Adventures on the Roof of the World
by Mrs. Aubrey Le Blond · English · Gutenberg #43314 · 472,808 chars · public domain (US)
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Adventures on the Roof of the World
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.
Title: Adventures on the Roof of the World
Author: Mrs. Aubrey Le Blond
Release date: July 26, 2013 [eBook #43314]
Most recently updated: November 27, 2024
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/43314
Credits: Produced by Melissa McDaniel, Chuck Greif and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ADVENTURES ON THE ROOF OF THE WORLD ***
Produced by Melissa McDaniel, Chuck Greif and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive)
ADVENTURES ON THE ROOF OF
THE WORLD
SOME
BOOKS ON MOUNTAINEERING
=The Annals of Mont Blanc=: A Monograph. By C. E. MATHEWS, sometime
President of the Alpine Club. With Map, 6 Swan-types and other
Illustrations, and Facsimiles. Demy 8vo, cloth gilt, 21s. net.
=The Life of Man on the High Alps=: Studies made on Monte Rosa. By
ANGELO MOSSO. Translated from the Second Edition of the Italian by
E. LOUGH KIESOW, in collaboration with F. KIESOW. With numerous
Illustrations and Diagrams. Royal 8vo, cloth, 21s.
=The Early Mountaineers=: The Stories of their Lives. By FRANCIS
GRIBBLE. Fully Illustrated. Demy 8vo, cloth gilt, 21s.
=The Climbs of Norman-Neruda.= Edited, with an Account of his last
Climb, by MAY NORMAN-NERUDA. Demy 8vo, cloth, 21s.
=In the Ice World of Himalaya.= By FANNY BULLOCK WORKMAN and WILLIAM
HUNTER WORKMAN. With four large Maps and nearly 100 Illustrations.
Demy 8vo, cloth gilt, 16s. Also a 6s. Edition.
=From the Alps to the Andes.= By MATHIAS ZURBRIGGEN. Demy 8vo, cloth,
10s. 6d. net.
=Mountaineering in the Sierra Nevada.= By CLARENCE KING. Crown 8vo,
cloth, 6s. net.
=True Tales of Mountain Adventure= (for Non-Climbers, Young and Old).
By Mrs AUBREY LE BLOND (Mrs Main). Demy 8vo, cloth, 10s. 6d. net.
LONDON: T. FISHER UNWIN.
[Illustration: THE FINDING OF THE LAST BIVOUAC OF MESSRS. DONKIN AND FOX
IN THE CAUCASUS. (P. 116.)
From a drawing by Mr. Willink after a sketch by Captain Powell. Taken,
by kind permission of Mr. Douglas Freshfield, from "The Exploration of
the Caucasus."
_Frontispiece._]
ADVENTURES ON THE
ROOF OF THE WORLD
BY
MRS AUBREY LE BLOND
(MRS MAIN)
AUTHOR OF
"MY HOME IN THE ALPS," "TRUE TALES OF MOUNTAIN ADVENTURE," ETC.
_ILLUSTRATED_
[Illustration: colophon]
LONDON
T. FISHER UNWIN
PATERNOSTER SQUARE
1904
(_All rights reserved._)
TO
JOSEPH IMBODEN
MY GUIDE AND FRIEND FOR TWENTY YEARS,
I dedicate
THESE RECORDS OF A PASTIME IN WHICH I OWE
MY SHARE TO HIS SKILL, COURAGE, AND
HELPFUL COMPANIONSHIP.
PREFACE
"Dear heart," said Tommy, when Mr Barlow had finished his narrative,
"what a number of accidents people are subject to in this world!"
"It is very true," answered Mr Barlow, "but as that is the case, it is
necessary to improve ourselves in every possible manner, so that we may
be able to struggle against them."
Thus quoted, from _Sandford and Merton_, a president of the Alpine Club.
The following True Tales from the Hills, if they serve to emphasise not
only the perils of mountaineering but the means by which they can be
lessened, will have accomplished the aim of their editor.
This book is not intended for the climber. To him most of the tales will
be familiar in the volumes on the shelves of his library or on the lips
of his companions during restful hours in the Alps. But the non-climber
rarely sees _The Alpine Journal_ and the less popular books on
mountaineering, nor would he probably care to search in their pages for
narratives likely to interest him.
To seek out tales of adventure easily intelligible to the non-climber,
to edit them in popular form, to point out the lessons which most
adventures can teach to those who may climb themselves one day, has
occupied many pleasant hours, rendered doubly so by the feeling that I
shall again come into touch with the readers who gave so kindly a
greeting to my _True Tales of Mountain Adventure_. In that work I tried
to explain the principles of mountaineering and something of the nature
of glaciers and avalanches. Those chapters will, I think, be found
helpful by non-climbers who read the present volume.
For much kindly advice and help in compiling this work I am indebted to
Mr Henry Mayhew, of the British Museum, and to Mr Clinton Dent. Mrs
Maund has enabled me to quote from a striking article by her late
husband. Sir W. Martin Conway, Sir H. Seymour King, Messrs Tuckett, G.
E. Foster, Cecil Slingsby, Harold Spender, and Edward Fitzgerald have
been good enough to allow me to make long extracts from their writings.
Messrs Newnes have generously permitted me to quote from articles which
appeared in their publications, and the editor of _The Cornhill_ has
sanctioned my reprinting portions of a paper from his magazine. I am
also indebted to the editor of _M'Clure's Magazine_ for a similar
courtesy.
Mons. A. Campagne, Inspector of Water and Forests (France), allows me to
make use of two very interesting photographs from his work on the Valley
of Barège. Several friends have lent me photographs for reproduction in
this work, and their names appear under each of the illustrations I owe
to them. Messrs Spooner have kindly allowed me to use several by the
late Mr W. F. Donkin. When not otherwise stated, the photographs are
from my own negatives.
I take this opportunity of heartily thanking those climbers, some of
them personally unknown to me, whose assistance has rendered this work
possible.
E. LE BLOND.
67 THE DRIVE,
BRIGHTON, _December 1903_.
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
PREFACE ix
I. SOME TALES OF ALPINE GUIDES 1
II. TWO DAYS ON AN ICE-SLOPE 23
III. SOME AVALANCHE ADVENTURES 51
IV. A MONTH BENEATH AN AVALANCHE 65
V. A MONTH BENEATH AN AVALANCHE (_continued_) 81
VI. AN EXCITING CAUCASIAN ASCENT 99
VII. A MELANCHOLY QUEST 116
VIII. SOME NARROW ESCAPES AND FATAL ACCIDENTS 124
IX. A NIGHT ADVENTURE ON THE DENT BLANCHE 152
X. ALONE ON THE DENT BLANCHE 167
XI. A STIRRING DAY ON THE ROSETTA 182
XII. THE ZINAL ROTHHORN TWICE IN ONE DAY 195
XIII. BENIGHTED ON A SNOW PEAK 208
XIV. THE STORY OF A BIG JUMP 222
XV. A PERILOUS FIRST ASCENT 235
XVI. THUNDERSTORMS IN THE ALPS 257
XVII. LANDSLIPS IN THE MOUNTAINS 275
XVIII. SOME TERRIBLE EXPERIENCES 291
XIX. FALLING STONES AND FALLING BODIES 310
GLOSSARY 327
INDEX 329
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
The last bivouac of Messrs Donkin and Fox
in the Caucasus _Frontispiece_
Christian Almer, Joseph Imboden, Jean
Antoine Carrel, Alexander Burgener _To face page_ 3
The last steep bit near the top--At the end
of a hot day--An instant's halt to choose
the best way up a steep wall of rock--The
ice-axes are stowed away in a crack,
to be brought up by the last man " " 6
Auguste Gentinetta--Auguste Gentinetta
on the way to the Matterhorn--The
beginning of the climb up the Matterhorn--The
spot where was the _bergschrund_
into which Mr Sloggett's party
fell " " 8
Auguste Gentinetta on a mountain-top--The
ice-cliffs over which Mr Sloggett's party
would have fallen had they not been
dashed into the _bergschrund_--The
ruined chapel by the Schwarzsee--The
last resting-place at Zermatt of some
English climbers " " 11
On a snow ridge--A halt for lunch above
the snow-line--Mrs Aubrey Le Blond " " 51
A cutting through an avalanche--The
remains of an avalanche--An avalanche
of stones--A mountain chapel " " 59
A mountain path--Peasants of the
mountains--A village buried beneath an
avalanche--Terraces planted to
prevent avalanches " " 65
A typical Caucasian landscape " " 105
Melchior Anderegg, his son and grandchild " " 124
Crevasses and séracs--On the border of a
crevasse--A snow bridge--Soft snow in
the afternoon " " 133
The Bétemps Hut--Ski-ing--A fall on Skis--A
great crevasse " " 137
The balloon "Stella" getting ready to start
(p. 301)--A bivouac in the olden days--Boulder
practice--The last rocks
descending " " 148
Provisions for a mountain hotel--An outlook
over rock and snow--Dent Blanche
from Schwarzsee (winter)--Dent Blanche
from Theodule Glacier (summer) " " 152
Hut on Col de Bértol--Ascending the
Aiguilles Rouges--Summit of the Dent
Blanche--Cornice on the Dent Blanche " " 156
Ambrose Supersax (p. 209)--View from the
Rosetta " " 182
Climbing party leaving Zermatt--The
Gandegg Hut--The Trift Hotel--Zinal
Rothhorn from Trift Valley " " 195
Zinal Rothhorn--Top of a Chamonix Aiguille--A
steep face of rock--"Leading
strings" " " 202
A _bergschrund_--Homewards over the snow-slopes " " 230
The Ecrins--Clouds breaking over a ridge--Summit
of the Jungfrau--Wind-blown
snow " " 235
The Ecrins from the Glacier Blanc " " 247
Slab climbing--A rock ridge--On the Dent
du Géant--The top at last " " 252
The second largest glacier in the Alps--On
a ridge in the Oberland " " 259
Thirteen thousand feet above the sea--On
the Furggen Grat--A "personally
conducted" party on the Breithorn--Packing
the knapsack " " 269
Monte Rosa from the Furggen Grat--The
Matterhorn from the Wellenkuppe " " 272
A glacier lake--Amongst the séracs--Taking
off the rope--Water at last! " " 297
The balloon "Stella" starting from Zermatt--A
moment after " " 298
The Matterhorn from the Hörnli Ridge--The
Matterhorn from the Furgg Glacier--Joseph
Biner--The Matterhorn Hut " " 302
A hot day on a mountain-top--A summit
near Saas--Luncheon _en route_ (winter)--Luncheon
on a glacier pass (summer) " " 310
A tedious snow-slope--A sitting glissade--A
glacier-capped summit--On the
frontier " " 312
Unpleasant going--On the crest of an old
moraine " " 317
An awkward bit of climbing--Guides at
Zermatt--The Boval Hut--_Au revoir!_ " " 322
ADVENTURES ON THE ROOF OF THE WORLD
CHAPTER I
SOME TALES OF ALPINE GUIDES
In a former work, I have given some details of the training of an Alpine
guide, so I will not repeat them here.
