Old Sémiond of course came after us when we got across. We then zigzagged up some snow-slopes, and shortly afterwards commenced to ascend the interminable array of buttresses which are the great peculiarity of the Pelvoux.(25) They were very steep in many places, yet on the whole afforded good hold, and no climbing should be called difficult which does that. Gullies abounded among them, sometimes of great length and depth. _They_ were frequently rotten, and would have been difficult for a single man to pass. The uppermost men were continually abused for dislodging rocks and for harpooning those below with their bâtons. However, without these incidents the climbing would have been dull—they helped to break the monotony. We went up chimneys and gullies by the hour together, and always seemed to be coming to something, although we never got to it. The outline sketch will help to explain the situation. We stood at the foot of a great buttress—perhaps about 200 feet high—and looked up. It did not go to a point as in the diagram, because we could not see the top; although we felt convinced that behind the fringe of pinnacles we did see there was a top, and that _it_ was the edge of the plateau we so much desired to attain. Up we mounted, and reached the pinnacles; but, lo! another set was seen,—and another,—and yet more—till at last we reached the top, and found it was only a buttress, and that we must descend 40 or 50 feet before we could commence to mount again. When this operation had been performed a few dozen times, it began to be wearisome, especially as we were in the dark as to our whereabouts. Sémiond, however, encouraged us, and said he knew we were on the right route,—so away we went once more. [Illustration: BUTTRESSES OF MONT PELVOUX.] It was now nearly mid-day, and we seemed no nearer the summit of the Pelvoux than when we started. At last we all joined together and held a council. “Sémiond, old friend, do you know where we are now?” “Oh yes, perfectly, to a yard and a half.” “Well, then, how much are we below this plateau?” He affirmed we were not half-an-hour from the edge of the snow. “Very good; let us proceed.” Half-an-hour passed, and then another, but we were still in the same state,—pinnacles, buttresses, and gullies were in profusion, but the plateau was not in sight. So we called him again—for he had been staring about latterly, as if in doubt—and repeated the question. “How far below are we now?” Well, he thought it might be half-an-hour more. “But you said that just now; are you sure we are going right?” Yes, he believed we were. Believed! that would not do. “Are you sure we are going right for the Pic des Arcines?” “Pic des Arcines!” he ejaculated in astonishment, as if he had heard the words for the first time. “Pic des Arcines; no! but for the pyramid, the celebrated pyramid he had helped the great Capitaine Durand,” &c.