# My Climbs in the Alps and Caucasus (1908)/Chapter 4

CHAPTER IV.
DER TEUFELSGRAT.
By Mrs. A. F. Mummery.
THE slopes of the Breithorn and the snows of the Weiss Thor are usually supposed to mark the limit of ascents suitable to the weaker sex—indeed, strong prejudices are apt to be aroused the moment a woman attempts any more formidable sort of mountaineering. It appears to me, however, that her powers are, in actual fact, better suited to the really difficult climbs than to the monotonous snow grinds usually considered more fitting.
Really difficult ascents are of necessity made at a much slower pace, halts are fairly frequent, and, with few exceptions, the alternations of heat and cold are less extreme. Snow grinds, on the contrary, usually involve continuous and severe exertion—halts on a wide snow field are practically impossible—and the danger of frost-bite in the early morning is succeeded by the certainty of sun-burning at mid-day. The masculine mind, however, is, with rare exceptions, imbued with ​the idea that a woman is not a fit comrade for steep ice or precipitous rock, and, in consequence, holds it as an article of faith that her climbing should be done by Mark Twain's method, and that she should be satisfied with watching through a telescope some weedy and invertebrate masher being hauled up a steep peak by a couple of burly guides, or by listening to this same masher when, on his return, he lisps out with a sickening drawl the many perils he has encountered.
Alexander Burgener, however, holds many strange opinions; he believes in ghosts, he believes also that women can climb. None the less it was with some surprise that I heard him say, "You must go up the Teufelsgrat." Now the Teufelsgrat, as its name implies, is a ridge of exceptional enormity, and one, moreover, that a few days previously, while we were ascending the Matterhorn, he had pointed out to me as the very embodiment of inaccessibility. I was proud of the compliment, and we solemnly shook hands, Burgener saying the while that the nominal proprietor of the ridge and all his angels should not turn us back, once we were fairly started.
For the benefit of those who may not be well acquainted with the Alpine possessions of his Satanic Majesty, it may be pointed out that the Teufelsgrat is the south-western ridge of the Täschhorn. A short distance north of the Täsch-Alp ​this ridge ends in the little peak called the Strahlbett. Our plan was to sleep at the Täsch-Alp and, crossing the Weingarten glacier, to climb up to a very obvious col immediately on the Täschhorn side of that small peak. From thence to the summit we hoped to be able to follow the ridge.
Accordingly, on July 15, 1887, we started from Zermatt to sleep in the highest châlet—in those days the Täsch Inn was still an unimagined luxury. A merry afternoon was spent on the Alp. Some friends, thinking it a good opportunity to see a sunrise, had joined our party, and, being much interested in our expedition, partook of our high spirits. We greatly astonished the various beasts of the neighbourhood by encroaching on their domain. During the afternoon an irate bull made various endeavours to slay us, and at length succeeded in driving the whole party, guides and travellers, on to the roof of the châlet. Finally, when we began to find our perch inconveniently small, a general sortie was ordered, and with wild yells and much flourishing of axes and hats, the brute was put to rout and sent bellowing down the Alp.
When the last tint of sunset had faded off the Weisshorn, we lit our candles and converted the chalet into a ball-room. It was only twelve feet square, and made perilous by low and unexpected beams. None the less, we had a brilliant dance. ​diversified with songs from the guides and porters. Andenmatten, our second guide, was even provided with a strange and wonderful musical instrument, from which much exhausting blowing would extract reedy dance music and other nondescript melodies. The evening's entertainment having been wound up by the usual discussion about the weather, we betook ourselves to our rugs and tried to sleep. But the boards were hard and the rugs were rough and we were all very restless, and our tempers were getting irritable, when, towards eleven o'clock, the door received a mighty bang, followed by a terrific roar. We all leapt up and seized on ice-axes and telescopes, sticks and hobnailed boots, as weapons wherewith to slay, or at any rate put to flight, the monster who had dared to attack our stronghold. The door was then thrown open and with loud shouts we sallied forth, and once more saw our old enemy the bull. Realising the vigour and fury of his assailants, he again fled, waking the echoes with his indignant snorts and grumbles.
We seized on this incident as a favourable excuse, and abandoned all further idea of sleep. Soon our preparations for the start were begun, and at 1.30 a.m. everything was ready. The two lanterns, skilfully constructed by knocking the bottoms out of empty champagne bottles, were duly lit and, saying good-bye to our friends, we plunged through the long wet grass. The track was soon ​hopelessly lost, so we worked our way towards the torrent and followed its left bank to the moraine.
