How the mountain grew upon us as we clung to its sides!  When the great objects below had changed to littleness the heights above seemed greater than ever.  At half past four we came to a perpendicular height of twenty feet, with a slight slope above.  Down this precipice hung a rope; there was also an occasional projection of an inch or two of stone for the mailed foot.  At the top, on a little shelf, under hundreds of feet of overhanging rock, some stones had been built round and over a little space for passing the night.  The rude cabin occupied all the width of the shelf, so that passing to its other end there was not room to walk without holding on by one’s hands in the crevices of the wall.  We were now at home; had taken nine hours to do what could be done in eight.  What an eyrie in which to sleep!  Below us was a sheer descent, of a thousand or two feet, to the glacier.  Above us towered the crest of the mountain, seemingly higher than ever.  The sharp shadow of the lofty pyramid lengthened toward Monte Rosa.  Italy lifted up its mountains tipped with sunshine to cheer us.  The Obernese Alps, beyond the Rhone, answered with numerous torches to light us to our sleep.  According to prearrangement, at eight o’clock we kindled a light on our crag to tell our friends in Zermatt that we had accomplished the first stage of our journey.  They answered instantly with a cheery blaze, and we lay down to sleep.

When four of us lay together I was so crowded against the wall that I thought if it should give way I could fall two thousand feet out of bed without possibility of stopping on the way.  The ice was two feet thick on the floor, and by reason of the scarcity of bedding I was reminded of the damp, chilly sheets of some unaired guest-chambers.  I do not think I slept a moment, but I passed the night in a most happy, thoughtful, and exultant frame of mind.

At half past three in the morning we were roped together—­fifteen feet of rope between each two men—­for the final three or four hours’ work.  It is everywhere steep; it is every minute hands and feet on the rocks; sometimes you cling with fingers, elbows, knees, and feet, and are tempted to add the nose and chin.  Where it is least steep the guide’s heels are right in your face; when it is precipitous you only see a line of rope before you.  We make the final pause an hour before the top.  Here every weight and the fear that so easily besets one must be laid aside.  No part of the way has seemed so difficult; not even that just past—­when we rounded a shoulder on the ice for sixty feet, sometimes not over twenty inches wide, on the verge of a precipice four thousand feet high.  To this day I can see the wrinkled form of that far-down glacier below, though I took care not to make more than one glance at it.

The rocks become smoother and steeper, if possible.  A chain or rope trails from above in four places.  You have good hope that it is well secured, and wish you were lighter, as you go up hand over hand.  Then a beautiful slope for hands, knees, and feet for half an hour, and the top is reached at half past six.