John Tyndall to Faraday   27 December 1859

Montanvert, Chamouni | 27th, Dec, 1859.

My dear Mr Faraday

At 3 o clock to day just as you were commencing your lecture in Albemarle Street, I drank your health at the Montanvert, and wished you vigour to accomplish your work to your own satisfaction and to the delight of “the juveniles.”¹ The wine in which I drank it had to be dug out of the earth where it had been buried to keep it from the hands of an adventurous robber, and also from the sterner hand of the frost. I left Chamouni this morning under the most unpromising auspices it had snowed heavily during the night, and the clouds when I arose gathered all around the mountains obscuring them from top to base. It was also spitting snow. My men came to me at 7 o clock and we agreed to wait till 8, and then decide as to our future movements. The idea of coming all the way to Chamouni and quitting it without at least making an attempt to accomplish my work was extremely repugnant to me, so that when my men came a second time, and appeared rather in favour of the expedition than otherwise, I at once resolved to start. We did so at a quarter before 9 A.M. Two of my men had tried to force their way from the source of the Arverron straight up the mountain to the Montanvert on Thursday last², but found the effort so painful that today they decided on following as close as possible the usual route. For the sake of security I have engaged four men who are to be tied together while ranging out my lines; the crevasses are covered with snow, but some of them only lightly, so the man who fixes my stations must have three others to take care of him. Two additional men were hired to carry our provisions to the Montanvert. Our work, for some time, was comparatively easy: the men however halted after the first three quarters of an hour, attached pattens to their feet. These were pieces of wood, about sixteen inches long and ten wide, which presented a large surface to the snow and prevented the wearers from sinking too deeply. I tried the pattens, but not being accustomed to them rejected them after a brief essay. I had reason to repent of this afterwards. The pine trees were quite majestic: the snow of the preceeding night had fallen through a perfectly still atmosphere and loaded the branches, forming in some cases, a layer at least ten inches deep. The branches drooped under the weight and presented the appearances of arms terminated by vast claws turned downwards; some of the smaller pines with closer branches were quite covered, and presented most fantastic appearances; one in particular was exactly like a huge white parrot with folded wings and drooping head. The average depth of the snow was between 3 and 4 feet; but in some places it exceeded five feet. The men took the lead in turns; the snow was like flour, and the first man laboured through it up to his knees and often to his hips he and the last man viz myself suffered most: he, because he had to break fresh ground, and I because the steps which my precursors made were not always sufficiently rigid to sustain my weight, and I sometimes found myself in a shaft waist deep, from which it required a considerable effort to extricate me. Two or three times one of the men in advance of me sank suddenly, leaving absolutely nothing but his head above the surface of the snow. On the steeper slopes the work was very difficult, for here a certain component of the slope added itself to the true vertical height of the snow. The couloirs were encumbered with the debris of avalanches, and on one open space we worked upwards for three quarters of an hour over the ruins of an avalanche that had fallen the night before. We choose it, because the snow of the avalanche was more compact than the fresh snow which it had swept away in its downward rush. At several different places my attention was excited by a dull booming sound like the report of a distant gun: it was caused by the breaking asunder of the layer of snow, which had been for some time previous in a state of strain, the forward portion being held back by its attachment to the portion behind. We actually in several instances saw the crevasse formed at the moment that the sound was heard. The weather improved as we ascended, and some of the cloud effects were wonderful: language is a mere lumbering vehicle to describe the magnificence of their arrangement. They shifted incessantly: sometimes leaving the grandest summits drawn against the deep blue heaven, sometimes obscuring all above and casting an angry indigo-blue light upon the snow and pines. The Aiguille du Dru was noble in the extreme -- half its mighty cone strongly illuminated, and half in shade; while the light snow powder scattered upon its ledges was caught by the wind and unfurled itself as a banner which streamed far southward from the mountain head. We reached the Montanvert at 2 P.M. after five hours and a quarter of extremely hard work; I in a ferocious state of hunger as I had not taken any food during the journey. The Mer de Glace was quite glorious, not as in summer wasted and dirty, but pure and white with its frozen billows steep, high, and sharply crested. It was all in shadow save the portion opposite to the tributary which descends from the Col de geant; this tributary being 14 degrees from the meridian, at 2 o clock the sun beams gushed straight down the corridor of le geant, ruled the Mer de Glace with a transverse beam and flooded the Aiguille de Morne with radience from base to summit. Having swept the snow from the floor of our domicile a large pine fire was made beside which I now sit. A thermometer at 8 feet distance from the fire still shews a temperature of half a degree centigrade under zero. I have just placed a minimum thermometer on a chair which I have fastened in the snow, and tomorrow morning I shall be able to state the lowest temperature of the night. The stars are shining, and the north wind an hour ago shook all the windows and made some of the panes perfectly musical. It has now subsided and I have strong hopes of being able to accomplish what I intended. I have given you but a feeble idea of the interest of this day’s experience. The frozen figures on the window panes of the Montanvert Auberge are the most beautiful things imaginable, and when I place my fingers against the glass and melt the frozen layer the recrystallization of the liquid water, looked at through a pocket lens, is perfectly exquisite. It gladdens one’s very heart to see those beauties: Some artist proudly remarked on viewing a fine picture “I too am a painter” -- Is it presumption if when looking at those wondrous productions, and feeling a certain affinity with them one should bless the gods for being a natural philosopher?

Good bye | Ever Yours | John Tyndall