I do not wish to make any heart ache by recalling the feelings that followed an unwholesome and indigestible supper at 8 p.m., a sleepless night, and a still less digestible breakfast at 1 a.m.; truth, however, compels me to admit that when these feelings were further accentuated by a loose and very inferior moraine lit by the flickering light of a farthing dip in a Bouvier bottle, I agreed most fully in the short and comprehensive denunciation of things in general which various masculine lips now and again expressed. As we tripped and stumbled up the endless stones we became aware that the day was breaking, and by the time we reached the snout of the Weingarten glacier, Monte Rosa was blazing in brightest sunlight. We halted a few minutes in order that Burgener might consider which of two rock couloirs immediately in front of us would offer the best route. I will confess this problem did not arouse my enthusiasm, and, turning my back to the cliffs, I watched the stately advance of the great red sun, as it drove the last lingering darkness from the lower snow fields.
Burgener's survey was soon completed, the men once more swung the knapsacks on to their shoulders, and we strode across the moraine and loose stones towards the couloir nearest the Täschhorn. The rocks proved very easy, and we made ​rapid progress till, at 4.45 a.m., we reached a convenient spot for breakfast. Just in front the cliff became much steeper and was intersected by more or less continuous bands of precipitous rock.
Burgener rejoiced in the approach of our first struggle, and could hardly restrain his exuberant spirits. He employed his time, when his mouth didn't happen to be more seriously occupied, by using his best English to try and shatter my nerves. He gave me various and most graphic pictures of the awful precipices which were to greet my inexperienced eyes, always ending each sentence with, "It is more beautifuls as the Matterhorn," that being the only peak we had previously ascended together.
Having exhausted the regulation time for feeding, the rope was got out and a business-like air settled on Burgener's countenance. He, of course, took the lead, I followed, then came Andenmatten, and my husband last. The rocks were fairly good for a while little, but as we got higher they became steeper and very rotten. Our leader took the greatest care not to upset any of the stones, and kept hurling frightful warnings at me to be equally careful. "You kill your man, you not like that!" I did not "kill my man," but, nevertheless, it was here that our first accident occurred.
We had reached a sort of platform cut off from the upper slopes by a precipitous wall of rock. At ​one point, however, where the end of an overlapping slab had weathered and decayed it, it seemed just possible to surmount the barrier. Burgener was soon at work upon it, but the splinters of rock were so loose that no reliable grip could be found, and progress had to be made with foot and hand hold equally uncertain. Still he steadily advanced, and, at length, could just reach his hands over the top of the rock and clutch at a great stone which seemed firm. Firm it was to a certain extent. Firm enough not to roll over on our heads, but, alas! not firm enough to prevent a slight movement on to Burgener's hand. A stifled groan, a trickle of blood down the rocks, followed by a long and impressive sentence in patois, was all the intelligence vouchsafed us till, with a last effort, Burgener clambered on to the top of the wall. We quickly followed, and, finding a convenient ledge, proceeded to make our diagnosis. A somewhat mangled, swollen, and bleeding thumb offered an interesting problem to a student of the St. John's Ambulance Association. The bleeding was soon checked, and the offending thumb bound up in a variety of pocket-handkerchiefs, Burgener murmuring the while in most pathetic tones, "I no more strong in that hand."
We suggested an immediate retreat, but after a glance at the pinnacled ridge, now well within view, a half bottle of Bouvier (we had forgotten to bring ​any cognac) and a bite off the limb of a tough poulet, there issued from the invalid's lips sneering remarks at the idea of returning. "Vorwärts," he cried, and vorwärts we went, amidst a strange mixture of joyful jodels at the towering gendarmes which seemed to challenge us to wrestle from afar, and dejected looks and mournful voice repeating, "I no more strong in that hand."
About 5.30 a.m. we reached the ridge, here covered with snow. Andenmatten took the lead, and, as the snow was in excellent condition, we were able to make good pace. This was soon succeeded by queer, slabby, stratified rocks, piled at a steep angle, like rows of huge slates, one on the other. Their sharp edges, however, offered good hold for hands and feet. After a short time these broken rocks were interspersed with an occasional bold, precipitous turret, forcing our leader to show his metal. This first gendarme was, nevertheless, successfully passed, and the second stood before us—a large, piled-up mass of brownish yellow, rotten rock, blocking entirely from our view the rest of the arête.
