252
haggis. I crawled and dripped and choked back my laughter. The idiocy of the whole adventure was 
intensified by the physical discomfort and the impossibility of relieving one's feelings. That 
interminable crawl! The rain never let up for a single second; and the wind came in gusts wilder and 
more hitter with every yard of ascent. I explained to Tartarin that if it should shift a few degrees, 
the haggis would infallibly get our scent and be off. I implored him to camouflage his posteriors, 
which arose in front for my balaclava, heaving like the hump of a dying camel. The resulting wiggles 
would have driven Isidora Duncan to despair; the poor man was indeed acutely conscious that, 
anatomically, he had not been constructed with the main idea of escaping notice. 
However, after an hour and a half, we reached the top of the hill, three hundred feet above the 
house, without hearing that hideous scream-whistle of alarm by which (so I had been careful to 
explain) the haggis announces that he has detected the presence of an alien enemy. 
Breathlessly, we crawled towards the hollow space of grassy and heathery knolls that lay behind the 
huge rock buttress that towers above the garden and the lake, that space whose richness had 
tempted our distinguished visitor to approach so near to human habitation. 
The mist drove wildly and fiercely across the hillside towards us. It magnified every object to an 
enormous size, the more impressively that the background was wholly blotted out. Suddenly Gilles 
rolled stealthily over to the right, his finger pointed tremulously to where, amid the unfurling 
wreaths of greyness, stood ... 
Tartarin brought forward the 10-bore with infinite precision. The haggis loomed gargantuan in the 
mist; it was barely fifty yards away. Even I had somehow half hypnotized myself into a sort of 
perverse excitement. I could have sworn the brute was the size of a bear. 
Guillarmod pressed both triggers. He had made no mistake. Both bullets struck and expanded; he 
had blown completely away the entire rear section of Farmer McNab's prize ram. 
{418} 
We rushed forward, cheering frantically. Gillies had to be first in at the death; the supply of oats 
with which he had induced our latest purchase to feed in that spot all the morning without moving, 
might, if observed, have detracted from the uncanny glory of that romantic scene. But next day at 
dinner, when we ate that haggis, the general hilarity passed unchallenged. The atmosphere had 
become wholly Homeric; there was no reason why the wildest glee should seem out of place. 
Tartarin sent the ram's head to be stuffed and mounted; a suitable inscription was to be engraved 
upon a plate of massive gold. For had not the gallant Swiss vindicated their race once more? Would 
not the Gazette de Lausanne literally foam at the mouth with the recital of so doughty an exploit? 
And so the contented Tartarin developed his plans for renewing the attack upon the Himalayas. 
Eckenstein had been approached, but for one reason or another had refused. I should have 
preferred it vastly if he had accepted; but I was a keen as ever to capture the only world's record 
which he and I did not, severally or jointly, hold; that of having reached a higher point on 
mountains than any other climbers. (This record was held either by Graham on Kebru --- a doubtful 
case --- or by Matthias Zurbriggen, the guide whom Eckenstein had trained to mountaincraft, on 
Aconcagua.) 
Mindful, however, of Tartarin's misadventure in 1902, I made the strictest conditions before 
agreeing to join the new expedition. A document was drawn up and signed by which I should be 
acknowledged leader of the party. I was to be obeyed implicitly in all matters relating to the actual 
conduct of the expedition on the mountain. It was a deliberate breach of this agreement which 
caused directly its failure and the disaster which disgraced it. 
{419}