The mountain guides of Switzerland form a class unlike any other, yet in
the high standard of honour and devotion they display towards those in
their charge, one is reminded of two bodies of men especially deserving
of respect and confidence, namely, the Civil Guards of Spain and the
Royal Irish Constabulary. Like these, the Alpine guide oftentimes risks
his health, strength--even his life--for persons who are sometimes in
themselves the cause of the peril encountered. Like these, mere bodily
strength and the best will in the world need to be associated with
intelligence and foresight. Like these, also, keen, fully-developed
powers of observation are essential. A certain climber of early days has
wittily related in _The Alpine Journal_ a little anecdote which bears on
this point. "Some years ago," writes the late Mr F. Craufurd Grove, "a
member of this Club was ascending a small and easy peak in company with
a famous Oberland guide. Part of their course lay over a snow-field
sinking gradually on one side, sharply ended by a precipice on the
other. The two were walking along, not far from the edge of this
precipice, when the Englishman, thinking that an easier path might be
made by going still nearer the edge, diverged a little from his
companion's track. To his considerable surprise, the guide immediately
caught hold of him, and pulled him back with a great deal more vigour
than ceremony, well-nigh throwing him down in the operation. Wrathful,
and not disinclined to return the compliment, the Englishman
remonstrated. The guide's only answer was to point to a small crack,
apparently like scores of other cracks in the _névé_, which ran for some
distance parallel to the edge of the precipice, and about 15 feet from
it.
[Illustration: JEAN ANTOINE CARREL OF VALOURNANCHE.
By Signor Vittorio Sella.]
[Illustration: CHRISTIAN ALMER OF GRINDELWALD.]
[Illustration: ALEXANDER BURGENER OF EISTEN (SAASTHAL).]
[Illustration: JOSEPH IMBODEN OF ST. NICHOLAS.
_To face p. 3._]
"The traveller was not satisfied, but he was too wise a man to spend
time in arguing and disputing, while a desired summit was still some
distance above him. They went on their way, gained the top, and the
traveller's equanimity was restored by a splendid view. When, on the
descent, the scene of the morning's incident was reached, the guide
pointed to the little crack in the _névé_, which had grown perceptibly
wider. 'This marks,' he said, 'the place where the true snow-field ends.
I feel certain that the ice from here to the edge is nothing but an
unsupported cornice hanging over the tremendous precipice beneath. It
might possibly have borne your weight in the early morning, though I
don't think it would. As to what it will bear now that a powerful sun
has been on it for some time--why, let us see.' Therewith he struck the
_névé_ on the further side of the ice sharply with his axe. A huge mass,
some 20 or 30 feet long, immediately broke away, and went roaring down
the cliff in angry avalanche. Whereat the traveller was full of
amazement and admiration, and thought how there, on an easy mountain and
in smiling weather, he had not been very far from making himself into an
avalanche, to his own great discomfort and to the infinite tribulation
of the Alpine Club."
A fatal accident was only narrowly averted by the skill of the famous
guide Zurbriggen when making an ascent in the New Zealand Alps with Mr
Edward Fitzgerald. I am indebted to this gentleman for permission to
quote the account from his article in _The Alpine Journal_.
The party were making the ascent of Mount Sefton, and were much troubled
by the looseness of the rock on the almost vertical face which they had
to climb. However, at last they reached a ridge, "along which," writes
Mr Fitzgerald, "we proceeded between two precipices, descending to the
Copland and to the Mueller valleys--some 6000 feet sheer drop on either
hand.
"We had next to climb about 300 feet of almost perpendicular cliff. The
rocks were peculiarly insecure, and we were obliged to move by turns,
wherever possible throwing down such rocks as seemed most dangerous. At
times even this resource was denied us, so dangerous was the violent
concussion with which these falling masses would shake the ridge to
which we clung. I carried both the ice axes, so as to leave Zurbriggen
both hands free to test each rock as he slowly worked his way upwards,
while I did my utmost to avoid being in a position vertically beneath
him.
"Suddenly, as I was coming up a steep bit, while Zurbriggen waited for
me a few steps above, a large boulder, which I touched with my right
hand, gave way with a crash and fell, striking my chest. I had been just
on the point of passing up the two ice axes to Zurbriggen, that he might
place them in a cleft of rock a little higher up, and thus leave me
both hands free for my climb. He was in the act of stooping and
stretching out his arms to take them from my uplifted left hand, and the
slack rope between us lay coiled at his feet. The falling boulder hurled
me down head foremost, and I fell about 8 feet, turning a complete
somersault in the air. Suddenly I felt the rope jerk, and I struck
against the side of the mountain with great force. I feared I should be
stunned and drop the two ice axes, and I knew that on these our lives
depended. Without them we should never have succeeded in getting down
the glacier, through all the intricate ice-fall.
"After the rope had jerked me up I felt it again slip and give way, and
I came down slowly for a couple of yards. I took this to mean that
Zurbriggen was being wrenched from his foot-hold, and I was just
contemplating how I should feel dashing down the 6000 feet below, and
wondering vaguely how many times I should strike the rocks on the way. I
saw the block that I had dislodged going down in huge bounds; it struck
the side three or four times, and then, taking an enormous plunge of
about 2000 feet, embedded itself in the glacier now called the Tuckett
Glacier.
"I felt the rope stop and pull me up short. I called to Zurbriggen and
asked him if he were solidly placed. I was now swinging in the air like
a pendulum, with my back to the mountain, scarcely touching the rock
face. It would have required a great effort to turn round and grasp the
rock, and I was afraid the strain which would thus necessarily be placed
on the rope might dislodge Zurbriggen.
"His first fear was that I had been half killed, for he saw the rock
fall almost on top of me; but, as a matter of fact, after striking my
chest it had glanced off to the right and passed under my right arm; it
had started from a point so very near to me that it had not time to gain
sufficient impetus to strike me with great force. Zurbriggen's first
words were, 'Are you very much hurt?' I answered, 'No,' and again I
asked him whether he were firmly placed. 'No,' he replied, 'I am very
badly situated here. Turn round as soon as you can; I cannot hold you
much longer.' I gave a kick at the rocks with one foot, and with a great
effort managed to swing myself round.
"Luckily there was a ledge near me, and so, getting some hand-hold, I
was soon able to ease the strain on the rope. A few moments later I
struggled a little way up, and at last handed to Zurbriggen the ice
axes, which I had managed to keep hold of throughout my fall. In fact,
my thoughts had been centred on them during the whole of the time. We
were in too bad a place to stop to speak to one another; but
Zurbriggen, climbing up a bit further, got himself into a firm position,
and I scrambled up after him, so that in about ten minutes we had passed
this steep bit.
[Illustration: The last steep bit near the top.]
[Illustration: An instant's halt to choose the best way up a steep wall
of rock.]
[Illustration: At the end of a hot day.]
[Illustration: The ice-axes are stowed away in a crack, to be brought up
by the last man.
_To face p. 6._]
"We now sat for a moment to recover ourselves, for our nerves had been
badly shaken by what had so nearly proved a fatal accident. At the time
everything happened so rapidly that we had not thought much of it, more
especially as we knew that we needed to keep our nerve and take
immediate action; but once it was all over we both felt the effects, and
sat for about half an hour before we could even move again. I learned
that Zurbriggen, the moment I fell, had snatched up the coil of rope
which lay at his feet, and had luckily succeeded in getting hold of the
right end first, so that he was soon able to bring me nearly to rest;
but the pull upon him was so great, and he was so badly placed, that he
had to let the rope slip through his fingers, removing all the skin, in
order to ease the strain while he braced himself in a better position,
from which he was able finally to stop me. He told me that had I not
been able to turn and grasp the rocks he must inevitably have been
dragged from his foot-hold, as the ledge upon which he stood was
literally crumbling away beneath his feet. We discovered that two
strands of the rope had been cut through by the falling rock, so that I
had been suspended in mid-air by a single strand."
The remainder of the way was far from easy, but without further mishap
the party eventually gained the summit.
That there are many grades of Alpine guides was amusingly exemplified
once upon a time at the Montanvert, where in front of the hotel stood
the famous Courmazeur guide, Emil Rey (afterwards killed on the Dent du
Géant), talking to the Duke of Abruzzi and other first-rate climbers,
while a little way off lounged some extremely indifferent specimens of
the Chamonix _Societé des Guides_. Presently a tourist, got up with much
elegance, and leaning on a tall stick surmounted by a chamois horn,
appeared upon the scene, and addressed himself to Emil Rey. "Combien
pour traverser la Mer de Glace?" he enquired.
"Monsieur," replied Rey, removing his hat with one hand and with the
other indicating the group hard by, "voila les guides pour la Mer de
Glace! Moi, je suis pour la grande montagne!"
[Illustration: Auguste Gentinetta, of Zermatt, 1903.]
[Illustration: The climb up the Matterhorn by the ordinary Swiss route
begins at the rocky corner to the left of the picture.]
