by Mark Twain
CHAPTER XLI
[The Fearful Disaster of 1865]
One of the most memorable of all the Alpine catastrophes was that ofJuly, 1865, on the Matterhorn--already slightly referred to, a fewpages back. The details of it are scarcely known in America. To the vastmajority of readers they are not known at all. Mr. Whymper's account isthe only authentic one. I will import the chief portion of it into thisbook, partly because of its intrinsic interest, and partly because itgives such a vivid idea of what the perilous pastime of Alp-climbingis. This was Mr. Whymper's _ninth_ attempt during a series of years, tovanquish that steep and stubborn pillar or rock; it succeeded, the othereight 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 abrilliant 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 touristand one native walked together. The youngest Taugwalder fell to myshare. The wine-bags also fell to my lot to carry, and throughout theday, after each drink, I replenished them secretly with water, so thatat the next halt they were found fuller than before! This was considereda good omen, and little short of miraculous.
On the first day we did not intend to ascend to any great height, and wemounted, accordingly, very leisurely. Before twelve o'clock we had founda good position for the tent, at a height of eleven thousand feet. Wepassed the remaining hours of daylight--some basking in the sunshine,some sketching, some collecting; Hudson made tea, I coffee, and atlength we retired, each one to his blanket bag.
We assembled together before dawn on the 14th and started directlyit was light enough to move. One of the young Taugwalders returned toZermatt. In a few minutes we turned the rib which had intercepted theview of the eastern face from our tent platform. The whole of thisgreat slope was now revealed, rising for three thousand feet like a hugenatural staircase. Some parts were more, and others were less easy, butwe were not once brought to a halt by any serious impediment, for whenan obstruction was met in front it could always be turned to the rightor to the left. For the greater part of the way there was no occasion,indeed, for the rope, and sometimes Hudson led, sometimes myself. Atsix-twenty we had attained a height of twelve thousand eight hundredfeet, and halted for half an hour; we then continued the ascent withouta break until nine-fifty-five, when we stopped for fifty minutes, at aheight of fourteen thousand feet.
We had now arrived at the foot of that part which, seen from theRiffelberg, seems perpendicular or overhanging. We could no longercontinue on the eastern side. For a little distance we ascended by snowupon the _ar?te_--that is, the ridge--then turned over to the right, ornorthern side. The work became difficult, and required caution. In someplaces there was little to hold; the general slope of the mountain was_less_ than forty degrees, and snow had accumulated in, and had filledup, the interstices of the rock-face, leaving only occasional fragmentsprojecting here and there. These were at times covered with a thin filmof ice. It was a place which any fair mountaineer might pass in safety.We bore away nearly horizontally for about four hundred feet, thenascended directly toward the summit for about sixty feet, then doubledback to the ridge which descends toward Zermatt. A long stride rounda rather awkward corner brought us to snow once more. That last doubtvanished! The Matterhorn was ours! Nothing but two hundred feet of easysnow remained to be surmounted.
The higher we rose, the more intense became the excitement. The slopeeased off, at length we could be detached, and Croz and I, dashed away,ran a neck-and-neck race, which ended in a dead heat. At 1:40 P.M., theworld was at our feet, and the Matterhorn was conquered!
The others arrived. Croz now took the tent-pole, and planted it in thehighest snow. "Yes," we said, "there is the flag-staff, but where is theflag?" "Here it is," he answered, pulling off his blouse and fixing itto the stick. It made a poor flag, and there was no wind to floatit out, yet it was seen all around. They saw it at Zermatt--at theRiffel--in the Val Tournanche... .
We remained on the summit for one hour--
One crowded hour of glorious life.
It passed away too quickly, and we began to prepare for the descent.
Hudson and I consulted as to the best and safest arrangement of theparty. We agreed that it was best for Croz to go first, and Hadowsecond; Hudson, who was almost equal to a guide in sureness of foot,wished to be third; Lord Douglas was placed next, and old Peter, thestrongest of the remainder, after him. I suggested to Hudson that weshould attach a rope to the rocks on our arrival at the difficult bit,and hold it as we descended, as an additional protection. He approvedthe idea, but it was not definitely decided that it should be done. Theparty was being arranged in the above order while I was sketching thesummit, and they had finished, and were waiting for me to be tied inline, when some one remembered that our names had not been left in abottle. They requested me to write them down, and moved off while it wasbeing done.