After a short consultation between the guides the best route was singled out, and Andenmatten once more advanced to the attack. The base of the tower went well, and little by little the difficulties seemed to be yielding. Our leader's face beamed with pride and pleasure, as he stormed ​crag after crag, but, alas! he forgot the well-worn proverb, "Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall."
Solomon was once more to be justified, and the joyful Andenmatten was to be the victim. A last small, rocky tooth impeding his progress, and not being able to find sufficient hold, he summoned Burgener to his aid. The suggestion that he should take off the knapsack was treated as an insult, and a minute later, aided by a friendly shove, he had not merely got good hold on the top of the tooth, but was actually resting his arms on it. The tooth was to all intents and purposes climbed, when, to our horror, we saw his arms sliding off, and with a last convulsive effort to find grip for his fingers, he toppled outwards and plunged head downwards over the cliff. Long before the command "hold" could be given we saw him, heels uppermost, arms outspread, knapsack hanging by one strap, and hat rolling into space, on a sloping ice-glazed rock some fifteen feet below us. Burgener, with admirable readiness, had caught hold of the rope as Andenmatten was in the very act of falling, and his iron grip, luckily for us, had stood the strain. I was still clinging to a projecting crag, whilst our last man had thrown himself half over the opposite side of the ridge, and was ready for all emergencies. The fall being checked, all hands seized the rope, but no immediate results ensued. My husband ​then climbed down, and found that Andenmatten's coat had hitched on a rock. This being loosened, a few strong tugs hauled the victim on to the ridge. The deathly silence was broken only by the sobs of the nerve-shattered bundle which lay at our feet, and it was difficult to realise that this was the same active, sturdy, high-spirited man who had piped for us to dance—who had kept us merry by jodels, making the echoes resound amongst the rocks, and whose cheerfulness had made even the stony moraine and endless screes lose something of their horror. Still the silence remained unbroken save for the injured one's sobs—when, suddenly, a solemn voice remarked, "How providential both bottles of Bouvier are not broken." And, looking round, I found my husband had employed the awe-stricken moments in overhauling the contents of the knapsack. One of these same bottles was promptly opened, and a glass of the foaming fluid poured down the throat of the gasping guide.
After again displaying my great surgical skill, mainly by banging the injured one in the ribs, bending his limbs, and generally treating him in a reckless and unmerciful manner, I declared him more frightened than hurt. "Vorwärts," shouted Burgener; "Vorwärts, wir wollen nicht zurück," and once more he took the lead. I followed, then my husband and last of all Andenmatten, his face ​deathly pale, his limbs trembling, and his head enveloped in a voluminous red handkerchief. At every small rock that came in our way he uttered either bitter curses on the past or prayers for his future; matters, we assured him, of trivial import so long as he placed his feet firmly. A short distance further we were forced off the arête on to the Weingarten face. Every ledge and shelf was here so piled with loose, rolling débris, that it was impossible to move without upsetting great slabs and stones. They slid from under our feet, collecting perfect avalanches, as they bounded from ledge to ledge, before taking the last tremendous plunge to the glacier. Coming to the end of these shelves and ledges, we were pulled up by "Blatten" and forced to ascend to the ridge once more. By this time the mournful appeals of the crestfallen Andenmatten enlisted our sympathies, and we halted a few minutes to once more examine his back and apply a certain well-known remedy to his lips. At the same time a gentle hint was given that it was quite useless to develop pains of any sort, either in the back or elsewhere, until a more favourable spot should present itself for their treatment.
We then again set to work. A pyramid in front being impracticable, we were forced over on to the Kien glacier face, along a steep ice slope of most uninviting aspect. Here and there a slab of rock protruded through the ice, suggesting slight hold ​for the hands, but almost invariably proving to be loose and coming away at the slightest touch. The amount of step-cutting involved was extremely irksome to Burgener. His hand was by this time bleeding afresh, and a groan of pain escaped his lips as each stroke of the axe sent the brittle chips sliding and slithering down the glassy slope. In spite of the wounded hand, the step-cutting had to continue for half an hour or more—half an hour that appeared to me absolutely interminable, as I listened to the groans from in front and to the intermittent sobs and complaints from behind. Andenmatten appeared, indeed, to be in such a deplorable condition that he might faint at any moment; a contingency which suggested that, after all, the Teufelsgrat might have the best of the game.
