather jesuitically) that they had only to reach glacier, and the work would be over at that spot. This consoled them, and they promised to work hard during our absence.

Biener and I passed the night of the 6th at Prerayen, and upon the 7th we went down the Valpelline to Biona upon other business. On the 8th we returned to the summit of the Col, and found all three men sitting on the nearest rocks smoking their pipes. They admitted that they had done nothing on that day, but excused themselves by saying that they had got down to glacier. I found that the wretches had only gone down another foot during our thirty-six hours' absence. My wrath, however, was somewhat appeased when I went down into the pit. They had struck a layer of ice of much greater thickness than any which had been previously met with. It extended all round the floor of the pit to a depth of 6¼ inches. The men went to work again, and soon reached another stratum of ice of formidable thickness; or, rather, three layers which were barely separated from each other. After this, the snow seemed to be no denser than it was above the great layer. I waited some time; but my eyes were still very weak, and could not be exposed for many minutes together, so at length Biener and I went down to Zermatt through a terrific thunderstorm and very heavy rain.

On the 9th we returned again to the Col, and whilst climbing the rocks of the Stockje, discovered the dead chamois which was mentioned upon p. 156. It rained as far as our camp, and thenceforward we had to fight our way up through continuously falling snow, against an easterly gale. It blew dead in our teeth, and our progress was painfully slow. The snow was writhing all around, as if tormented; or caught by whirlwinds, and sent eddying high aloft; or seized by gusts and borne onwards in clouds which seemed to be driven right through us. The wind was appalling; once I was fairly blown down, although tied to Biener, and many times we were sent staggering back for ten or a dozen paces against our will. Our track was obliterated at the summit, and we could not find the pit. We tried east, west, north, and south, to no purpose. At last we heard a shout! We halted, panting for breath. Another! It came with the wind, and we had to face the storm again. After a long search we arrived at the pit, which by this time was a huge hole twenty feet deep. The inclined plane had had to be abandoned, and a regular staircase led down to the bottom. The men had again struck work, having, they said, arrived at glacier; the fact was, they were completely cowed by the weather, and had taken to shouting, expecting that we should be lost. I descended, and with two strokes of the pick went through their glacier, which was only another thick stratum of ice.

The last day had arrived, and the next was to see me en route for London. I drove the men to their work, and stood over them once more. The stuff which came up in the baskets was different to that which I had seen last! It was not ice of a compact kind like the horizontal layers, still it was not snow. Sometimes one could say, This is snow; but at others no one would have said that it was snow. On inquiry, they said that it had been like this for several feet. I went down, took the tools in my own hands, and hewed the walls smooth. It was then apparent that vertical glacification (if I may be permitted to use such an expression) had commenced (see A A on section).

The men were anxious to leave, for the weather was terrible. The wind howled over our heads in a true hurricane. I was unwilling to go until it was absolutely necessary. At length they refused to work any longer; I concluded the measurements ; we tied in line, and floundered downwards, and at 9 p.m. arrived at Zermatt.

I will now proceed to describe what we saw.^[27] For 11 inches from the surface the snow was soft and white, or what is usually termed new snow. There was then a very decided increase in density, and all the snow beneath had a slight bluish tint.^[28] At 21 inches from the surface the tone of the snow seemed somewhat deeper than that which was above, but below this point there was little or no increase in colour until the depth of 15 feet was passed. The density of the snow naturally increased as we descended, although much less rapidly than I expected. Down to the depth of 13½ feet (or to just above the broad blue band on the right-hand column of the section) the mass was decidedly and unmistakably snowy; that is to say, lumps could readily be compressed between the hands. This was also the case in some places below the depth of 15 feet. For example, at B B, on the section, the snow was not perceptibly denser than it was six or eight feet higher up. In other places, A A, it could not be termed snowy; it could not be readily compressed in the hands; and it looked and felt like an imperfect or wet and spongy form of ice. The colour at B B was perceptibly stronger than at A A, but it should be said that the colour here, and of the horizontal strata of ice, has been intentionally exaggerated upon the section for the sake of clearness.