A few minutes afterward I tied myself to young Peter, ran down after theothers, and caught them just as they were commencing the descent of thedifficult part. Great care was being taken. Only one man was moving at atime; when he was firmly planted the next advanced, and so on. They hadnot, however, attached the additional rope to rocks, and nothing wassaid about it. The suggestion was not made for my own sake, and I am notsure that it ever occurred to me again. For some little distance we twofollowed the others, detached from them, and should have continued sohad not Lord Douglas asked me, about 3 P.M., to tie on to old Peter, ashe feared, he said, that Taugwalder would not be able to hold his groundif a slip occurred.
A few minutes later, a sharp-eyed lad ran into the Monte Rosa Hotel, atZermatt, saying that he had seen an avalanche fall from the summit ofthe Matterhorn onto the Matterhorn glacier. The boy was reproved fortelling idle stories; he was right, nevertheless, and this was what hesaw.
Michel Croz had laid aside his ax, and in order to give Mr. Hadowgreater security, was absolutely taking hold of his legs, and puttinghis feet, one by one, into their proper positions. As far as I know, noone was actually descending. I cannot speak with certainty, because thetwo leading men were partially hidden from my sight by an interveningmass of rock, but it is my belief, from the movements of theirshoulders, that Croz, having done as I said, was in the act of turninground to go down a step or two himself; at this moment Mr. Hadowslipped, fell against him, and knocked him over. I heard one startledexclamation from Croz, then saw him and Mr. Hadow flying downward;in another moment Hudson was dragged from his steps, and Lord Douglasimmediately after him. All this was the work of a moment. Immediately weheard Croz's exclamation, old Peter and I planted ourselves as firmly asthe rocks would permit; the rope was taut between us, and the jerk cameon us both as on one man. We held; but the rope broke midway betweenTaugwalder and Lord Francis Douglas. For a few seconds we saw ourunfortunate companions sliding downward on their backs, and spreadingout their hands, endeavoring to save themselves. They passed from oursight uninjured, disappeared one by one, and fell from the precipice toprecipice onto the Matterhorn glacier below, a distance of nearlyfour thousand feet in height. From the moment the rope broke it wasimpossible to help them. So perished our comrades!
For more than two hours afterward I thought almost every moment that thenext would be my last; for the Taugwalders, utterly unnerved, were notonly incapable of giving assistance, but were in such a state that aslip might have been expected from them at any moment. After a time wewere able to do that which should have been done at first, and fixedrope to firm rocks, in addition to being tied together. These ropes werecut from time to time, and were left behind. Even with their assurancethe men were afraid to proceed, and several times old Peter turned, withashy face and faltering limbs, and said, with terrible emphasis, "_Icannot_!"
About 6 P.M., we arrived at the snow upon the ridge descending tow
ardZermatt, and all peril was over. We frequently looked, but in vain, fortraces of our unfortunate companions; we bent over the ridge and criedto them, but no sound returned. Convinced at last that they were neitherwithin sight nor hearing, we ceased from our useless efforts; and, toocast down for speech, silently gathered up our things, and the littleeffects of those who were lost, and then completed the descent.
Such is Mr. Whymper's graphic and thrilling narrative. Zermatt gossipdarkly hints that the elder Taugwalder cut the rope, when the accidentoccurred, in order to preserve himself from being dragged into theabyss; but Mr. Whymper says that the ends of the rope showed no evidenceof cutting, but only of breaking. He adds that if Taugwalder had had thedisposition to cut the rope, he would not have had time to do it, theaccident was so sudden and unexpected.
Lord Douglas' body has never been found. It probably lodged upon someinaccessible shelf in the face of the mighty precipice. Lord Douglas wasa youth of nineteen. The three other victims fell nearly four thousandfeet, and their bodies lay together upon the glacier when found byMr. Whymper and the other searchers the next morning. Their graves arebeside the little church in Zermatt.
