direct practical results flow from this increasing confidence which man is acquiring in face of the mountains. A century ago Napoleon's crossing of the Alps was thought an astounding feat. During the last thirty years troops—and Indian troops—have been moved about the Himalaya in all seasons and crossed passes over 15,000 feet above sea level in the depth of winter. On the Gilgit frontier, in Chitral, and in Tibet, neither cold nor snow nor wind stopped them. In winter or in summer, in spring or in autumn, they have faced the Himalayan passes. And they have been able to negotiate them successfully because of their increased knowledge of men's capacities and of the way to overcome difficulties that constant wrestling with mountains in all parts of the world during the last half-century has given. The activities of the Alpine Club have produced direct practical results in the movement of troops in the Himalaya.
More still will follow. When men have proved that they can surmount the highest peak in the Himalaya they will take heart to climb other peaks and become more and more at home in that wonderful region, extending for nigh two thousand miles from the Roof of the World in the North and West to the borders of Burma and China in the South and East and containing more than seventy peaks over 24,000 feet in height—that is higher than any in the Andes, the second highest range of mountains in the world—and more than eleven hundred peaks over 20,000 feet in height. This great mountain region which in Europe would stretch from Calais to the Caspian is one vast mine of beauty of every varied description. And a mine of beauty has this advantage over a mine of material wealth—that we can never exhaust it. And not only can we never exhaust it, but the more we take out the more we find, and the more we give away the richer we are. We may go on digging into a gold mine, but eventually we shall find there is no gold left. We shall have exhausted our mine. But we may dig into that mine of beauty in the Himalaya and never exhaust it. The more we dig the more we shall find—richer beauty, subtler beauty, more varied beauty—beauty of mountain form and beauty of pure and delicate colour, beauty of forest, beauty of river and beauty of lake and combined beauty of rushing torrent, precipitous cliff, richest vegetation and overtopping snowy summit. And when we have discovered these treasures and made them our own we can actually increase their value to ourselves by giving them away to others. By imparting to others the enjoyment which we have felt we shall have increased our own enjoyment.
We cannot expect those who are first engaged in climbing Mount Everest to have the time or inclination to observe and describe the full beauty there is. They will be set on overcoming the physical difficulties and they will be so exhausted for the moment by the effort they will have made that they will not have the repose of mind which is so necessary for seeing and depicting beauty. But when they have pioneered the way and beaten down a path, others will more leisurely follow after. Many even of these may not be able to express in words or in picture the enjoyment they have felt and be able to communicate it to others. They may not be given to public speech or writing and may have no capacity for painting. The flame of their enjoyment may be kept sacred and hidden within them, and it may be only in the privacy of colloquy with some kindred soul that the white glow of their enjoyment may ever be shown. But, others there may be who have the capacity for making the world at large share with them some little of the joy they have felt—who can make our nerves tingle and our blood course quicker, our eyes uplift themselves and our outlook widen as we go out with them to face and overcome the mountains. Such men as these from their very intimacy with the mountains are able to point out beauties which distant beholders would never suspect. And as Leslie Stephen through his love of mountains has been able to attract thousands to the Alps and given them enjoyment, clean and fresh, which but for him they might never have known, so we hope that in the fulness of time a greater Stephen will tell of the unsurpassable beauty of the Himalaya and by so doing add appreciably to the enjoyment of human life.
Such are some of the advantages which men in general will obtain from the attempt to climb Mount Everest. But it is time now to say something of the mountain itself.
Mount Everest for its size is a singularly shy and retiring mountain. It hides itself away behind other mountains. On the north side, in Tibet, it does indeed stand up proudly and alone, a true monarch among mountains. But it stands in a very sparsely inhabited part of Tibet, and very few people ever go to Tibet. From the Indian side only its tip appears among a mighty array of peaks which being nearer look higher. Consequently for a long time no one suspected Mount Everest of being the supreme mountain not only of the Himalaya but of the world. At the time when Hooker was making his Himalayan journeys—that was in 1849—Kanchenjunga was believed to be the highest.
How it was eventually discovered to be the highest is a story worth recording. In the very year that Hooker was botanising in the Sikkim Himalaya the officers of the Great Trigonometrical Survey were making observations from the plains of India to the peaks in Nepal which could be seen from there. When they could find a native name for a peak they called it by that name. But in most cases no native name was forthcoming, and in those cases a Roman number was affixed to the peak. Among these unnamed peaks to which observations to determine the altitude and position were taken from stations in the plains was Peak XV. The observations were recorded, but the resulting height was not computed till three years later, and then one day the Bengali Chief Computer rushed into the room of the Surveyor-General, Sir Andrew Waugh, breathlessly exclaiming, “Sir! I have discovered the highest mountain in the world.” The mean result of all the observations taken from the six stations from which Peak XV had been observed came to 29,002 feet, and this Peak XV is what is now known as Mount Everest.
The question is often asked, “Why twenty-nine thousand and two?” “Why be so particular about the two?” The answer is that that particular figure is the mean of many observations. But it is not infallible. It is indeed in all probability below rather than above the mark, and a later computation of the observed results puts the height at 29,141 feet. In any case, however, there are, as Sir Sidney Burrard has pointed out in his discussion of this point in Burrard and Hayden's Himalaya and Tibet, many causes of slight error in observing and computing the altitude of a distant and very lofty peak. The observations are made with a theodolite. The telescope of the theodolite may not be absolutely perfect. The theodolite may not be levelled with perfect accuracy. The graduations on the circle of the theodolite may not be quite accurate. The observer himself may not have observed with sufficient perfection. An error of ten feet may have resulted from these causes. Then there are other and greater sources of possible error. There may be error in the assumed height of the observing station; and the altitudes of peaks are always varying in nature with the increase and decrease of snow in summer and winter and in a season of heavy snowfall or a season of light snowfall. Another source of error arises from the varying effects of gravitational attraction. “The attraction of the great mass of the Himalaya and Tibet,” says Burrard, “pulls all liquids towards itself, as the moon attracts the ocean and the surface of the water assumes an irregular form at the foot of the Himalaya. If the ocean were to overflow Northern India its surface would be deformed by Himalayan attraction. The liquid in levels is similarly affected and theodolites cannot consequently be adjusted; their plates when levelled are still tilted upward towards the mountains, and angles of observation are too small by the amount the horizon is inclined to the tangential plane. At Darjeeling the surface of water in repose is inclined about 35̎ to this plane, at Kurseong about 51̎, at Siliguri about 23̎, at Dehra Dun and Mussooree about 37̎. For this reason all angles of elevation to Himalayan peaks measured from the plains, as Mount Everest was measured, are too small and consequently all our values of Himalayan heights are too small. Errors of this nature range from 40 to 100 feet.”
This then is a considerable source of error, but the most serious source of uncertainty affecting the value of heights is the refraction of the atmosphere. A ray of light from a peak to an observer's eye does not travel along a straight line but assumes a curved path concave to the earth. The ray enters the observer's eye in a direction tangential to the curve at that point, and this is the direction in which the observer sees the peak. It makes the peak appear too high. Corrections have therefore to be applied. But there is no certainty as to what should be the amount of the correction; and it is now believed that the computers of the height of Mount Everest applied too great a correction for refraction and consequently reduced its height too much.
Burrard brings together in the following table the different errors to which the carefully determined height of