CHAPTER XLI [The Fearful Disaster of 1865]

One of the most memorable of all the Alpine catastrophes was that of July, 1865, on the Matterhorn—­already sighted referred to, a few pages back.  The details of it are scarcely known in America.  To the vast majority of readers they are not known at all.  Mr. Whymper’s account is the only authentic one.  I will import the chief portion of it into this book, partly because of its intrinsic interest, and partly because it gives such a vivid idea of what the perilous pastime of Alp-climbing is.  This was Mr. Whymper’s ninth attempt during a series of years, to vanquish that steep and stubborn pillar or rock; it succeeded, the other eight were failures.  No man had ever accomplished the ascent before, though the attempts had been numerous.

MR. WHYMPER’S NARRATIVE

We started from Zermatt on the 13th of July, at half past five, on a brilliant and perfectly cloudless morning.  We were eight in number—­Croz (guide), old Peter Taugwalder (guide) and his two sons; Lord F. Douglas, Mr. Hadow, Rev. Mr. Hudson, and I. To insure steady motion, one tourist and one native walked together.  The youngest Taugwalder fell to my share.  The wine-bags also fell to my lot to carry, and throughout the day, after each drink, I replenished them secretly with water, so that at the next halt they were found fuller than before!  This was considered a good omen, and little short of miraculous.

On the first day we did not intend to ascend to any great height, and we mounted, accordingly, very leisurely.  Before twelve o’clock we had found a good position for the tent, at a height of eleven thousand feet.  We passed the remaining hours of daylight—­some basking in the sunshine, some sketching, some collecting; Hudson made tea, I coffee, and at length we retired, each one to his blanket bag.

We assembled together before dawn on the 14th and started directly it was light enough to move.  One of the young Taugwalders returned to Zermatt.  In a few minutes we turned the rib which had intercepted the view of the eastern face from our tent platform.  The whole of this great slope was now revealed, rising for three thousand feet like a huge natural staircase.  Some parts were more, and others were less easy, but we were not once brought to a halt by any serious impediment, for when an obstruction was met in front it could always be turned to the right or to the left.  For the greater part of the way there was no occasion, indeed, for the rope, and sometimes Hudson led, sometimes myself.  At six-twenty we had attained a height of twelve thousand eight hundred feet, and halted for half an hour; we then continued the ascent without a break until nine-fifty-five, when we stopped for fifty minutes, at a height of fourteen thousand feet.