The entire mass was pervaded with horizontal strata of pure ice. In the 22 feet that we penetrated there were 75 such layers, varying from one-tenth of an inch in thickness to 6¼ inches, which amounted in the aggregate to 25⅝ inches of solid ice. These strata were parallel to the surface of the snow, and to each other. Not perfectly so; sometimes they approached, and sometimes receded from each other. Neither was their substance (thickness) constant. In some places they were more, and in others less thick. For example, the stratum which is between the brackets marked 1863-4 ? and 1864-5 ? was in some places an inch and a half thick, but in others scarcely an eighth of an inch. Upon the whole, the stouter strata were continued completely round the sides of the pit, and were tolerably uniform in thickness. The finer strata, on the other hand, frequently died out in short distances, and seldom or never could be traced completely round the walls. The finer strata also were much more numerous towards the surface than towards the bottom of the pit, and they were readily obscured by the drifting snow. It was obvious, yet important to observe, that the strata or layers of pure ice became fewer in number as one descended, and that they constantly, although not regularly, became thicker.

I attempted to gain an idea of the temperature of the snow at different depths, but I do not care to quote my readings, as they were, without a doubt, falsified by the wind. I am not sure, moreover, that it is possible under any circumstances to obtain correct readings of snow temperature in the way that they were taken. The recorded temperatures, anyhow, must have been influenced by the surrounding air. If they were correct they proved that the lower strata were warmer than the upper ones.

We must now quit the region of facts, and descend to that of surmises and conjectures. The differences in the quality and in the tone of the snow of the first three feet below the surface were sufficiently marked to suggest that we saw in them snow belonging to three different years. The unanimous opinion of the four men was, that the uppermost 11 inches belonged to 1865-6, the next 10 inches to 1864-5, and the next 16 inches to 1863-4. In this matter they were not, perhaps, altogether incompetent judges. I am doubtful, however, whether their opinion was correct, and incline to the idea that the uppermost 11 inches had fallen during the summer of 1866, and that the succeeding 10 inches may have been all that remained of the preceding winter's snow. Whatever surprise may be felt at so small a depth being considered as representing a year's fall, must be modified when it is remembered that the position at which the pit was sunk could scarcely have been more exposed. We had evidence that a mere fraction only of the snow that fell remained in situ—the wind tore it away in sheets and streams. It will be remembered, too, that no inconsiderable amount passes off by evaporation. If other pits had been sunk to the north and to the south of the pass, we should probably have found in them a greater depth of snow between each of the horizontal layers of pure ice. This is mere conjecture, and it may be taken for what it is worth. It is more important to note—1. (a) That the fine layers or strata of pure ice were numerous towards the surface; (b) disappeared as we descended; (c) and that the lower strata were, upon the whole, much thicker than those towards the surface. 2. That the thickness of these strata of pure ice amounted to nearly one-tenth of the mass that we were able to penetrate. 3. That, below the depth of 15 feet, vertical glacification began to show itself. Upon each of these subjects I will now venture to offer a few remarks.

1 (a.) The fine horizontal layers or strata of pure ice were numerous towards the surface. All of these layers had been formed by weathering at the surface. It is usual, even during the winter, for considerable periods of fine weather to succeed heavy snow-falls; and in these periods the surface of the snow is alternately melted and refrozen, and, at length, is glazed with a crust or film of pure ice. This, when covered up by another snow-fall, and exposed as in the section, appears as a bluish horizontal line drawn through the whiter mass. The snow between any two of these layers (near the surface) did not therefore represent a year's snow, but it was the remnant, and only the remnant, of a considerable fall, between whose deposition, and that of the next stratum above, a considerable interval of time had probably elapsed.

(b.) The fine strata disappeared as we descended. I imagine that this was a result of pressure from the superincumbent mass, but I leave to others to show the exact manner in which these finer strata were got rid of. Is it possible to liquefy by steady pressure a plate of ice (say, one-tenth of an inch in thickness) placed in the interior of a mass of snow, without liquefaction of the snow ?

(c.) The lower strata of pure ice were, upon the whole, thicker than those towards the surface. This, doubtless, was a result of vertical pressure. The strata grew under pressure. But why should some grow and others disappear? I presume that the finest ones disappear, and that the stouter ones grow. Can it be shown experimentally that it is possible to liquefy by steady pressure a fine plate of ice placed in the interior of a mass of snow, and at the same time, under the same conditions, to thicken another and stouter plate of ice?

2. These horizontal strata of pure ice amounted in the aggregate to nearly one-tenth of the thickness of the mass that we penetrated. It was perfectly well known prior to 1866 that the upper snows (which give birth to glaciers) were pervaded with strata of pure ice, and a host of observers had written before that date upon stratification of snow and of glacier. It may be questioned, however, whether any had an idea of the very important amount of glacification that is effected by superficial weathering, and subsequent thickening of the strata through vertical pressure. A search through the works of the principal writers on glaciers has failed to show me that any person imagined that one-tenth of the mass, or anything like that amount, was composed of strata of pure ice.