Further progress on the ice slope was now barred by an impassable buttress of smooth, black rock, the fangs of a huge tooth which towered high above the ridge. Burgener was forced in consequence to work back to the right, and make his way to the ridge up the chimney or rock couloir by which the tooth was flanked. There was, of course, the obvious objection that this chimney would bring us to the arête on the wrong side of the great tooth, but, as our leader remarked, "Es giebt keinen anderen Weg!" Some rather difficult climbing brought him into the gully. When he had ​found secure footing, I scrambled up and was stowed away into a small ice-filled cleft. He then kindly took my axe and perched it for me in the gully, and, with an authoritative "You stay there" to me, he proceeded on his way. Stones and chips of ice soon whizzed past, followed, a few minutes later, by a great flake which swept down, upsetting my axe, and in a moment my cherished weapon had disappeared into space.
At length the rope became taut, and in obedience to the order "Come on," I climbed up the ice-glazed, snow-masked rocks to a big step cut into deeper ice near the top of the gully. Above, snow and easy rock led us to the ridge. But as we had feared, the great tower in front was impassable, and it was evident that another traverse would have to be made. On coming quite close, however, we were overjoyed to find an extraordinary cleft in the rock. The cleft was just wide enough to enable one to squeeze through, and led along the ridge, apparently turning the obstruction.
I feel sure my companions shared the thrill of delight which this awoke within me, by the inspiriting jodel which Burgener shot into the air, the merry chuckle from my husband, and the absence of sound of any sort from Andenmatten. To explore this dismal and uncanny tunnel was the next business. For this purpose one of the party unroped and dived into the semi-darkness. His ​grunts and groans as he squeezed himself through the narrow passage, and a final volley of those unreportable words in which the troubled masculine mind invariably seeks relief, acquainted us with the fact that the hole was a delusion, and that the mountain had been merely playing us a practical joke.
The only alternative was to get round the obstruction on the right. Burgener at once led us along a narrow ledge, which was more or less covered with the débris fallen from above. It was necessary to be extremely careful, as the cliff on our left was cased with a veneer of rotten stones, and it seemed as if the disturbance of any single one of them might bring the whole rickety mass down on our heads. On the right was a dizzy precipice of fifteen hundred feet or more, with the crevassed Weingarten glacier below. After a while we reached an arm of rock which blocked the ledge; climbing over, or rather round this, we found a secure nook where we sat down whilst Burgener unroped and went ahead to explore. He was soon hidden from our view by the crags, and, for a time, all the news we had of him was the ceaseless rattle of the stones he upset. At last we saw him reappear, but there was no life in his movements; his face was serious, and in response to our queries he said: "Herr Mommerie, it is quite impossible." During our enforced idleness we had had time to thoroughly ​study the wall of rock cutting us off from the ridge. A very sanguine member of the party had even declared that, "If old Burgener can't get up that slope, it is a pity,"
Putting on the rope once more, the great man of the party advanced to the assault. With great care he got his hands well fixed in a crevice, but above and on either side, as far as he could reach, everything he touched came away, covering me with showers of crumbling shale. I jammed my head against the cliff, but this gave scanty shelter from the sharp-edged, slate-like chips that came flying by, and by the time the order "Come on" was sounded, my fingers and arms were a good deal the worse for wear, and my eyes were full of anything and everything small enough to get into them. But the worst was now to come; how was I to get up without at least slaying those behind me, or, which seemed much more likely, upsetting the whole unstable veneer that covered the face of the cliff? Whenever one stone gave way, those above it came sweeping down in a perfect avalanche, so exciting Burgener's fears that he kept shrieking, "You kill your man if you not more careful are." My own impression was that I should not merely "kill my man," but that the whole party and most of the mountain would be hurled to the glacier beneath. It was, therefore, with a most joyful heart that I at length found myself seated securely ​on a rock overlooking the snow slope on the left of the arete, and could watch in comfort the miseries of my companions below.
So soon as we had thoroughly realised that no serious injury had been done either to us or the mountain, Burgener carefully examined our route. In a few moments forth came the joyful words, "Herr Mommerie, das geht."
