I formed the caravan in marching order, presently, and after riding down the line to see that it was properly roped together, gave the command to proceed.  In a little while the road carried us to open, grassy land.  We were above the troublesome forest, now, and had an uninterrupted view, straight before us, of our summit —­the summit of the Riffelberg.

We followed the mule-road, a zigzag course, now to the right, now to the left, but always up, and always crowded and incommoded by going and coming files of reckless tourists who were never, in a single instance, tied together.  I was obliged to exert the utmost care and caution, for in many places the road was not two yards wide, and often the lower side of it sloped away in slanting precipices eight and even nine feet deep.  I had to encourage the men constantly, to keep them from giving way to their unmanly fears.

We might have made the summit before night, but for a delay caused by the loss of an umbrella.  I was allowing the umbrella to remain lost, but the men murmured, and with reason, for in this exposed region we stood in peculiar need of protection against avalanches; so I went into camp and detached a strong party to go after the missing article.

The difficulties of the next morning were severe, but our courage was high, for our goal was near.  At noon we conquered the last impediment—­we stood at last upon the summit, and without the loss of a single man except the mule that ate the glycerin.  Our great achievement was achieved—­the possibility of the impossible was demonstrated, and Harris and I walked proudly into the great dining-room of the Riffelberg Hotel and stood our alpenstocks up in the corner.

Yes, I had made the grand ascent; but it was a mistake to do it in evening dress.  The plug hats were battered, the swallow-tails were fluttering rags, mud added no grace, the general effect was unpleasant and even disreputable.

There were about seventy-five tourists at the hotel —­mainly ladies and little children—­and they gave us an admiring welcome which paid us for all our privations and sufferings.  The ascent had been made, and the names and dates now stand recorded on a stone monument there to prove it to all future tourists.

I boiled a thermometer and took an altitude, with a most curious result:  The summit was not as high as the point on the Mountainside where I had taken the first altitude.  Suspecting that I had made an important discovery, I prepared to verify it.  There happened to be a still higher summit (called the Gorner Grat), above the hotel, and notwithstanding the fact that it overlooks a glacier from a dizzy height, and that the ascent is difficult and dangerous, I resolved to venture up there and boil a thermometer.  So I sent a strong party, with some borrowed hoes, in charge of two chiefs of service, to dig a stairway in the soil all the way up, and this I ascended, roped to the guides.  This breezy height was the summit proper—­so I accomplished even more than I had originally purposed to do.  This foolhardy exploit is recorded on another stone monument.