[Illustration: Auguste Gentinetta on the way to the Matterhorn.]
[Illustration: The BERGSCHRUND, open when the accident to Mr. Sloggett's
party took place, was above the ice cliff below which the man is
standing.
_To face p. 8._]
One of the most wonderful escapes in the whole annals of mountaineering
was that of a young Englishman, Mr Sloggett, and the well-known guide,
Auguste Gentinetta, the second guide, Alphons Fürrer, being killed on
the spot. They had made a successful ascent of the Matterhorn on 27th
July 1900, and were the first of three parties on the descent. When
nearly down the mountain, not far from the Hörnli ridge, an avalanche of
stones and rocks swept them off their feet. Fürrer's skull was smashed,
and he was killed immediately, and the three, roped together, were
precipitated down a wall of ice. Their axes were wrenched from their
grasp, and they could do nothing to check themselves. Gentinetta
retained full consciousness during the whole of that awful descent, and
while without the slightest hope that they could escape with their
lives, he in no way lost his presence of mind. About 800 feet below the
spot where their fall commenced was a small _Bergschrund_, or crack
across the ice. This was full of stones and sand, and into it the
helpless climbers were flung; had they shot over it nothing in this
world could have saved them. Gentinetta, though much bruised and knocked
about, had no bones broken, and he at once took means to prevent an even
worse disaster than that which had already happened, for Mr Sloggett had
fallen head downwards, with his face buried in sand, and was on the
point of suffocation. Well was it for him that his guide was a man of
promptness and courage. Without losing an instant Gentinetta pulled up
his traveller and got his face free, clearing the sand out of his mouth,
and doing all that mortal could for him. Mr Sloggett's jaw and two of
his teeth were broken, but his other injuries were far less than might
have been expected. Nevertheless, the position of the two survivors was
still a most perilous one. They were exactly at the spot on to which
almost every stone which detached itself from that side of the mountain
was sure to fall, and their ice axes were lost, rendering it almost
impossible for them to work their way to a place of safety. Still, to
his infinite credit, the guide did not lose heart. By some means, which
he now declares he is unable to understand, he contrived to climb, and
to assist his gentleman, up that glassy, blood-stained wall, which even
for a party uninjured, and properly equipped, it would have been no
light task to surmount. This desperate achievement was rendered doubly
trying by Gentinetta's being perfectly aware that if any more stones
fell the two mountaineers must inevitably be swept away for the second
time. At last they gained their tracks and sought a sheltered spot,
where they could safely rest a little. Here they were joined by the
other parties, who rendered invaluable help during the rest of the
descent. The two sufferers finally arrived at the Schwarzsee Hotel,
whence they were carried down the same evening to Zermatt.
[Illustration: Auguste Gentinetta on a Mountain Top, 1903.]
[Illustration: The ruined Chapel by the Schwarzsee.]
[Illustration: The cliff of ice over which Mr. Sloggett's party must
have precipitated if they had not been dashed into the BERGSCHRUND.]
[Illustration: The last resting place at Zermatt of some English
climbers.
_To face p. 11._]
The next day a strong party started for the scene of the accident to
recover the body of the dead guide, Fürrer. It was a difficult and a
dangerous task, and those who examined the wall down which the fall
took place expressed their amazement that two wounded men, without axes,
should have performed what seemed the incredible feat of getting up it.
Both Mr Sloggett and Gentinetta made an excellent recovery, though they
were laid up for many weeks after their memorable descent of the
Matterhorn.
The qualities found in a first-class guide include not only skill in
climbing, but the ability to form a sound conclusion when overtaken by
storm and mist. The following experience which took place in 1874, and
which I am permitted by Mrs Maund to quote from her late husband's
article in _The Alpine Journal_, proves, by its happy termination, that
Maurer's judgment in a critical position was thoroughly to be relied on.
Mr Maund had just arrived at La Bérarde, in Dauphiné, and he writes:--
"The morning of the 29th broke wet and stormy, and Rodier strongly
advised me not to start; this, however, was out of the question, as I
was due at La Grave on that day to keep my appointment with Mr
Middlemore. After waiting an hour, to give the weather a chance, we
started in drizzling rain at 5 A.M. Desolate as the Val des Étançons
must always look, it appeared doubly gloomy that morning, with its
never-ending monotony of rock and moraine unrelieved by a single patch
of green. As we neared the glacier, the weather fortunately cleared,
and the clouds, which till then had enveloped everything, began to mount
with that marvellous rapidity only noticeable in mountain districts,
leaving half revealed the mighty cliffs of the Meije towering 5000 feet
almost sheer above us. As the wind caught and carried into the air the
frozen sheets of snow on his summit, the old mountain looked like some
giant bill distributer throwing his advertisements about. Entirely
protected from the wind, we whiled away an hour and a half, searching
with our telescope for any feasible line of attack. Having satisfied
ourselves that on this side the mountain presented enormous, if not
insurmountable, difficulties, we shouldered our packs and made tracks
for the Brèche, which we reached at 11.45.
"Meanwhile the weather had become worse again, and during the last part
of the ascent it was snowing heavily; the wind too, from which we had
been protected on the south side of the col, was so strong that we were
absolutely obliged to crawl over to the north side. Our position was by
no means a pleasant one; neither Martin nor I knew anything of the pass,
and Rodier, who had told us overnight that he had crossed it more than
once, seemed to know no more, and although sure of the exact bearing of
La Grave, we could not, owing to the fast falling snow, see further
than 300 or 400 yards in advance; added to this, it was intensely cold.
Having paid Rodier 20 francs (a perfect waste of money, as it is
impossible to mistake the way to the Brèche from the Val des Étançons,
and, as I have said, he could not give us the least clue to the descent
on the La Grave side), we dismissed him, hoping devoutly that he might
break his--well, his ice axe, we'll say--on the way down. By keeping
away to the right of the Brèche and down a steep slope, we crossed the
crevasses which lay at its base without difficulty. We then bore to the
left across a plateau, on which the snow lay very deep; floundering
through this sometimes waist deep, we reached the upper ice-fall of the
glacier, and after crossing several crevasses became involved in a
perfect net-work of them. After a consultation, we determined to try to
the right, but met with no better success, as again we were checked by
an absolute labyrinth. At last, about five o'clock, we took to some
rocks which divide the glacier into two branches. Meanwhile the snow was
falling thicker and thicker, and, driven by the strong N.W. wind which
caught up and eddied about what had already fallen, it appeared to come
from every quarter at once. It was impossible to see more than a few
yards in advance, and the rocks which under ordinary circumstances
would have been easy, were, with their coating of at least 4 inches of
snow, much the reverse, as it was quite impossible to see where to put
hand or foot. Our only trust was in our compass, which assured us that
while keeping to the backbone of this ridge we were descending in an
almost direct line towards La Grave.
"We had at most two hours of daylight before us, but there was still a
hope that by following our present line we should get off the glacier
before dark. How I regretted now the time lost in the morning. A little
before seven we were brought to a standstill; our further direct descent
was cut off by a precipice, while the rocks on either side fell almost
sheer to the glaciers beneath. It was too late to think of looking for
another road, so nothing now remained but to find the best shelter we
could and bivouac for the night. We re-ascended to a small platform we
had passed a short time before, and selecting the biggest and most
sheltered bit of rock on it, we piled up the few movable stones there
were about, to form the outside wall to our shelter, and having cleared
away as much of the snow as we could from the inside, laid our ice axes
across the top as rafters, with a sodden mackintosh--ironically called a
waterproof by Mr Carter--over all for a roof. Despite this garment, I
was wet to the skin. Luckily, we had each of us a spare flannel shirt
and stockings in our knapsacks, but as the meagre dimensions of our
shelter would not admit of the struggles attendant on a change, we were
obliged to go through the operation outside. I tried to be cheerful, and
Martin tried to be facetious as we wrung out our wet shirts while the
snow beat on our bare backs, but both attempts were lamentable failures.
If up to the present time my readers have not stripped in a snow-storm,
let me strongly advise them never to attempt it. Having got through the
performance as quickly as possible, we crawled into our shelter, but
here again my ill luck followed me, for in entering I managed to tread
on the tin wine-flask which Martin had thrown aside, and, my weight
forcing out the cork, every drop of wine escaped. After packing myself
away as well as I could in the shape of a pot-hook, Martin followed, and
pot-hooked himself alongside me. We were obliged to assume this
elementary shape, as the size of our shelter would not admit of our
lying straight. All the provisions that remained were then produced.
They consisted of a bit of bread about the size of a breakfast-roll,
one-third of a small pot of preserved meat, about two ounces of raw
bacon with the hide on, and half a small flask of a filthy compound
called Genèpie, a sort of liqueur; besides this, we mustered between us
barely a pipe-full of tobacco, and eight matches in a metal-box. The
provisions I divided into three equal parts--one-third for that night's
supper, and the remaining two-thirds for the next day. I need not
enlarge on the miseries of that night. The wind blew through the chinks
between the stones, bringing the snow with it, until the place seemed
all chinks; then the mackintosh with its weight of snow would come in
upon us, and we had with infinite difficulty to prop it up again, only
to go through the same operation an hour later; at last, in sheer
despair, we let it lie where it fell, and found to our relief it kept us
warmer in that position. The snow never ceased one moment although the
wind had fallen, and when morning broke there must have been nearly a
foot of it around and over us. A more desolate picture than that dawn I
have never seen. Snow everywhere. The rocks buried in it, and not a
point peeping out to relieve the unbroken monotony. The sky full of it,
without a break to relieve its leaden sameness, and the heavy flakes
falling with that persistent silence which adds so much to the
desolation of such a scene.