Once more we advanced, this time " Herr Mommerie" leading. The arête proved fairly easy, though there were short steps of precipitous rock where a shoulder from Burgener or a hoist on his axe were needed. At one place a more formidable step was encountered, and the knapsacks, coats, Andenmatten and myself were left below, while the cragsmen of the party grappled with the difficulty. Shouts at length announced their success, and with a great swish down came the rope for the various baggage. As soon as this had been hauled up, the rope came down again for me, and, with unmixed delight, I prepared to follow. My half-hour's halt had been anything but pleasant, as a bitterly cold wind had sprung up, and the sun was obscured by driving mist. A third time the rope was thrown down, and after much hauling and advice Andenmatten joined our company. We then kept along the ridge till a larger "step," precipitous and impassable, barred the way. Our leaders again consulted, and, after a short halt. ​led us on to the Kien glacier face, where a convenient snow slope seemed to afford an easy, though not very expeditious, method of turning the obstruction.
The snow being in good condition we got over the ground quickly, but as we advanced the axe occasionally reached the underlying ice, and at last the snow dwindled down to an inch or less in thickness, and every step had to be hacked out of hard black ice. The cautious Alexander, thinking that it Was no longer a place in which an amateur should lead, unroped, and cutting a few steps below me, went to the front, and swung mighty blows against the relentless slope. It was desirable to go as fast as possible, for the rock above us was constantly sending its superfluous icicles and stones across our track, and we feared at every moment that larger missiles might follow, and sweep us with them in their mad flight of bounds and leaps to the gigantic blue crevasses far, far below. But the ice was hard, and Burgener was hampered by his wounded hand. Slowly we seemed to crawl along, and ever, when we reached rock, found nothing but smooth slabs, slippery with a glazing of ice. Wearily we plodded on. Fingers and feet had long since lost all sensation, and the only hope that buoyed our sinking spirits was the belief that, on passing a rib of rock not far in front, our difficulties would be at an end and the ascent ​practically accomplished. In due time we reached this rib, and beyond it the snow was certainly thicker, and, as far as we could see, there was nothing ahead that need cause us uneasiness. Judging by the time we had already spent on the mountain and the many difficulties we had surmounted, I concluded that the summit must be nearly won. The lead was again made over to my husband, and Burgener having resumed his old place on the rope, the traverse continued.
"Oh! vain hope and frivolous conclusion!" The crucial test was yet to come. Snow, rocks and ice had astonished us in the past by their forbidding nature; now, in addition to these, we were handicapped by the lateness of the hour (1.30 p.m.), a driving mist, and worst of all, by fatigue, cold and hunger.
The snow once more began to thin out, leaving nothing but a huge sheet of ice. To cut across would have taken days. There was clearly nothing for it but once more to regain the ridge. Burgener was of opinion that we were past the more serious towers and pinnacles, and that, if we could only reach the crest, a sure and not too lengthy road to the summit would be ours. He therefore directed our leader to make straight up the slope towards some great slabs of rock that projected through the ice. These, however, soon became too precipitous and smooth, and we were reduced. ​as our last chance, to cutting up a hideous ice-gully that flanked the rocks. In places snow covered the ice, and, the gully being bent and narrow, it afforded more or less precarious footing. Burgener's injunctions were constant, "Keep where the snow is thickest." But the snow soon dwindled down till it nowhere exceeded an inch or so; still, as long as the beat of the axe could hew out a step, we advanced steadily. At length, however, the cheery chip of the axe ceased, and in response to Burgener's query came the reply, "Es giebt gar kein Eis." To the right and to the left the smooth slabs of the rock-gully were but thinly glazed, and above this again was a thin coating of loose snow. The wall of rock on the right suggested, however, some possibility of continuing the ascent, and to this our leader made his way and climbed a short distance, when it became so ice-glazed and precipitous that he was brought to a stand. It was even doubtful whether he could descend, and it was evident that his position was critical in the extreme. Luckily, he had for the moment fairly reliable footing.
​With a hasty glance at the never-to-be-forgotten gully, we bent our somewhat weary steps onward, scrambling, climbing and crawling over the various crags, pinnacles and flying buttresses which constitute the arête. Compared to our recent experiences it seemed easy, and progress was rapid. Suddenly, however, our leader came to a halt, and though Burgener urged him to proceed, he utterly refused, and after a few moments summoned Alexander to the front. I could not see his usually expressive face, but the words, "Herr Gott, unmöglich!" reached my ears, and I hurried forward to see what new peril threatened us.
