To Juliet Pollock¹

My dear M^rs. Pollock

Excuse this crumpled paper. I carried it for 3 hours in my coat pocket this morning for the purpose of giving myself the pleasure of writing to you this afternoon, and it has got crushed in the passage. 100 feet above me is a gray impenetrable cloud, out of which heavy rain gushes, splashing dismally upon the rocks. A boulder I suppose a thousand tons in weight, the unshipped cargo of a glacier rises before my window. I am on the brink of a mountain torrent, which foams and roars in response to the falling rain. A little below me a huge glacier² coming from a lateral valley throws itself athwart the stream, dams it up and forms the so called Matmark see.³ In short if you look upon a map of Switzerland, and find the valley of Saas,⁴ high up under the ridge of the Monte Moro,⁵ you will see the Distel Alp⁶—this is now my dwelling place. I am the only traveller here—alone in a room which could hold 100 with a pine fire sparkling, and gleaming, and crackling behind me. Next to the bodily presence of a friend is the pleasure of being able to write to one, so I shake away my solitude, and render my happiness for a time independent of wind and weather by writing to you. I met John Clerk⁷—son of Sir George Clerk⁸ at the Riffel,⁹ accompanied him to Zermatt,¹⁰ met him again at Saas¹¹ and parted from him here this morning: he is gone over the Monte Moro, and I remain among my glaciers. Your letter reached me just as I was leaving Zermatt, and accompanied me as a pleasant companion all along the valley of the Visp,¹² which without it would have been very dull. Indeed without it I think I should have fallen back on the Society of M^r. Barnett,¹³ the banker and his family, among whom were some exceedingly nice young ladies whose society I am sure would have been very pleasant to me. But instead of thinking of them I thought of you and Walter.¹⁴ It is an old theory, perhaps an old weakness, of mine, that a mother’s love is the most beautiful love of all. All suffering, all enduring, it burns ever brightly, and trials which would quench all other passions pass over this unharming. I read that portion of your letter which referred to Walter two or three times over, and by a kind of magnifying process applied to my own feelings tried to realize yours. But this little man ‘muss wirken und streben’¹⁵ and he must be prepared to do this. You must seek for joy in other phases of his development, not only in the budding and blossoming but also in the slow formation of sound and solid timber which marks the progress of the child to the man. It gave me pleasure to find that he thought of me, and it has only been a fair return, for since I came to Switzerland I have very often thought of him. I therefore owe him nothing, but present to him as a free gift my best love. With regard to Bobo¹⁶ I can only say that had I a son who could accomplish such a triumph¹⁷ I should be exceedingly proud of him.