"I was all for starting; for making some attempt either to get down, or
to recross the col. Martin was dead against it--and I think now he was
right. First of all, we could not have seen more than a few yards ahead;
the rocks would have been considerably worse than they were the evening
before, and if we had once got involved amongst the crevasses it was on
the cards that we shouldn't get clear of them again; added to this, even
if we could hit off the col, what with want of sleep and food, and the
fatigue consequent on several hours' floundering in deep snow, we might
not have strength to reach it. At any rate, we decided not to start
until it cleared sufficiently to let us see where we were going. Our
meagre stock of provisions was redivided into three parts, one of which
we ate for breakfast. I then produced the pipe, but to our horror we
found the matches were still damp. Martin, who is a man of resource,
immediately opened his shirt and put the box containing them under his
arm to dry. Meanwhile the snow never ceased, and the day wore on without
a sign of the weather breaking. If it had not been for the excitement of
those matches, I do not know how we should have got through that day; at
last, however, after about six hours of Martin's fond embrace, one
consented to burn, and I succeeded in lighting the pipe. We took turns
at twelve whiffs each, and no smoke, I can conscientiously say, have I
ever enjoyed like that one. During this never-ending day we got a few
snatches of sleep, but the cold consequent on our wet clothes was so
great, our position so cramped, and the rocks on which we lay so
abominably sharp, that these naps were of the shortest duration.
"A little before six the snow ceased, and for a moment the sun tried to
wink at us through a chink in his snow-charged blanket, before he went
to bed--long enough, however, for us to see La Grave far below, with
every alp almost down to the village itself covered with its white
mantle.
"And then, as our second night closes in, the snow recommences, and we
draw closer together even than before; for we feel that during the long
hours to come we must economise to the fullest the little animal heat
left in us.
"That night I learnt to shiver, not the ordinary shivers, but fits
lasting a quarter of an hour, during which no amount of moral persuasion
could keep your limbs under control; and it was so catching! If either
of us began a solo, the other was sure to join in, and we shivered a
duet until quite exhausted. As we had nothing to drink, I had swallowed
a considerable quantity of snow to quench my thirst, and this, acting on
an almost empty stomach, produced burning heat within, while the cold,
which was now intense, acting externally, induced fever and
light-headedness, and once or twice I caught myself rambling. Martin,
too, was affected in the same way. The long hours wore on, and still
there was no sign of better weather. Towards midnight things looked very
serious. Martin, who had behaved like a brick, thought 'it was very hard
to perish like this in the flower of his age,' and I, too, thought of
writing a line as well as I was able in my pocket-book, bequeathing its
contents to my finder, then of sleeping if I could and waking up with
the Houris; but I had the laugh of him afterwards, because he thought
aloud and I to myself. However, this mood did not last long, and after
shaking hands, I do not quite know why, because we had not quarrelled,
we cuddled up again, and determined, whatever the weather, to start at
daybreak. In half an hour the snow ceased, the wind backed to the S.,
and the temperature rose as if by magic; while the snow melting above
trickled down in little streams upon us. We cleared the snow off the
mackintosh, and putting it over us again, slept like logs in comparative
warmth. When I awoke the sun was well up, and on looking round I could
hardly realise the scene. Not a cloud in the sky! Not a breath of wind!
The rocks around us, which yesterday were absolutely buried, were
showing their black heads everywhere, and only a few inches of snow
remained, so rapid had been the thaw; while far away to the N. the
snow-capped summits of the Pennine Alps stood out in bold relief against
the cloudless sky.
"I woke Martin, and at a quarter to six, after thirty-five hours'
burial, we crawled out of our shelter. At first neither of us could
stand, so chilled were we by long exposure, and so cramped by our
enforced position, but after a good thaw in the hot sun we managed to
hobble about, and pack the knapsacks. After eating the few scraps that
remained, we started at seven o'clock up the ridge that we had descended
two days before.
"We were very shaky on our legs at first, but at each step the stiffness
seemed to wear off, and after half an hour we quite recovered their use;
but there remained an all-pervading sense of emptiness inside that was
not exhilarating. After ascending a short distance, and with my
telescope carefully examining the rocks, we determined to descend to the
glacier below us (the western branch), and crossing this get on to some
more rocks beneath the lower ice-fall. If we could get down these our
way seemed clear.
"I won't trouble you with the details of the descent: suffice it to say
that, without encountering any difficulty, we stepped on to grass about
twelve o'clock, and descending green slopes, still patched here and
there with snow (which would have provided sufficient Edelweiss for all
the hats of the S.A.C.), we arrived safely at La Grave, after a pleasant
little outing of fifty-six hours. Mr Middlemore, despairing of my
coming, had started for England the night before, and had left Jaun to
await my arrival.
"After a hot bath, and some bread-crumbs soaked in warm wine, I went to
bed, and the next morning I awoke as well as I am now, with the
exception of stiffness in the knees, and a slight frost-bite on one
hand. Martin, however, who, I suspect, had eaten a good deal on his
arrival, was seized with severe cramp, and for some hours was very ill.
"Two days' rest put us all to rights again."
Though rivalry may be keen between first-class guides, and bitter things
be said now and then in the heat of the struggle for first place, yet
when a great guide has passed away, it is seldom that one hears anything
but good of him. A pretty story is told--and I believe it is true--of
the son of old Maquignaz of Valtournanche, which exemplifies this
chivalrous trait. Maquignaz and Jean Antoine Carrel were often in
competition in the early days of systematic climbing, and if not
enemies, they were at any rate hardly bosom friends. Carrel's tragic and
noble death on the Matterhorn will be recalled by readers of my _True
Tales of Mountain Adventure_. Not very long ago a French climber was
making an ascent of the Italian side of the Matterhorn, with "young"
Maquignaz as guide. "Where did Carrel fall?" he innocently enquired, as
they ascended the precipitous cliffs on the Breuil side of the mountain.
Young Maquignaz turned sharply to him and exclaimed: "Carrel n'est pas
tombé! _Il est mort!_"
CHAPTER II
TWO DAYS ON AN ICE-SLOPE
There are few instances so striking of the capacity of a party of
thoroughly experienced mountaineers to get out of a really tight place,
as was the outcome of the two days spent by Messrs Mummery, Slingsby,
and Ellis Carr, on an ice slope in the Mont Blanc district. The party
intended trying to ascend the Aiguille du Plan direct from the Chamonix
valley. Mr Ellis Carr has generously given me permission to make use of
his account, which I quote from _The Alpine Journal_. He relates the
adventures of himself and his two friends, whose names are household
words to climbers, as follows:--
"Mummery, Slingsby, and I started at 4 P.M., with a porter carrying the
material for our camp. This comprised a silk tent of Mummery's pattern,
only weighing 1½ to 2 lbs.; three eider-down sleeping-bags, 9 lbs.;
cooking apparatus of thin tin, 1½ lbs.; or, with ropes, rucksacks, and
sundries, about 25 lbs., in addition to the weight of the provisions.
Though not unduly burdened, the porter found the valley of boulders
exceedingly troublesome, and in spite of three distinct varieties of
advice as to the easiest route across them, made such miserably slow
progress, often totally disappearing amongst the rocks like a
water-logged ship in a trough of the sea, that we were forced to pitch
our tents on the right moraine of the Nantillons Glacier, instead of
near the base of our peak, as intended. The _gîte_, built up with stones
on the slope of the moraine, with earth raked into the interstices, was
sufficiently comfortable to afford Mummery and myself some sleep. A
stone, however, far surpassing the traditional _gîte_ lump in aggressive
activity, seemed, most undeservedly, to have singled out Slingsby as its
innocent victim, and, judging by the convulsions of his sleeping-bag,
and the sighs and thumps which were in full swing every time I woke up,
it must have kept him pretty busy all night dodging its attacks from
side to side. His account of his sufferings next morning, when Mummery
and I were admittedly awake, fully confirmed and explained these
phenomena, but on going for the enemy by daylight, he had the
satisfaction of finding that he had suffered quite needlessly, the stone
being loose and easily removed. We used Mummery's silk tent for the
first time, and found that it afforded ample room for three men to lie
at full length without crowding. The night, however, was too fine and
still to test the weather-resisting power of the material, and as this
was thin enough to admit sufficient moonlight to illuminate the interior
of the tent, and make candle or lamp superfluous, we inferred that it
might possibly prove to be equally accommodating in the case of rain and
wind. It was necessary, moreover, on entering or leaving the tent, to
adopt that form of locomotion to which the serpent was condemned to
avoid the risk of unconsciously carrying away the whole structure on
one's back. We started next morning about three o'clock, leaving the
camp kit ready packed for the porter, whom we had instructed to fetch it
during the day, and pushed on to the glacier at the foot of our mountain
at a steady pace, maintained in my case with much greater ease than
would have otherwise been possible by virtue of some long,
single-pointed screw spikes inserted overnight in my boot soles; and I
may here venture to remark that a few of these spikes, screwed into the
boots before starting on an expedition where much ice-work is expected,
appear to offer a welcome compromise between ponderous crampons and
ordinary nails. They do not, I think, if not too numerous, interfere
with rock-climbing, and can be repeatedly renewed when worn down. A
slight modification in the shape would further facilitate their being
screwed in with a box key made to fit.[1]
"Leaving the rock buttress, the scene of our reconnaissance on the 11th,
on the right, we struck straight up the glacier basin between it and the
Aiguille de Blaitiére, which glacier appeared to me to be largely
composed of broken fragments of ice mixed with avalanche snow from the
hanging glaciers and slopes above. Keeping somewhat to the left, we
reached the _bergschrund_, which proved to be of considerable size,
extending along the whole base of the couloir, and crossed it at a point
immediately adjoining the rocks on the left. The axe at once came into
requisition, and we cut steadily in hard ice up and across the couloir
towards the small rib or island of rock before-mentioned as dividing it
higher up into two portions. The rocks at the base of this rib, though
steep, gritty, and loose, offered more rapid going than the ice, and we
climbed then to a gap on the ridge above, commanding a near view of the
perpendicular country in front of us. Far above us, and immediately over
the top of the right-hand section of the couloir, towered the ice cliffs
of the hanging glacier we had tried to reach on the 11th, and beyond
these again, in the grey morning light, we caught the glimpse of a
second and even a third rank of _séracs_ in lofty vista higher up the
mountain. As before observed, this section of the couloir seemed
admirably placed for receiving ice-falls, and we now saw that it formed
part of the natural channel for snow and _débris_ from each and all of
these glaciers. We therefore directed our attention to our friend on the
left, and after a halt for breakfast, traversed the still remaining
portion of the dividing ridge, turning a small rock pinnacle on its
right, and recommenced cutting steps in the hard ice which faced us. As
has been before remarked, it is difficult to avoid over-estimating the
steepness of ice-slopes, but, allowing for any tendency towards
exaggeration, I do not think I am wrong in fixing the angle of the
couloir from this point as not less than 50°. We kept the axe steadily
going, and with an occasional change of leader, after some hours'
unceasing work, found ourselves approaching the base of the upper
portion of the couloir, which from below had appeared perpendicular. We
paused to consider the situation. For at least 80 to 100 feet the ice
rose at an angle of 60° to 70°, cutting off all view of the face above,
with no flanking wall of rock on the right, but bounded on the left by
an overhanging cliff, which dripped slightly with water from melting
snow above. The morning was well advanced, and we kept a sharp look-out
aloft for any stray stones which might fancy a descent in our direction.