PINNACLES NEAR SACHAS IN THE VALLEY OF THE DURANCE; FORMED FROM AN OLD MORAINE.

There are two points in regard to these horizontal strata of pure ice that are worthy of consideration:—(a) Does not their existence, and especially the existence of the fine layers towards the surface, conclusively disprove the idea that the production of glacier-ice is greatly promoted by infiltration of water from the surface? (b) Can these numerous strata of pure ice (some of which are of such considerable thickness, and extending over large areas) be obliterated in the subsequent progress of the glacier? If so, how are they obliterated? Or is it not reasonable to suppose that these thick strata of solid ice must continue to exist, must continue to thicken under pressure, and must supply many of those plates of pure ice which are seen in the imperfect ice of the glacier, and which have been referred to at different times and by various persons as the 'veined structure?'

3. Below the depth of 15 feet the appearances which I have ventured to term vertical glacification were first noticed. Were they accidental? or will they be found at or about the same depth in all other places? Into what would those appearances have developed at a greater depth? What produced them? These questions may perhaps be answered one day by future investigators. I cannot answer them except by guesses or conjectures. Most unwillingly I left the excavation just at the time when it promised to yield more valuable information than it had done previously; and since then I have never been able to resume the work. I believe that the exposure of considerable sections of the interior of a glacier, at different parts of its course, would yield information of extreme interest; and that more light would be thrown in such way upon the doubts and difficulties which attend the formation of glacier-ice and the 'veined structure,' than will ever be thrown upon those vexed subjects by idle wandering upon the surface of glaciers and by peering into crevasses.

J. Denudation in the Valley of the Durance.

In the summer of 1869, whilst walking up the Valley of the Durance from Mont Dauphin to Briançon, I noticed, when about five kilomètres from the latter place, some pinnacles on the mountain-slopes to the west of the road. I scrambled up, and found the remarkable natural pillars which are represented in the annexed engraving.^[29] They were formed out of an unstratified conglomerate of gritty earth, boulders, and stones. Some of them were more thickly studded with stones than a plum-pudding usually is with plums, whilst from others the stones projected like the spines from an chinoderm. The earth (or mud) was extremely hard and tenacious, and the stones, embedded in it, were extricated with considerable difficulty. The mud adhered very firmly to the stones that were got out, but it was readily washed away in a little stream near at hand. In a few minutes I extracted fragments of syenite, mica-schist, several kinds of limestone and conglomerates, and some fossil plants characteristic of carboniferous strata. Most of the fragments were covered with scratches, which told that they had travelled underneath a glacier. The mud had all the character of glacier-mud, and the hill-side was covered with drift. From these indications, and from the situation of the pinnacles, I concluded that they had been formed out of an old moraine. The greatest of them were 60 to 70 feet high, and the moraine had therefore been at least that height. I judged from appearances that the moraine was a frontal-terminal one of a glacier which had been an affluent of the great glacier that formerly occupied the Valley of the Durance, and which, during retrogression, had made a stand upon this hill-side near Sachas. This lateral glacier had flowed down a nameless vallon which descends towards the E.S.E. from the mountain called upon the French Government map Sommet de l'Eychouda (8740).

Only one of all the pinnacles that I saw was capped by a stone (a small one), and I did not notice any boulders lying in their immediate vicinity of a size sufficient to account for their production in the manner of the celebrated pillars near Botzen. The readers of Sir Charles Lyell's Principles (10th ed. vol. i. p. 338) will remember that he attributes the formation of the Botzen pillars chiefly to the protection which boulders have afforded to the underlying matter from the direct action of rain. This is no doubt correct—the Botzen pinnacles are mostly capped by boulders of considerable dimensions. In the present instance this does not appear to have been exactly the case. Running water has cut the moraine into ridges (shown upon the right hand of the engraving), and has evidently assisted in the work of denudation. The group of pinnacles here figured, belonged, in all probability, to a ridge which had been formed in this way, whose crest, in course of time, became sharp, perhaps attenuated. In such a condition, very small stones upon the crest of the ridge would originate little pinnacles; whether these would develop into larger ones, would depend upon the quantity of stones embedded in the surrounding moraine-matter. I imagine that the largest of the Sachas pinnacles owe their existence to the portions of the moraine out of which they are formed having been studded with a greater quantity of stones and small boulders than the portions of the moraine which formerly filled the gaps between them ; and, of course, primarily, to the facts that glacier-mud is extremely tenacious when dry, and is readily washed away. Thus, the present form of the pinnacles is chiefly due to the direct action of rain, but their production was assisted, in the first instance, by the action of running water.