To understand the position of affairs it is necessary to describe the very curious rock formation in some detail. The ridge where we stood projected in a huge rock cornice, far over the precipice. Immediately beyond, this cornice had broken away. In consequence, the ridge by which we had been ascending appeared to end abruptly, and there was no question of going forwards—immeasurable space yawned in front. Twenty feet or more to our left the true ridge, there denuded of its rock cornice, mounted rapidly in a series of precipitous steps, but from our point of view we looked, not at the ridge, but at the bare precipitous face below it. Even could we have reached that face, no climber could hope to cling to it; but ​we could not even reach it; between us and it was the most awful chasm it has ever been my lot to see. This formation of ridge is, so far as the experience of any member of the party extended, unique. It gave, indeed, the impression that there were two ridges, separated from each other by an impassable gulf. No wonder, then, that black horror seized us. Return was not to be thought of, and advance seemed impossible. There we four stood, absolutely powerless, our teeth chattering with the bitter cold, and the damp, cruel mist ever driving across, threatening to add obscurity to our other bewilderment.
Happily, after a few minutes we began to recover from the mental shock caused by this most dramatic break in the ridge, and proceeded to reduce its tremendous appearance to the dull and narrow limits of actual fact. So soon as we had realised that we were on a cornice overhanging the precipice, it became obvious that we must climb down the cornice to the real ridge, and from that point seek to attack the difficulties in front. This descent was not very easy, the slabby rocks shelving steeply towards the Kien glacier, and all the interstices and cracks being filled with ice. However, some slight hold was obtainable on the extreme edge, and after the ice had been dug from various irregularities and fractures my husband arrived at a point immediately above a deep cleft, which ​cut off the corniced section of the ridge from its uncorniced continuation. Beyond this point the comfortable assurance of the rope was gone. Any one dependent on it would necessarily swing free in mid-air, and it may well be doubted whether "all the king's horses and all the king's men" would suffice to replace that aerial dangler on the ridge. Happily, minute search revealed a small notch in the rock, and though it was evident that a rope drawn from time to time through it would be certain to slip out, it appeared likely that a fixed rope would be held in position so long as only a perfectly steady pull was applied to it. In dubious tones, therefore, came the words, "Fix the rope and I'll try." To which Burgener replied, "Herr Je, es muss gehen sonst sind wir alle caput." The rope being securely lashed to a crag on the top of the cornice, the other end was passed down, and our leader squeezed it into the tiny notch. First carefully pulling it taut to prevent any "run" when his weight should come on it, we saw him swing over and disappear. An instant later we heard the welcome news, "It's all right, there is good hold all the way down."
At length he came in sight, stretching over the yawning gulf, and we saw him grip the rock beyond and climb warily along the side of a great block of uncertain stability, poised like a logan stone on the arete. An ugly ten feet or more followed, and ​then we heard the joyful, "Kommen sie nur, Alexander." The sheet anchor of the party having got over, I had to follow, and great was my elation to find that I could accomplish without help a mauvais pas that had for a minute or two seemed impassable to the stronger and more daring members of the party.