None came, and we felt gratified at this confirmation of our judgment
as to the safety of this part of the couloir. However, the time for
chuckling had not yet come. As I stated, we had halted to inspect the
problem before us. Look as we might we could discover no possibility of
turning the ice wall either to the right or left, and though, as we
fondly believed and hoped, it formed the only barrier to easier going
above, the terrible straightness and narrowness of the way was
sufficient to make the very boldest pause to consider the strength of
his resources.
"How long _I_ should have paused before beating a retreat, if asked to
lead the way up such a place, I will not stop to enquire, but I clearly
remember that my efforts to form some estimate of the probable demand on
my powers such a feat would involve were cut short by Mummery's quiet
announcement that he was ready to make the attempt. Let me here state
that amongst Mummery's other mountaineering qualifications not the least
remarkable is his power of inspiring confidence in those who are
climbing with him, and that both Slingsby and I experienced this is
proved by the fact that we at once proceeded, without misgiving or
hesitation, to follow his lead. We had hitherto used an 80-feet rope,
but now, by attaching a spare 100-feet length of thin rope, used double,
we afforded the leader an additional 50 feet. Mummery commenced
cutting, and we soon approached the lower portion of the actual ice
wall, where the angle of the slope cannot have been less than 60°.
"I am not aware that any authority has fixed the exact degree of
steepness at which it becomes impossible to use the ice axe with both
hands, but, whatever portion of a right angle the limit may be, Mummery
very soon reached it, and commenced excavating with his right hand caves
in the ice, each with an internal lateral recess by which to support his
weight with his left. Slingsby and I, meanwhile possessing our souls in
patience, stood in our respective steps, as on a ladder, and watched his
steady progress with admiration, so far as permitted us by the falling
ice dislodged by the axe.
"Above our heads the top of the wall was crowned by a single projecting
stone towards which the leader cut, and which, when reached, just
afforded sufficient standing-room for both feet. The ice immediately
below this stone, for a height of 12 or 14 feet, was practically
perpendicular, and Slingsby's definition of it as a 'frozen waterfall'
is the most appropriate I can find. Here and there Mummery found it
necessary to cut through its entire thickness, exposing the face of the
rock behind.
"On reaching the projecting stone the leader was again able to use the
axe with both hands, and slowly disappeared from view; thus completing,
without pause or hitch of any kind, the most extraordinary feat of
mountaineering skill and nerve it has ever been my privilege to witness.
"The top of the wall surmounted, Slingsby and I expected every moment to
hear the welcome summons to follow to easier realms above. None came.
Time passed, the only sounds besides the occasional drip of water from
the rocks on our left, or the growl of a distant avalanche, being that
of the axe and the falling chips of ice, as they whizzed by or struck
our heads or arms with increasing force. The sounds of the axe strokes
gradually became inaudible, but the shower continued to pound us without
mercy for more than an hour of inaction, perhaps more trying to the
nerves, in such a position, than the task of leading. The monotony was
to some extent varied by efforts to ward off from our heads the blows of
the falling ice, and by the excitement, at intervals, of seeing the
slack rope hauled up a foot or so at a time. It had almost become taut,
and we were preparing to follow, when a shout from above, which sounded
from where we stood muffled and far away, for more rope, kept us in our
places. It was all very well to demand more rope, but not so easy to
comply. The only possible way to give extra length was to employ the 100
feet of thin rope single, instead of double, at which we hesitated at
first, but, as Mummery shouted that it was absolutely necessary, we
managed to make the change, though it involved Slingsby's getting out of
the rope entirely during the operation. To any one who has not tried it
I should hardly venture to recommend, as an enjoyable diversion, the
process, which must necessarily occupy both hands, of removing and
re-adjusting 180 feet of rope on an ice slope exceeding 60° at the top
of a steep couloir some 1000 feet high. The task accomplished, we had
not much longer to wait before the shout to come on announced the
termination of our martyrdom. We went on, but, on passing in turn the
projecting stone, and catching sight of the slope above, we saw at a
glance that our hopes of easy going must, for the present, be postponed.
Mummery, who had halted at the full extent of his tether of about 120
feet of rope, was standing in his steps on an ice slope quite as steep
as that below the foot of the wall we had just surmounted. He had been
cutting without intermission for two hours, and suggested a change.
Being last on the rope, I therefore went ahead, cutting steps to pass,
and took up the work with the axe. The ice here was occasionally in
double layer, the outer one some 3 or 4 inches in thickness, which, when
cut through, revealed a space of about equal depth behind, an
arrangement at times very convenient, as affording good hand-holes
without extra labour. I went on for some time cutting pigeon-holes on
the right side of the couloir, and, at the risk of being unorthodox, I
would venture to point out what appears to me the advantages of this
kind of step on very steep ice. Cut in two perpendicular rows,
alternately for each foot, the time lost in zigzags is saved, and no
turning steps are necessary; they do not require the ice to be cut away
so much for the leg as in the case of lateral steps, and are therefore
less easily filled up by falling chips and snow. Being on account of
their shape more protected from the sun's heat, they are less liable to
be spoiled by melting, and have the further advantage of keeping the
members of the party in the same perpendicular line, and consequently in
a safer position. They also may serve as hand-holds. To cut such steps
satisfactorily it is necessary that the axe be provided with a point
long enough to penetrate to the full depth required for the
accommodation of the foot up to the instep, without risk of injury to
the shaft by repeated contact with the ice.
"As we had now been going for several hours without food, and since
leaving the rock rib, where we had breakfasted, had come across no ledge
or irregularity of any kind affording a resting-place, it was with no
little satisfaction that I descried, on the opposite side of the
couloir, at a spot about 30 or 40 feet above, where the cliff on our
left somewhat receded, several broken fragments of rock cropping out of
the ice, of size and shape to provide seats for the whole party. We cut
up and across to them, and sat down, or rather hooked ourselves on, for
a second breakfast. We were here approximately on a level with the
summit of our rock buttress of the 11th, and saw that it was only
connected with the mountain by a broken and dangerous-looking ridge of
ice and _névé_ running up to an ice-slope at the foot of the glacier
cliffs. The gap in the latter was not visible from our position. The
tower we had tried to turn appeared far below, and the intervening rocks
of the buttress, though not jagged, were steep and smooth like a roof.
The first gleams of sunshine now arrived to cheer us, and, getting under
way once more, we pushed on hopefully, as the couloir was rapidly
widening and the face of the mountain almost in full view. We had also
surmounted the rock wall which had so long shut out the prospect on our
left, and it was at this point that, happening to glance across the
slabs, we caught sight of a large flat rock rapidly descending. It did
not bound nor roll, but slid quietly down with a kind of stealthy haste,
as if it thought, though rather late, it might still catch us, and was
anxious not to alarm us prematurely. It fell harmlessly into the
couloir, striking the ice near the rock rib within a few feet of our
tracks, and we saw no other falling stones while we were on the
mountain.
"Leaving the welcome resting-place, Mummery again took the lead, and cut
up and across the couloir, now becoming less steep, to a rib or patch of
rocks higher up on the right, which we climbed to its upper extremity, a
distance of some 70 or 80 feet.
"Here, taking to the ice once more, we soon approached the foot of the
first great snow-slope on the face, and rejoiced in the near prospect of
easier going. At the top of this slope, several hundred feet straight
before us, was a low cliff or band of rocks, for which we decided to
aim, there being throughout the entire length of the intervening slope
no suspicious grey patches to indicate ice. The angle was, moreover,
much less severe, and it being once more my turn to lead, I went at it
with the zealous intention of making up time. My ardour was, however,
considerably checked at finding, when but a short distance up the slope,
that the coating of _névé_ was so exceedingly thin as to be insufficient
for good footing without cutting through the hard ice below. Instead,
therefore, of continuing in a straight line for the rocks, we took an
oblique course to the right, towards one of the hanging glaciers before
referred to, and crossing a longitudinal crevasse, climbed without much
difficulty up its sloping bank of _névé_. Hurrah! here was good snow at
last, only requiring at most a couple of slashes with the adze end of
the axe for each step. If this continued we had a comparatively easy
task before us, as the rocks above, though smooth and steep, were broken
up here and there by bands and streaks of snow. Taking full advantage of
this our first opportunity for making speed, we cut as fast as possible
and made height rapidly. We still aimed to strike the band of rocks
before described, though at a point much more to the right, and nearer
to where its extremity was bounded by the ice-cliffs of another hanging
glacier; but, alas! as we approached nearer and nearer to the base of
the cliffs, looming apparently higher and higher over our heads, the
favouring _névé_, over which we had been making such rapid progress,
again began to fail, and before we could reach the top of the once more
steepening slope the necessity of again resorting to the pick end of the
axe brought home the unwelcome conviction that our temporary respite had
come to an end, and that, instead of snow above, and apart from what
help the smooth rocks might afford, nothing was to be expected but hard,
unmitigated ice.