VERTICAL SECTION OF THE SNOW

ON THE SUMMIT OF THE COL DE VALPELLINE. AUG. 1886.

SCALE ONE INCH TO A FOOT.

1. According to a letter in the Standard, Jan. 6, 1871, there was a mistake in the determination of the length of the tunnel to the extent of sixteen mètres.
2. The temperature of the interior may, possibly, be reduced by artificial ventilation.
3. See p. 86.
4. See p. 175.
5. Malte-Brun's Annales des Voyages, April 1869.
6. A place on the final peak, about half-way between the 'Shoulder' and the summit.
7. We resume here the account of the proceedings of the Italians who started from Breil on the 11th of July 1865. See p. 380.
8. The foregoing particulars were related to me by J.-A. Carrel.
9. The following details are taken from the account of the Abbé Amé Gorret (published in the Feuille d'Aoste, Oct. 1865), who was at Breil when the men returned.
10. See Appendix F, attempt No. 1.
11. These terms, as well as the others, Great Staircase, Col du Lion, Tête du Lion, Chimney, and so forth, were applied by Carrel and myself to the various points in consequence of real or supposed resemblances in the rocks to other things. A few of the terms originated with the author, but they are chiefly due to the inventive genius of J.-A. Carrel.
12. This point is marked by the red letter e upon the lower of the two outlines facing p. 83.
13. I have seen icicles more than a hundred feet long hanging from the rocks near the summit of the Matterhom.
14. The words of the Abbé. I imagine that he meant comparatively easy.
15. The pace of a party is ruled by that of its least efficient member.
16. See pp. 126-9, and pp. 133-4.
17. A ridge descending towards the Z'Muttgletscher.
18. Joseph and J.-Pierre Maquignaz alone ascended; the others had had enough and returned. It should be observed that ropes ha I been fixed, by J.-A. Carrel and others, over all the difficult parts of the mountain as high as the shoulder, before the ascent of these persons. This explains the facility with which they moved over ground which had been found very trying in earlier times. The young woman declared that the ascent (as far as she went) was a trifle, or used words to that effect; if she had tried to get to the same height before 1862, she would probably have been of a different opinion.
19. It was supposed by Mr. Elliott that he avoided the place where the accident occurred on July 14, 1865, and improved the route. Others who have made the ascent by the northern route have thought the same; but, as far as I can learn, there has not been any material deviation from the route we took over the small difficult part of the mountain; and my information leads me to believe, that most of those who have ascended or descended the northern route have passed over the exact place where the accident occurred.
20. Signor Giordano carried a mercurial barometer throughout the entire distance, and read it frequently. His observations have enabled me to determine with confidence and accuracy the heights which were attained upon the different attempts to ascend the mountain, and the various points upon it which have been so frequently mentioned throughout this volume. He left a minimum thermometer upon the summit in 1868. This was recovered by J.-A. Carrel in July 1869, and was found to register only 9° Fahrenheit below the freezing point. It was supposed that it 'was protected from the winter cold by a deep covering of snow. The explanation is scarcely satisfactory.
21. Although one day only is named for this and for a subsequent ascent, I have reason to believe that two or more days have been occupied upon all ascents which have, as yet, been made.
22. Cette roche granitoïde parait surtout à la base ouest du pic sous le col du Lion tandis qu'elle ne parait pas du tout sur le flanc est où elle parait passer au gneiss talqueux.
23. En plusieurs localités des environs, cette zone calcarifère présente des bancs et des lentilles de dolomie, de cargueule de gypse et de quartzites.
24. See map of the Valpelline, etc.
25. Marked on the map of Matterhorn and its glaciers, Camp (1866).
26. The pit was made about mid-way between the Tête Blanche and the nameless point marked on the Dufour map 3813 metres.
27. The reader is now referred to the section at the end of the volume, drawn to a scale of one inch to a foot from actual measurement.
28. Compared with the 11 inches of snow at the surface, that beneath seemed dirty. I hesitate, however, to term it dirty. We did not anywhere detect grit or sand.
29. They were 750 feet (by aneroid) above the road, and were not far from the village of Sachas. There were a dozen of about the size of those shown in the engraving, and also numerous stumps of other minor ones. There may have been more, and more considerable ones, farther behind. I was pressed for time, and could not proceed beyond the point shown in the illustration. I have thought the above imperfect account of these pinnacles worth recording, as I believe they have never been described or observed before.