​"Der Teufelsgrat ist gemacht!" shouted Burgener, and we began to race along the snow, which rose in front and to our right into a steep crest. Up these slopes we could see the footprints left by a party which, under the leadership of Franz Burgener, had made the ordinary ascent on the previous day. "Half an hour more and it is done, and the Teufelsgrat is ours," added the excited Alexander as we hurried along, feeling that success was within our grasp. The footprints grew perceptibly larger, and on we ran till we actually placed our feet in the tracks. Here all unnecessary luggage was deposited, and Burgener, seeing I was very cold, arrayed me in his coat and gloves. We hastened up the snow, finding no difficulty other than its extreme softness. A scramble over some sharp slate-like rocks followed, then a little more snow, and at 5.30 p.m. we stood on the summit. But for one moment only. At once Burgener began with serious face to say, "I not like a thunderstorm on this ridge." There was no doubt about it, the clouds were wrapping round us, and the distant grumble rolled in our ears. "Go on, go on quicker, Herr Mommerie!" and then with a push he hustled me along the arête. "You must go on, I could a cow hold here," were the encouraging words I heard as I went helter-skelter over anything which happened to be in the way. Soon the snow slopes were reached, and our property once more picked up. We ran our ​hardest through the blinding storm, almost deafened by the reverberating peals of thunder; but what mattered it? True it was late; true we were cold, hungry, and tired; true we were sinking into the snow above our knees, and the "trace" had disappeared beneath the rapidly falling snow; but "the Teufelsgrat was ours," and we cared little for these minor evils, and we laughed the tempest to scorn with jodels and triumphant shouts. A short traverse to the left and we crossed the Bergschrund; a weary drag over gentle snow slopes, a little care in winding through some open crevasses, and our dangers were ended. At 8 p.m. we reached the snout of the Kien glacier, and once more stepped on to moraine. We descended stony slopes for another hour, and then I remembered that our last meal had taken place at 10 a.m. It being obvious that we could not) get to Randa that night, I suggested a halt, and the idea was received with applause. In a few minutes we were sitting on various stones munching our evening meal, the only drawback being that we were distinctly cold. My hands and feet were numb, and what remained of our clothing (we had left a good deal of it on the Teufelsgrat) was soaking wet, and, worst of all, my boots, viewed by the flickering light of a candle, seemed hardly likely to hold out till we got to Randa.
Our hunger being somewhat appeased, I noticed symptoms of sleepiness amongst the guides. In ​consequence, I reminded Burgener of his promise to take us, in any case, down to the trees, so that we might rejoice in a fire. We started off once more, carefully roped. The slope being steep and intersected by low cliffs, and the night being so inky black that we could see nothing, it was really necessary to take this precaution. We proceeded down the hill much as a pack of cards might be expected to do, Burgener sprawling on his back and upsetting me, and I passing the shock back to the others. This mode of advance kept up till 11 p.m., when our guides suddenly pulled up and inquired, in an awestruck whisper, whether we could see a tiny light on the right? With great glee I said, "Yes, it must be a châlet." The suggestion was treated with silent contempt. "What can it be, then?" In funereal tones Burgener said, "I do not know"; but Andenmatten timidly whispered, "Geister!" From that moment I could see there was no fire for us; that we should be lucky if we could sneak under the cover of a rock to shelter us from the storm that threatened once more to burst over our heads.
A few steps further and a huge black object faced us. On examination we found it to be a suitable place for spending the next few hours. In five minutes the guides were snoring peacefully; but we, after wringing the water out of our dripping clothes, were reduced to dancing various war ​dances in the vain hope of keeping warm. When these exercises became unduly fatiguing, we watched the lightning play round the peaks and ridges, and finally stirred up the guides with an ice-axe and urged them to continue the descent. They did not at all approve this course of action, as they considered their quarters luxurious and most thoroughly calculated to induce refreshing sleep. The next two hours were spent in slowly slipping and tumbling down stony grass-grown slopes. We then turned to the right on to somewhat smoother ground. The men, however, refused to go further, alleging that there were fearful precipices in front, and that, in the blackness of the stormy night, it was quite impossible to do so with reasonable safety. The guides again went soundly to sleep, whilst we watched wearily for the first sign of morning. When a streak of light did at length illumine the darkness, we saw the dim outline of trees not far distant, and promptly went down to them. A fire was soon blazing, and we endeavoured to warm ourselves ; but though we well nigh roasted our toes and fingers and scorched our faces, the rest of us seemed, perhaps by contrast, colder than before, and we shivered painfully before the crackling pine wood.
As soon as it was fairly light, we dragged our weary bodies through the forest and along and down the pastures, till at 5.30 a.m. we entered the little white inn at Randa. We woke the landlord, and he ​promptly provided us with a big fire. A hot breakfast followed, and when we had done due justice to his culinary efforts, we climbed into a shaky char-à-banc and drove back to Zermatt.
Burgener was in the highest spirits; his chief source of delight appeared to be a belief that our non-return the previous night would have excited alarm, and that we should probably have the proud privilege of meeting a search party, properly equipped for the transport of our shattered remains. My husband, however, did not altogether sympathise with these feelings and seemed to have a keen appreciation of the Trinkgeld, tariffs, and other pecuniary concomitants of such luxuries. Happily, we knew our friends were not very likely to think we should have come to any harm, and when two hours later we drove into Zermatt, we found they were still peacefully slumbering in their rooms.