"We immediately felt that, as it was already past noon, the
establishment of this fact would put a totally different complexion on
our prospects of success, and, instead of reaching the summit, we might
have to content ourselves with merely crossing the ridge. We continued
cutting, however, and reached the rocks, the last part of the slope
having once more become exceedingly steep. To turn the cliff, here
unclimbable, we first spent over half an hour in prospecting to the
right, where a steep ice-gully appeared between the rocks and the
hanging glacier; but, abandoning this, we struck off to the left,
cutting a long traverse, during which we were able to hitch the rope to
rocks cropping out through the ice. The traverse landed us in a kind of
gully, where, taking to the rocks whenever practicable, though climbing
chiefly by the ice, we reached a broken stony ledge, large and flat
enough to serve as a luncheon place, the only spot we had come across
since leaving the rock rib, where it was possible really to rest
sitting. Luncheon over, we proceeded as before, choosing the rocks as
far as possible by way of change, though continually obliged to take to
the ice-streaks by which they were everywhere intersected. This went on
all the rest of the afternoon, till, when daylight began to wane, we had
attained an elevation considerably above the gap between our mountain
and the Aiguille de Blaitiére, or more than 10,900 feet above the sea.
"The persistent steepness and difficulty of the mountain had already put
our reaching the ridge before dark entirely out of the question, though
we decided to keep going as long as daylight lasted, so as to leave as
little work as possible for the morrow.
"The day had been gloriously fine, practically cloudless throughout, and
I shall never forget the weird look of the ice-slopes beneath, turning
yellow in the evening light, and plunging down and disappearing far
below in the mists which were gathering at the base of the mountain;
also, far, far away, we caught a glimpse of the Lake of Geneva,
somewhere near Lausanne. I had turned away from the retrospect, when an
exclamation from Slingsby called me to look once more. A gap had
appeared in the mists, and there, some 2700 feet below us, as it were on
an inferior stage of the world, we caught a glimpse of the snow-field at
the very foot of the mountain, dusky yellow in the last rays of the sun.
Mummery was in the meantime continuing the everlasting chopping, in the
intervals of crawling up disobliging slabs of rock, till twilight began
to deepen into darkness, and we had to look about for a perch on which
to roost for the night. The only spot we could find, sufficiently large
for all three of us to sit, was a small patch of lumps of rocks, more or
less loose, some 20 or 30 feet below where we stood, and we succeeded,
just as the light failed, or about 8.30 P.M., and after some
engineering, in seating ourselves side by side upon it. Our boots were
wet through by long standing in ice-steps, and we took them off and
wrung the water out of our stockings. The others put theirs on again,
but, as a precaution against frost-bite, having pocketed my stockings, I
put my feet, wrapped in a woollen cap, inside the rucksack, with the
result that they remained warm through the night. The half hour which it
took me next morning to pull on the frozen boots proved, however, an
adequate price for the privilege of having warm feet. As a precaution
against falling off our shelf we hitched the rope over a rock above and
passed it round us, and to make sure of not losing my boots (awful
thought!), I tied them to it by the laces.
"After dinner we settled down to spend the evening. The weather
fortunately remained perfect, and the moon had risen, though hidden from
us by our mountain. Immediately below lay Chamonix, like a cheap
illumination, gradually growing more patchy as the night advanced and
the candles went out one by one, while above the stars looked down as
if silently wondering why in the world we were sitting there. The first
two hours were passed without very much discomfort, but having left
behind our extra wraps to save weight, as time wore on the cold began to
make itself felt, and though fortunately never severe enough to be
dangerous, made us sufficiently miserable. Packed as we were, we were
unable to indulge in those exercises generally adopted to induce warmth,
and we shivered so vigorously at intervals that, when all vibrating in
unison, we wondered how it might affect the stability of our perch.
Sudden cramp in a leg, too, could only be relieved by concerted action,
it being necessary for the whole party to rise solemnly together like a
bench of judges, while the limb was stretched out over the valley of
Chamonix till the pain abated, and it could be folded up and packed away
once more. We sang songs, told anecdotes, and watched the ghostly effect
of the moonlight on a subsidiary pinnacle of the mountain, the
illuminated point of which, in reality but a short distance away, looked
like a phantom Matterhorn seen afar off over an inky black _arête_
formed by the shadow thrown across its base by the adjoining ridge. We
had all solemnly vowed not to drop asleep, and for me this was
essential, as my centre of gravity was only just within the base of
support; but while endeavouring to give effect to another chorus, in
spite of the very troublesome _vibrato_ before referred to, I was
grieved and startled at the sudden superfluous interpolation of two
sustained melancholy bass notes, each in a different key and ominously
suggestive of snoring. The pensive attitude of my companions' heads
being in keeping with their song, in accordance with a previous
understanding, I imparted to Mummery, who sat next to me, a judicious
shock, but, as in the case of a row of billiard balls in contact, the
effect was most noticeable at the far end, and _Slingsby_ awoke,
heartily agreeing with me how weak it was of Mummery to give way thus.
The frequent necessity for repeating this operation, with strengthening
variations as the effect wore off, soon stopped the chorus which, like
Sullivan's 'Lost Chord,' trembled away into silence.
"The lights of Chamonix had by this time shrunk to a mere moth-eaten
skeleton of their earlier glory, and I became weakly conscious of a sort
of resentment at the callous selfishness of those who could thus sneak
into their undeserved beds, without a thought of the three devoted
explorers gazing down at them from their eyrie on the icy rocks.
"From 2 to 4 o'clock the cold became more intense, aggravated by a
slight 'breeze of morning,' and while waiting for dawn we noticed that
it was light enough to see.
"Daylight, however, did not help Mummery to find his hat, and we
concluded it had retired into the _bergschrund_ under cover of darkness.
"We helped each other into a standing position, and decided to start for
the next patch of rocks above, from there to determine what chance of
success there might be in making a dash for the summit, or, failing
this, of simply crossing the ridge and descending to the Col du Géant.
There was very little food left, and, as we had brought no wine,
breakfast was reduced to a slight sketch, executed with little taste and
in a few very dry touches. Owing to the time required to disentangle
virulently kinked and frozen ropes, etc., the sun was well above the
horizon when we once more started upwards, though unfortunately, just at
this time, when his life-giving rays would have been most acceptable,
they were entirely intercepted by the ridge of the Blaitiére. We started
on the line of steps cut the night before, but soon after Mummery had
recommenced cutting, the cold, or rather the impossibility, owing to the
enforced inaction, to get warm, produced such an overpowering feeling of
drowsiness that Slingsby and I, at Mummery's suggestion, returned to the
perch, and jamming ourselves into the space which had before
accommodated our six legs, endeavoured to have it out in forty winks.
Mummery meanwhile continued step-cutting, and at the end of about half
an hour, during which Slingsby and I were somewhat restored by a fitful
dose, returned, and we tied on again for another attempt.
"Surmounting the patches of rock immediately above our dormitory, we
arrived at the foot of another slope of terribly steep, hard ice, some
200 feet in height. At the top of this again was a vertical crag 14 or
15 feet high, forming the outworks of the next superior band of rocks,
which was interspersed with ice-streaks as before. A few feet from the
base of this crag was a narrow ledge about 1 foot in width, where we
were able to sit after scraping it clear of snow. Slingsby gave Mummery
a leg up round a very nasty corner, and he climbed to a point above the
crag, whence he was able to assist us with the rope up a still higher
and narrower ledge. Beyond was another steep slope of hard ice, topped
by a belt of rocks, as before.
"Before reaching this point the cold had again begun to tell upon me,
and I bitterly regretted the mistaken policy of leaving behind our extra
wraps, especially as the coat I was wearing was not lined. As there was
no probability of a change for the better in the nature of the going
before the ridge was reached, I began to doubt the wisdom of proceeding,
affected as I was, where a false step might send the whole party into
the _bergschrund_ 3000 feet below; but it was very hard, with the summit
in view and the most laborious part of the ascent already accomplished,
to be the first to cry 'Hold!' I hesitated for some time before doing
so, and the others meanwhile had proceeded up the slope. The rope was
almost taut when I shouted to them the state of the case, and called a
council of war. They returned to me, and we discussed what was
practically something of the nature of a dilemma. To go on at the same
slow rate of progress and without the sun's warmth meant, on the one
hand, the possible collapse of at least one of the party from cold,
while, on the other hand, to turn back involved the descent of nearly
3000 feet of ice, and the passage, if we could not turn it, of the
couloir and its ghastly ice-wall. Partly, I think, to delay for a time
the adoption of the latter formidable alternative, partly to set at rest
any doubt which might still remain as to the nature of the going above,
Mummery volunteered to ascend alone to the rocks at the summit of the
ice-slope, though the chance of their offering any improved conditions
was generally felt to be a forlorn hope. He untied the rope, threw the
end down to us, and retraced his steps up the slope, in due time
reaching the rocks some 100 or 130 feet above, but, after prospecting in
more than one direction, returned to us with the report that they
offered no improvement, and that the intersecting streaks were nothing
but hard ice. He, however, was prepared to continue the attempt if we
felt equal to the task. If we could at that moment have commanded a cup
of hot soup or tea, or the woollen jackets which in our confidence in
being able to reach the ridge we had left behind, I am convinced I
should have been quite able to proceed, and that the day and the
mountain would have been ours; but in the absence of these reviving
influences and that of the sun, I was conscious that in my own case, at
any rate, it would be folly to persist, so gave my vote for descending.
As the food was practically exhausted, the others agreed that it would
be wiser to face the terrible ordeal which retracing our steps involved
(we did not then know that it meant recutting them), rather than
continue the ascent with weakened resources and without absolute
certainty of the accessibility of the summit ridge.
"As Slingsby on the previous day had insisted on being regarded merely
as a passenger, and had therefore not shared in the step-cutting, it was
now arranged that he should lead, while Mummery, as a tower of strength,
brought up the rear. Though it was past five o'clock, and of course
broad daylight, a bright star could be seen just over the ridge of our
mountain, not far from the summit--alas! the only one anywhere near it
on that day. We started downwards at a steady pace, and soon were
rejoicing in the returning warmth induced by the more continuous
movement. Before we had gone far, however, we found that most of the
steps were partially filled up with ice, water having flowed into them
during the previous afternoon, and the work of trimming or practically
recutting these was at times exceedingly trying, owing to their distance
apart, and the consequent necessity of working in a stooping and cramped
position.