Of mountain climbing since I wrote to you last I could talk a good deal for I have made some very unusual marches. I have explored all the grand glacier region of Monte Rosa¹⁸ and the neighbouring mountains. To this work I devoted ten days, during which I had my quarters upon the Riffel. These mountain excursions teach a man many things—they teach what can be accomplished physically by persistent exertion, and as types obtain an intellectual value also. Not until the 10^th day of my sojourn at the Riffel, did I solve in a manner completely satisfactory to my own mind, and I trust convincing to the minds of others, the principal problem which brought me to Switzerland this year. The day after I ascended the Riffel, and at 3 oC. in the morning the candle of my guide¹⁹ gleamed into my bedroom, and he announced to me that the weather was good. We had made an arrangement to ascend Monte Rosa together, an achievement which neither of us had ever before accomplished. At 4 oC. we were on our way, and half an hour revealed to us the mountain from head to foot with the beams of the rising sun upon its rock pinnacle and slopes of snow. From the brother of my guide²⁰ we obtained some general information as to the route we ought to follow, and guided by this and trusting to our own heads and feet we faced the mountain. First across a large glacier to a boss of rocks at the foot of the mountain. Then up a steep snow slope to ascend mass of rock which rose precipitously out of the snow and round which we had to wind to reach its summit. Thence our way lay for hours over the unsullied snow, climbing slopes, rounding vast bosses²¹ crossing curves and sweeps of extreme beauty, winding round the rifted ridges and pyramids of névé²² and going zigzag up the steeper inclinations. For some hours it was merely childs play to a mountaineer, but afterwards it became stern and earnest work. The mountain at its upper portion forms what the Germans call a ‘Kamm’—a comb; a word suggested I should think by the toothed edges which some mountain ridges exhibit, but now more widely applied to snow on rocks which forms a thin edge. Monte Rosa contracted her snowy shoulders to such an edge, and up this edge our way lay for hours. The incessant admonition of my guide was to fix my staff well into the snow, which admonition was a mere work of supererogation on his part. The wind had so acted upon this ‘Kamm’ that the snow was folded over so as to form an overhanging cornice, and for a good while this cornice was our only support. Once in endeavouring to fix my staff securely it went right through this cornice and I could see through the hole that I had made into the gulf below. On that side the mountain was a sheer precipice, along the edge of which we crawled. I am wrong here. The word crawl is not correct; we walked erect, for any attempt at crawling, or assisting the feet by the hands or knees would assuredly have been fatal. At the other side also the slope was most perilously steep, and intersected by precipices. I looked towards the summit of the mountain—A heavy cloud stuck to it, but like a royal mountain queen she dashed it aside and allowed the sun once more to shine upon her head. Her triumph was short. —dusky masses again gathered round her, and her efforts to get rid of them became ever feebler. They reached towards us. The valley underneath filled their torn and dislocated névés seethed like boiling cauldrons, and sent up their vapours to meet those descending from the summit. We were soon in the midst of them, the partial triumphs of the sun & wind in clearing the glaciers and lighting them up at intervals with a supernatural glare, served merely to render the scene more awful. The darkness thickened, relieved more and more rarely by those partial illuminations: and once in the thickest gloom an avalanche was discharged from the slopes of a neighbouring mountain the sound of which had an element of horror in it. We could not see it:—could not judge of its distance; could only hear its roar, and check the imaginings which it naturally excited. We came to a row of crags²³ which jutted above the Kamm; breathed a moment, and crossed them. During our breathing time I asked my guide how he would have acted had my foot slipped in crossing up the ‘Kamm’—He seemed not to like the question, and to wish to drive all thought of it from my mind. Doubtless these men have learned the philosophy of not permitting the mind to dwell on danger. We could hardly see 20 yards in advance; the mountain still turned its icy edge towards us and up we went. ‘From description’ said my guide ‘I should judge this to be the last comb of the mountain, but in this darkness we cannot be sure’. After a time we reached some rocks, spikes and prisms of weathered granite, which we hoped was the crest of the mountain. Among these we climbed for some time: often walking erect over edges of rock with terrible depths at each side. We rounded the larger masses, crept up and crept down, forced ourselves through fissures. My guide once dropped his pocket book, containing something of value to him. It was caught upon a little ledge some distance down. He descended & I went on. I could soon hear him clattering behind me. —the summit came fairly into view—down one cliff up another; and your friend was safely planted on the highest point of Monte Rosa. My guide was in a few minutes along side.

Since I wrote these words 12 hours have past. I have often wished to see winter in these mountain wilds and here I have it to my heart’s content. There is a foot of snow on the steps leading up to the house door. It has heaped itself against the windows where they face the wind. A delta of gray stones through which a many armed river ran last evening is now a plain of snow. The mountains are all covered, save where the sharp hewn crags, too steep to hold the snow peer through it. It shines in upon me with a curious dazzling gleam producing a sensation akin to giddiness. It will stop my excursions upon the glacier for a little time; for such a traitor among the crevasses would be very dangerous. He sheets them over smoothly, but woe to the foot which trusts his apparent stability. I will now quit one snow scene for another slightly more perilous as far as I am concerned.

Snow began to fall ere we reached the summit of Monte Rosa and thickened as we remained there. I tried to ascertain the boiling point of water but was met by difficulty. My lamp would not unscrew. I had to remove the wick but it became sprinkled with snow, and afterwards was ignited with difficulty. I placed my apparatus on a ledge where it was sheltered laterally, but not above. I put my hat over it to protect it, and thus by patient care boiled my water. 184.92 Faht. is the boiling point. Clouds thickened and darkened and the snow fell with greater resolution. It was very thick but extremely fine, and dear old mother nature, who seemed to scowl on us so pitilessly cheered us with a gleam of her beauty, which we interpreted as an act of kindness on her part. The snow was all flowers, the most lovely that human eye ever gazed upon. When it fell upon the rocks it melted instantly and I noticed it first upon my felt hat which I had put to shelter my machine. There in the highest atmospheric regions this symmetry of force manifested itself and built up those blossoms of the frost. There was no deviation from the 6 leaved type, but numberless variations: any thing so beautiful I had never before beheld. Had some spirit of the mountain looked out upon me from the cloud and demanded my choice between the snow flowers and the prospect from the mountain top, I should have hesitated before parting with my exquisite vegetation. Still our position was an anxious one. We feared the loss of our track and the consequent possibility of taking a false route. But we dashed the gloom of thought aside more successfully than the Monte Rosa had dashed her vapours, and with the muscles braced, and a certain grim feeling about the heart we commenced our retreat. We were soon clear of the rocks which constitute the summit of the mountain, and saw our ‘Ice Kamm’ stretching a little way and losing itself in the gloom. Coming up each had to take care of himself, but coming down a rope was thought advisable. It was tied securely round my waist, but I noticed that my guide did not tie it around his: he slipped a loose noose over his arm. This being altogether unusual I asked him why he did not attach himself in the customary way, but he said that he should have more power with his own arrangement.²⁴ I am not yet quite convinced of this, but I knew full well that he would do all in his power to save me if my footing gave way, and I thought the exertion of that power would be in no way diminished by the consciousness on his part that he could as a last resource release himself and leave me to my fate. Still though I did not expostulate I did not like the arrangement: but it did me good. It cannot be called anger, it cannot be called pride, but a slight flush ran through me as I muttered ‘I shall take care that you shall have no opportunity of proving your strength upon me’. I went first; steady and without fear, but with every energy awake to meet any possible chance that might arise. The staff on such occasions is the veritable staff of life. It would be perfectly impossible to get on without it: driven into the snow you can hold on by it or by an anchor. Twice our steps instead of being on snow were upon solid ice, which increased the danger immeasurably but these places once past, though the snow continued to fall heavily, we felt that our further progress was secure. There was great pleasure in feeling this. It was a most agreeable variation of that grim mental tension which had hitherto beset me, but which in itself was by no means unpleasant. The colour of the newly fallen snow was wonderful. Not only were the holes formed by our batons filled with the delicate blue light, but the feet of my companion, who now took the lead, seemed enveloped in a blue gleam as he lifted them out of the snow. This, and the other observation to which I have referred were sufficient to repay me for the journey. The people at Zermatt first refused to believe in the ascent and afterwards condemned my companion for undertaking what had never been accomplished, even in fine weather, with less than two guides. He has soon an answer which relieved him of all importunity.

