The following extract is taken from
A TRAMP
ABROAD; I Conquer the Gorner Grat
by Mark Twain.
 Our
distresses being at an end, I now determined to
rest the men in camp and give the scientific
department of the Expedition a chance. First I made
a barometric observation, to get our altitude, but
I could not perceive that there was any result.
I knew, by my scientific reading, that either
thermometers or barometers ought to be boiled, to
make them accurate; I did not know which it was, so
I boiled both. There was still no result, so I
examined these instruments and discovered that they
possessed radical blemishes: the barometer had no
hand but the brass pointer, and the ball of the
thermometer was stuffed with tin foil. I might have
boiled those things to rags and never found out
anything.
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Frémont, July 1842--repair of
his barometer.
This I boiled and stretched on a piece of
wood to the requisite diameter, and
scraped it very thin, in order to increase
its transparency. I then secured it firmly
on the instrument with strong glue made
from a buffalo and filled it with mercury
properly heated.
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I hunted up another barometer: it was new and
perfect. I boiled it half an hour in a pot of bean
soup which the cooks were making. The result was
unexpected: the instrument was not affected at all,
but there was such a strong barometer taste to the
soup that the head cook, who was a most
conscientious person, changed its name in the bill
of fare. The dish was so greatly liked by all, that
I ordered the cook to have barometer soup every
day. It was believed that the barometer might
eventually be injured, but I did not care for
that.
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Frémont, July 1842
Mr. Preuss was occupied in observing
temperature of boiling water. At this
instant, and without any warning until it
was within fifty yards, a violent gust of
wind dashed down the lodge, burying under
it Mr. Preuss and about a dozen men, who
had attempted to keep it from being
carried away. I succeeded in saving the
barometer, which the lodge was carrying
off with itself, but the thermometer was
broken. We had no others of a high
graduation, none of those which remained
going higher than 135°
Fahrenheit.
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I had demonstrated to my satisfaction that it
could not tell how high a mountain was: therefore I
had no real use for it. Changes of the weather I
could take care of without it. I did not wish to
know when the weather was going to he good: what I
wanted to know was when it was going to be bad, and
this I could find out from Harris's corns. Harris
had had his corns tested and regulated at the
government observatory in Heidelberg, and one could
depend upon them with confidence.
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Frémont Report, 1843.
The barometers were compared with those of
Dr. G. Engelman, of St. Louis, Missouri,
whos observations are given for a
corresponding period.
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So I transferred the new barometer to the
cooking department to be used for the official
mess. It was found that even a pretty fair article
of 'soup could be made with the defective
barometer: so I allowed that one to be transferred
to the subordinate messes.
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Frémont, February 1844.
......we had to-night an extraordinary
dinner--pea-soup, mule, and dog.
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I next boiled the thermometer, and got a most
excellent result: the mercury went up to about
200° F. In the opinion of the other scientists
of the Expedition, this seemed to indicate that we
had attained the extraordinary altitude of' 200,000
feet above sea level. Science places the line of
eternal snow at about 10,000 feet above sea level.
There was no snow where we were. Consequently it
was proven that the eternal snow line ceases
somewhere above the 10,000 feet level and does not
begin any more. This was an interesting fact, and
one which had not been observed by any observer
before.
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Frémont, February 1844.
The elevation of the camp by the boiling
point, is 8,050 feet.
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The success of my last experiment induced me to
try an experiment with my photographic apparatus. I
got it out, and boiled one of my cameras, but the
thing was a failure: it made the wood swell up and
burst, and I could not see that the lenses were any
better than they were before….
We continued on up the mountain. The
difficulties of the next morning were severe. but
our courage was high, for our goal was near. At
noon we conquered the last impediment - we stood at
last upon the summit - and without the loss of a
single man, except the mule that ate the glycerine.
Our great achievement was achieved - the
possibility of the impossible was demonstrated.
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Frémont, July 1842.
I sprang upon the summit, and another step
would have precipitated me to an immense
snow field five hundred feet below...We
mounted the barometer in the snow of the
summit, and fixing a ramrod in a crevice,
unfurled the national flag to wave in the
breeze where never flag waved before.
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I boiled a thermometer and took an altitude,
with a most curious result: the height was not as
high as the point on the mountain side where I had
taken the first altitude. I had made an important
discovery.
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Frémont, July 1842.
The barometer stood at 18.293, the
attached thermometer at 44°; giving
for the elevation of the summit 13,570
feet, above the Gulf of Mexico.
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We descended.
Yes. I had made the grand ascent: but it was a
mistake to do it in evening dress. The plug hats
were battered, the swallow-tails were fluttering
rags, mud added no grace, the general effect was
unpleasant and even disreputable. But nevertheless
Harris and I walked proudly into the great
dining-room of the Riffelberg Hotel and stood our
alpenstocks up in the corner.
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Frémont, July 1842.
Here was not the inn which awaits the
tired traveler from his return from Mount
Blanc...but we found our little cache of
dried meat and coffee undisturbed
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There were about seventy-five tourists at the
hotel - mainly ladies and little children and they
gave us an admiring welcome which paid us for all
our privations and sufferings. The ascent had been
made, and the names and dates now stand recorded on
a stone monument there to prove it to all future
tourists.
 But
I prepared to verify the important discovery about
the heights. There happened to be a still higher
summit (called the Gorner Grat) above the hotel,
and notwithstanding the fact that it overlooks a
glacier from a dizzy height, and that the ascent is
difficult and dangerous, I resolved to venture up
there and boil a thermometer. So I sent a strong
party, with some borrowed hoes, in charge of two
chiefs of service, to dig a stairway in the soil
all the way, and this I ascended, roped to the
guides. This breezy height was a summit proper - so
I accomplished even more than I had originally
purposed to do. This foolhardy exploit is recorded
on another stone monument.
I boiled my thermometer, and sure enough this
spot, which purported to be 2000 feet higher than
the locality of the hotel, turned out to be 9000
feet lower. Thus the fact was clearly demonstrated
that, above a certain point, the higher a point
seems to be, the lower it actually is. Our ascent
itself was a great achievement, but this
contribution to science was an inconceivably
greater matter. Cavillers object that water boils
at a lower and lower temperature the higher and
higher you go, and hence the apparent anomaly. I
answer that I do not base my theory upon what the
boiling water does, but upon what a boiled
thermometer says. You can't go behind the
thermometer.
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Read about Frémont's climb in 1842