"But if the work was tough the worker, fortunately, was tougher still,
and Mummery and I congratulated ourselves on being able to send such
powerful reserves to the front.
"The morning was well advanced before the sun surmounted the cold screen
of the Blaitiére, but having once got to work he certainly made up by
intensity for his tardy appearance.
"The provisions, with the exception of a scrap or two of cheese and a
morsel of chocolate, being exhausted, and having, as before stated,
nothing with us in the form of drink, nothing was to be gained by a
halt, though, as we descended with as much speed as possible, we kept a
sharp look-out for any signs of trickling water with which to quench the
thirst, which was becoming distressing.
"Since finally deciding to return, we had cherished the hope that it
might still be possible to turn the ice-wall by way of the great rock
buttress, and made up our minds at any rate to inspect it from above.
With this in view, when the point was reached where we had on the
previous day struck the flank of the hanging glacier instead of
continuing in the tracks which trended to the right across the long
ice-slope, we cut straight down by the side of the glacier to its foot,
and over the slope below, in the direction of the _séracs_ immediately
crowning the summit of the buttress.
"On nearer approach, however, it was manifest that even if by hours of
step-cutting a passage from the ice to the rocky crest below could be
successfully forced, descent by the latter was more than doubtful, while
the consequences of failure were not to be thought of.
"Driven, therefore, finally to descend by the couloir, we cut a
horizontal traverse which brought us back into the old tracks, a short
way above the point where the ice began to steepen for the final plunge,
where we braced ourselves for the last and steepest 1000 feet of ice.
Slingsby still led, and, on arriving at the spot below our second
breakfast-place, where I had last cut pigeon-holes, joyfully announced
that one of them contained water. He left his drinking cup in an
adjoining step for our use as we passed the spot in turn, and the fact
that it was only visible when on a level with our faces may give some
idea of the steepness of the descent. The delight of that drink was
something to remember, though only obtainable in thimblefuls, and I
continued dipping so long that Mummery became alarmed, being under the
impression that the cup was filled each time.
"Mummery had previously volunteered, in case we were driven to return by
the couloir, to descend first, and recut the steps and hand-holes in the
ice-wall, and as we approached the brink we looked about for some
projecting stone or knob of rock which might serve as a hitch for the
rope during the operation. The only available projection was a pointed
stone of doubtful security, somewhat removed from the line of descent,
standing out of the ice at the foot of a smooth vertical slab of rock on
the left. Round this we hitched the rope, Slingsby untying to give the
necessary length. With our feet firmly planted, each in its own
ice-step, we paid out the rope as Mummery descended and disappeared over
the edge. It was an hour before he re-appeared, and this period of
enforced inaction was to me, and I think to Slingsby, the most trying of
the whole expedition. The want of food was beginning to tell on our
strength, the overpowering drowsiness returned, and though it was
absolutely essential for the safety of the party to stand firmly in the
ice-steps, it required a strong effort to avoid dropping off to sleep in
that position. We were fortunately able to steady ourselves by grasping
the upper edge of the ice where it adjoined the rocky slab under which
we stood. This weariness, however, must have been quite as much mental
as physical from the long-continued monotony of the work, for when
Mummery at last reappeared we felt perfectly equal to the task of
descending. The rope was passed behind a boss of _névé_ ingeniously
worked by Mummery as a hitch to keep it perpendicular, and I descended
first, but had no occasion to rely upon it for more than its moral
support, as the steps and hand-holds had been so carefully cut. I
climbed cautiously down the icy cataract till I reached a point where
hand-holds were not essential to maintain the balance, and waited with
my face almost against the ice till Slingsby joined me. Mummery soon
followed, and rather than leave the spare rope behind detached it from
the stone and descended without its aid, his nerve being to all
appearance unimpaired by the fatigues he had gone through. I had before
had evidence of his indifference while on the mountains to all forms of
food or drink, with the single exception, by the way, of strawberry jam,
on the production of which he generally capitulates.
"Rejoicing at having successfully passed the steepest portion of the
ice-wall without the smallest hitch of the wrong sort, we steadily
descended the face of the couloir.
"Here and there, where a few of the steps had been hewn unusually far
apart, I was fain to cut a notch or two for the fingers before lowering
myself into the next one below. At last the rock rib was reached, and we
indulged in a rest for the first time since turning to descend.
"Time, however, was precious, and we were soon under way again,
retracing our steps over the steep loose rocks at the base of the rib
till forced again on to the ice.
"Oh, that everlasting hard ice-slope, so trustworthy yet so relentlessly
exacting!
"Before we could clear the rocks, and as if by way of hint that the
mountain had had enough of us, and of me in particular (I could have
assured it the feeling was mutual), a flick of the rope sent my hat and
goggles flying down to keep company with Mummery's in the _bergschrund_,
and a sharp rolling stone, which I foolishly extended my hand to check,
gashed me so severely as to put climbing out of the question for more
than a week. As small pieces of ice had been whizzing down for some time
from above, though we saw no stones, it was satisfactory to find our
steps across the lower part of the couloir in sufficiently good order to
allow of our putting on a good pace, and we soon reached the sheltering
rock on the opposite side and the slopes below the _bergschrund_ wherein
our hats, after losing their heads, had found a grave. The intense
feeling of relief on regaining, at 5.55 P.M., safe and easy ground,
where the lives of the party were not staked on every step, is difficult
to describe, and was such as I had never before experienced. I think the
others felt something like the same sensation. Fatigue, kept at bay so
long as the stern necessity for caution lasted, seemed to come upon us
with a rush, though tempered with the sense of freedom from care
aforesaid, and I fancy our progress down the glacier snow was for a time
rather staggery. Though tired, we were by no means exhausted, and after
a short rest on a flat rock and a drink from a glacier runnel, found
ourselves sufficiently vigorous to make good use of the remaining
daylight to cross the intervening glaciers, moraines, and valley of
boulders, before commencing to skirt the tedious and, in the dark,
exasperating stony wastes of the Charmoz ridge. Sternly disregarding the
allurements of numerous stonemen, which here seem to grow wild, to the
confusion of those weak enough to trust them, we stumbled along amongst
the stones to the brow of the hill overlooking the hotel, where shouts
from friends greeted the appearance of our lantern, and, descending by
the footpath, we arrived among them at 10.30 P.M., more than fifty-four
hours after our departure on the 12th."
[Illustration: ON A SNOW RIDGE.]
[Illustration: MRS. AUBREY LE BLOND, 1903. By Royston Le Blond.]
[Illustration: A HALT FOR LUNCH ABOVE THE SNOW LINE.]
[Illustration: MRS. AUBREY LE BLOND. By Joseph Imboden.
_To face_ p. 51.]
CHAPTER III
SOME AVALANCHE ADVENTURES
We should never have got into such a position, but when definite orders
are not carried out the General must not be blamed. The adventure might
easily have cost all three of us our lives.
This is how we came to be imperilling our necks on an incoherent
snow-ridge 13,000 feet above the sea. It was the end of September, and
my two guides and I were waiting at Zermatt to try the Dent Blanche, a
proceeding which, later on, was amply justified by success. Much fresh
snow had recently fallen, and the slopes of the mountains were running
down towards the valleys faster than the most active chamois could have
galloped up them. Idleness is an abomination to the keen climber, and
doubly so if he be an enthusiastic photographer, and the sun shone each
day from a cloudless sky. Something had to be done, but what could we
choose? All the safe second-class ascents up which one might wade
through fresh snow without risk, we had accomplished over and over
again. Something new to us was what we wanted, and what eventually we
found in the stately Hohberghorn. Now this peak is seldom ascended. It
is overtopped by two big neighbours, and until these have been done, no
one is likely to climb the less imposing peak. Furthermore, the
Hohberghorn is a grind, and though we got enough excitement and to spare
out of it, yet in our case the circumstances were peculiar. The view was
certain to be grand, and, _faute de mieux_, we decided to start for it.
On this occasion, in addition to my guide of many years' standing, the
famous Joseph Imboden of St Nicholas, I had a second man, who had a
great local reputation in his native valley at the other end of
Switzerland (and deservedly so, as far as his actual climbing ability
was concerned), but who had never been on a rope with Imboden before.
This was the cause of the appalling risk we ran during our expedition.
We arrived in good time at the hut, and found another party, who
proposed going up the Dom, the highest mountain entirely in Switzerland
(14,900 feet) next day. Our way lay together for a couple of hours over
the great glacier, and we proceeded the following morning in magnificent
weather towards our respective peaks.
It was heavy work ploughing our way through the soft new snow, and we
could not advance except very slowly. As a result, it was already
mid-day when we gained the ridge of the Hohberghorn, not far below the
summit. The sun streamed pitilessly down, the snow cracked and slipped
at every step. To understand what followed, our position must now be
made clear. Imboden, who led, was on the very crest of the ridge. Next
to him on the rope, at a distance of about 20 feet, was my place, also
on the ridge. At an equal distance behind me was the second guide. He
was a trifle below the ridge, on the side to our left. We stood still
for a moment, and then Imboden distinctly but very quietly remarked to
the other man, "Be on your guard. At any moment now we may expect an
avalanche." I never to this day can understand how he failed to grasp
what this meant. It should have been obvious that it was a warning to
look out, and at the first sign of approaching danger to step down on to
the other side of the ridge. Had not this been a perfectly simple thing
to do, we should not have continued the ascent, but the second guide
failed us hopelessly when the critical moment came. Imboden, to avoid a
small cornice or overhanging eave of snow to our right, now took a few
steps along and below the ridge to the left, while the man behind me
came in the tracks to the crest, and I followed the leader. From this
position the last man could in an instant have been down the slope to
his right, and have held us with the greatest ease.