Precisely a week after the above ascent took place the weather was indescribably glorious: not a trace of cloud to sully the deep blue of heaven. On that Tuesday morning I awoke at 5½ oC. and felt a strength in my muscles capable of encountering any fatigue. I had lent my guide to a party of gentlemen who proposed to ascend Monte Rosa. They had started from the hotel at 3½ oC. I breakfasted swiftly. I strapped half a bottle of tea and a ham sandwich on my back and at 6½ oC. faced the ridge which rises over the Riffel. From this ridge the mountains looked inexpressibly grand and Monte Rosa promised a glorious prospect. I shook my limbs to try whether they were in good order. They were. I bore swiftly down upon the Görner Glacier,²⁵ crossed it. Came fairly to the base of Monte Rosa and faced the mountain. I could see the party of 8²⁶ who had left the hotel nearly 3 hours before me high up the mountain. They reached the summit. I could hear their reverberated hurrah while I was alone with Nature below. They returned—I met them, passed them, reached the summit—saw Italy on one side and Switzerland on the other: returned, overtook the party, and thus with two mouthfuls of sandwich and a draught of tea accomplished the ascent of Monte Rosa alone.²⁷ I will talk to you about this ascent—I have already written enough to tire you.

My guide did good service on this day, for he saved the life of a fine young man. This young gentleman²⁸ complained of a swelled knee, before he was half way up the mountain, but with true English pluck²⁹ he persisted in the ascent. My guide had charge of him all through, holding him firmly by the arm, and helping him as much as possible. On returning they came to one of the icy places to which I have referred and here the young man’s footing gave way. He slid, carrying my guide along with him. The direction of his motion led him fair to the brink of the precipice which forms the Lysskamm³⁰ side of the mountain, and over which he would have gone. The other side was also terribly steep, but there was at least a hope of rescue here. With a sudden³¹ wrench my guide changed the direction of motion: but at the same moment the young gentleman’s baton became entangled in his legs and both fell. They rolled over each other towards the brink of another precipice; but by a sudden effort my guide threw himself in advance dug his armed staff into the ice and stopped the motion. Both were saved, but the escape I am told was next to miraculous.

Now I wish you a patient head and good eyes to read this letter: The sun shines again, and a patch of blue overarches the Monte Rosa. If this continues the snow will soon disappear and I shall be on the ice once more. I have just learned that old age is coming upon me, not through any consciousness of failing vigour, but the intelligence is telegraphed through a tooth. I never had a tooth drawn, I never had toothache, I never till now had a hollow tooth. I have just made the discovery that I have one: but it is not a case of fair decay: at least I will thus comfort myself. I broke the enamel off it two years ago, and this gave space for the tooth of time to work upon. But I am degenerating into gossip. Write to me to Chamouni³² and confess that you are wearied. I had no idea of stretching this letter to such an extent when I commenced. Best regards to M^r Pollock and love to all the boys.³³

Believe me ever | most Sincerely yours | J. Tyndall

You must dot the i’s and cross the t’s of this letter. I have not time to read it through. | I was glad to hear a word of M^r Babbage. Glad to hear of our friends at Petersham.³⁴ All those little things have a value in the mountains.

BL 63902–874E–10–51

RI MS JT/1/TYP/6/1940–6