We at once made a straight track for Mr. Morshead’s Breuiljoch(185) (which was the most direct route to take in order to get to the Hörnli, where we intended to sleep, preparatory to attacking the eastern face), and arrived upon its summit at 12.30 P.M. We were then unexpectedly checked. The pass, as one, had vanished! and we found ourselves cut off from the Furggengletscher by a small but precipitous wall of rock;—the glacier had shrunk so much that descent was impracticable. During the last hour clouds had been coming up from the south; they now surrounded us, and it began to blow hard. The men clustered together, and advocated leaving the mountain alone. Almer asked, with more point than politeness, “Why don’t you try to go up a mountain which _can_ be ascended?” “It is impossible,” chimed in Biener. “Sir,” said Croz, “if we cross to the other side we shall lose three days, and very likely shall not succeed. You want to make ascents in the chain of Mont Blanc, and I believe they can be made. But I shall not be able to make them with you if I spend these days here, for I must be at Chamounix on the 27th.” There was force in what he said, and his words made me hesitate. I relied upon his strong arms for some work which it was expected would be unusually difficult. Snow began to fall; that settled the matter, and I gave the word to retreat. We went back to Breil, and on to the village of Val Tournanche, where we slept; and the next day proceeded to Chatillon, and thence up the Valley of Aosta to Courmayeur. I cannot but regret that the counsels of the guides prevailed. If Croz had not uttered his well-intentioned words, he might still have been living. He parted from us at Chamounix at the appointed time, but by a strange chance we met again at Zermatt three weeks later, and two days afterwards he perished before my eyes on the very mountain from which we turned away, at his advice, on the 21st of June.