To Juliet Pollock   4th. August 1858.

4^th. August 1858

My dear M^rs. Pollock.

I have just made a little excursion which I must describe to you, more perhaps for the purpose of proving to you that amid the mountains I have not forgotten my friends of Montagu Square,¹ than for any other purpose. I now sit in a hotel² situated half way up the Eggishorn.³ It has been built for the accommodation of those who ascend the ‘horn’, from which the view is magnificent. Round the base of the horn winds the finest glacier I ever saw, which takes its origin from the snows of the Junfrau⁴ and other mountains of similar magnitude. Five valleys contribute their contents to form the trunk of the great Aletsch glacier.⁵ A nobler or more beautiful scene cannot be imagined than that presented from the common point of convergence of these five valleys. The mountain forms are most beautiful, and the snows shine upon them as whitely and smoothly as polished Carrara marble.⁶ I have been amongst them at sunrise and sunset, at midday and at midnight when the moon renders the scene magical,—But I am forgetting my story. I wanted to make some observations upon the effect of the lower layers of the atmosphere on the sun’s rays, and for this purpose wished to make simultaneous observations at the top of a high mountain & in a valley.⁷ The highest mountain in the Oberland⁸ is the Finsteraarhorn,⁹ and it had been ascended twice. Attached to this hotel is a remarkable looking man,¹⁰ between 30 & 40 years old, round shouldered, and with a trunk of the same thickness from hips to shoulders; a thick neck with a massive head set upon it. His legs, set rather widely apart, are bent so as to bring his feet sufficiently near each other. The figure of the man is expressive of great strength and his countenance is full of energy & decision, brightened up, however, by a gleam of good nature. This man was mentioned to me as the most daring climber in this canton.¹¹ He had been up the Finsteraarhorn, and I thought that in his company I might possibly carry out my intention. I asked him whether he would undertake to come along with me, engaging to follow where he felt inclined to lead, and not to weary him by calling upon him to help me. He agreed to make the trial, and the night before last we lay together in a cavern purposing to start upon our expedition before the dawn.

At 3 o’clock we were on foot. A cloudless moon was in heaven and the stars twinkled all colours. Between two high mountains which are the first sentinels of one of the tributary valleys to which I have referred stretches a ‘saddle’ of pure white snow with a graceful chainlike curvature. We first ascended to this saddle, and looking back the valley through which we had passed lay before us, and beyond it another magnificent valley—another of the tributaries—terminated by a similar saddle. The valley lay east and west, and each carved a space from the firmament towards one of which the rising sun was climbing, while the western one received his rays. Had Tennyson¹² been there he would have seen his ‘daffodil sky’¹³ illustrated as it never has been illustrated in England. —But I am again forgetting my expedition—We reached the foot of the Finsteraarhorn at 6. AM Clouds were still upon his head, but the wind was north, and we had sufficient faith in Nature’s constancy to believe that the day would be a fair one. We fed at the base of the mountain—my guide¹⁴ rejoiced in wine, but I had a bottle of cold tea and choice cream in equal volumes, which I had before proved to be a good antidote for thirst. Leaving everything not absolutely needed here behind us we commenced our task. The mountain sends down a number of parallel spurs, formed of loose & spiky gneiss,¹⁵ and between these were great couloirs¹⁶ filled with snow and ice. Our way lay sometimes along the spine of rock, sometimes upon the snow. I once paused upon a little ledge of ice which jutted from one of the slopes to take the angle downwards: it was 45^°, and about 50 yards below the point where this observation was made yawned a deep crevasse. The slope was as steep as that of the roof of a gothic Cathedral. We climbed several slopes of this kind, and there was a certain melody in our ascent of some of them in which steps were to be cut. The guide was in front and swung his mattock once, cutting to the necessary depth with a single stroke. The raising of his foot kept time with the swing of his implement and gave a kind of rhythm to his operations. The last 1000 feet of the mountain formed by far the most formidable piece of climbing that I had ever encountered—My guide, strong as he was, laid his head upon his hatchet sometimes and panted like a chased deer. We reached the top at half past 10 A.M. We made all the observations we could, and I left a thermometer behind me which will enable some future tourist to tell us the greatest degree of cold attained in these high regions. The boiling point of water is 25 degrees lower than at the sea level, which explains the fact of my having poured a quantity of boiling water over my guide’s hand without scalding him. We came down the greater part of the mountain in avalanche fashion, sitting upon the snow and sliding with extraordinary speed. After 16½ hours of hard walking & climbing we reached the hotel. I am fresh and well and after this days rest shall be ready for a similar excursion tomorrow.

Ever yours | John Tyndall

Best love to Walter¹⁷ | In a few days I hope to be at | Zermatt¹⁸ Canton Valais¹⁹

BL 63902–874E–10–51

RI MS JT/1/TYP/6/1934–6