We advanced a yard or two further, and then the entire surface upon
which we stood commenced to move! A moment more and we were struggling
for our lives, dashing our axes through the rushing snow, and
endeavouring to arrest our wild career, which, unless checked at once,
would cause us to be precipitated down the entire face of the mountain,
to the glacier below. Then it was that the firm bed of snow beneath the
newer layer stood us in good stead. Our axes held, and, breathless,
bruised and startled, we found ourselves clinging to the slope, while
the avalanche, momentarily increasing in volume, thundered down towards
the snow-fields below, where at length, heaped high against the
mountain-side, it came to rest.
We now took stock of the position. We were practically unhurt, but so
confused and rapid had been the slip that the rope was entangled round
us in a manner wonderful to behold. There was nothing to prevent us
reaching the summit, for every atom of fresh snow had been swept away
from the slope, so we continued our climb, and soon were able to rest on
the top. To this day, Imboden and I always look back to our adventure
on the Hohberghorn as the greatest peril either of us has ever faced.
More than one instance has been recorded where, owing to the prompt
action of the last man on the rope, fatal accidents on snow-ridges have
been avoided. The two most famous occasions in Alpine annals[2] were
when Hans Grass saved his party on Piz Palü, and when Ulrich Almer
performed his marvellous feat on the Gabelhorn. It is true that in both
these cases the risk was due to the breaking away of a snow-cornice, but
the remedy was exactly the same as it ought to have been when our
avalanche was started.
I have only to add that we found the other party at the hut, much
exhausted by their unsuccessful attempt on the Dom, and very anxious on
our account, as they both heard and saw the avalanche which had so
nearly ended our mountaineering career.
The famous climber, Mr Tuckett, has very kindly allowed me to quote from
_Peaks, Passes, and Glaciers_, the following description of a narrow
escape from an avalanche while descending the Aletschhorn:
"We had accomplished in safety a distance of scarcely more than 150
yards when, as I was looking at the Jungfrau, my attention was
attracted by a sudden exclamation from Victor, who appeared to stagger
and all but lose his balance. At first, the idea of some sort of seizure
or an attack of giddiness presented itself, but, without stopping to
enquire, I at once turned round, drove my good 8-foot ash-pole as deeply
as possible through the surface layer of fresh snow into the firmer
stratum beneath, tightened the rope to give Victor support, and shouted
to Peter to do the same. All this was the work of an instant, and a
glance at once showed me what had happened. Victor was safe for the
moment, but a layer or _couche_ of snow, 10 inches to a foot in
thickness, had given way exactly beneath his feet, and first gently, and
then fleet as an arrow, went gliding down, with that unpleasant sound
somewhat resembling the escape of steam, which is so trying to the
nerves of the bravest man, when he knows its full and true significance.
At first a mass 80 to 100 yards in breadth and 10 or 15 in length alone
gave way, but the contagion spread, and ere another minute had elapsed
the slopes right and left of us for an extent of at least half a mile,
were in movement, and, like a frozen Niagara, went crashing down the
ice-precipices and _séracs_ that still lay between us and the Aletsch
glacier, 1800 to 2000 feet below. The spectacle was indescribably
sublime, and the suspense for a moment rather awful, as we were
clinging to an incline at least as steep as that on the Grindelwald side
of the Strahleck--to name a familiar example--and it was questionable
whether escape would be possible, if the layer of snow on the portion of
the slope we had just been traversing should give way before we could
retrace our steps.
"Not a moment was to be lost; no word was spoken after the first
exclamation, and hastily uttered, 'Au col! et vite!' and then in dead
silence, with _bâtons_ held aloft like harpoons, ready to be plunged
into the lower and older layers of snow, we stole quietly but rapidly up
towards the now friendly-looking _corniche_, and in a few minutes stood
once more in safety on the ridge, with feelings of gratitude for our
great deliverance, which, though they did not find utterance in words,
were, I believe, none the less sincerely felt by all of us. 'Il n'a
manqué que peu à un grand malheur,' quietly remarked Victor, who looked
exhausted, as well he might be after what he had gone through; but a
_goutte_ of cognac all round soon set us right again, and shouting to
Bennen, who was still in sight, though dwindled in size to a mere point,
we were soon beside him, running down the _névé_ of our old friend, the
Aren Glacier. The snow was now soft and the heat tremendous, and both
Bennen and Bohren showed signs of fatigue; but a rapid pace was still
maintained in spite of the frequent crevasses. Some were cleared in a
series of flying leaps, whilst into others which the snow concealed, one
and another would occasionally sink, amid shouts of laughter from his
companions, who, in their turn, underwent a similar fate. To the
carefully secured rope, which, with the alpenstock and ice axe, are the
mountaineer's best friends, we owed it that these sudden immersions were
a mere matter of joke; but even the sense of security which it confers
does not altogether prevent a 'creepy' sensation from being experienced,
as the legs dangle in vacancy, and the sharp metallic ring of the icy
fragments is heard as they clatter down into the dark blue depths
below."
The higher and more snow-laden the mountain chain, the more risk is
there from avalanches. It seems practically certain that Mr Mummery met
his death in the Himalayas from an avalanche, and that Messrs Donkin and
Fox and their two Swiss guides perished in the Caucasus from a like
cause. Sir W. Martin Conway, in his book on the Himalayas, makes several
allusions to avalanches, and on at least one occasion, some members of
his party had a narrow escape. He relates the adventure as follows:
[Illustration: A cutting through an immense avalanche which fell some
months previously.]
[Illustration: The remains of a large avalanche.]
[Illustration: An avalanche of stones.]
[Illustration: A mountain chapel near Zermatt where special prayers are
offered for defence against avalanche.
_To face_ p. 59.]
"Zurbriggen and I had no more than set foot upon the grass, when we
beheld a huge avalanche-cloud descending over the whole width of the
ice-fall, utterly enveloping both it and a small rock-rib and couloir
beside it. Bruce and the Gurkhas were below the rib, and could only see
up the couloir. They thought the avalanche was a small one confined to
it, and so they turned back and ran towards the foot of the ice-fall.
This was no improvement in position, and there was nothing for them to
do then but to run straight away from it, and get as far out to the flat
glacier as they could. The fall started from the very top of the Lower
Burchi peak, and tumbled on to the plateau above the ice-fall; it flowed
over this, and came down the ice-fall itself. We saw the cloud before we
heard the noise, and then it only reached us as a distant rumble. We had
no means of guessing the amount of solid snow and ice that there might
be in the heart of the cloud. The rumble increased in loudness, and was
soon a thunder that swallowed up our puny shouts, so that Bruce could
not hear our warning. Had he heard he could easily have reached the
sheltered position we gained before the cloud came on him. Zurbriggen
and I cast ourselves upon our faces, but only the edge of the cloud and
an ordinary strong wind reached us. Our companions were entirely
enveloped in it. They afterwards described to us how they raced away
like wild men, jumping crevasses which they could not have cleared in
cold blood. When the snow just enveloped them, the wind raised by it
cast them headlong on the ice. This, however, was the worst that
happened. The snow peppered them all over, and soaked them to the skin,
but the solid part of the avalanche was happily arrested in the midst of
the ice-fall, and never came in sight. When the fog cleared they were
all so out of breath that for some minutes they could only stand and
regard one another in panting silence. They presently rejoined us, and
we halted for a time on the pleasant grass."
In the olden days, before the great Alpine lines had tunnelled beneath
the mountains and made a journey from one side of the range to the other
in midwinter as safe and as comfortable as a run from London to
Brighton, passengers obliged to cross the Alps in winter or spring were
exposed to very real peril from avalanches. Messrs Newnes have
courteously allowed me to make a short extract from an article which
appeared in one of their publications, and in which is described the
adventures of two English ladies who were obliged to return home
suddenly from Innsbruck on account of the illness of a near relative.
Their shortest route was by _diligence_ to Constance, over the Arlberg
Pass, and although it was considered extremely dangerous at that time of
year--the beginning of May 1880--they resolved to make the attempt. Much
anxiety with regard to avalanches was felt in neighbouring villages, as
the sun had lately been very hot, and the snow had become rotten and
undermined. Owing to heavy falls during the previous winter, the
accumulation of snow was enormous, and thus the two travellers set out
under the worst possible auspices. The conductor of the _diligence_
warned them of the danger, and told them on no account to open a window
or to make any movement which could shake the coach. He got in with them
and sat opposite, looking very worried and anxious. They reached the
critical part of their journey, and, to quote Mrs Brewer's words:
"Suddenly a low, booming sound, like that of a cannon on a battlefield
or a tremendous peal of thunder, broke on our ears, swelling into a
deafening crash; and in a moment we were buried in a vast mass of snow.
One of the immense piles from the mountain above had crashed down upon
us, carrying everything with it. At the same moment we felt a violent
jerk of the coach, and heard a kind of sound which expressed terror;
but, happily, our vehicle did not turn over, as it seemed likely to do
for a minute or so. There we sat--for how long I know not--scarcely
able to breathe, the snow pressing heavily against the windows, and
utterly blocking out light and air, so that breathing was a painful
effort. And now came a curious sensation. It was an utter suspension of
thought, and of every mental and physical faculty.
"True, in a sort of unconscious way I became aware that the guard was
sobbing out a prayer for his wife and children; but it had not the
slightest effect on me.
"We might have been buried days and nights for all I knew, for I kept no
count of time. In reality, I believe it was but a couple of hours
between the fall of the avalanche and the first moment of hope, which
came in the form of men striking with pickaxes. The sound seemed to come
from a long distance--almost, as it were, from another world.
"The guard, roused by the noise, said earnestly: 'Ach Gott! I thank
Thee.' And then, speaking to us, he said: 'Ladies, help is near!'
"Gradually the sound of the digging and the voices of the men grew
nearer, till at length one window was open--the one overlooking the
valley; and the life-giving air stole softly in upon us. Even now,
however, we were told not to move; not that we had any inclination to do
so, for we were in a dazed, half-conscious condition. When at length we
used our eyes, it was to note that the valley did not seem so deep, and
that the villages with their church spires had disappeared; the meaning
of it was not far to seek.
"We were both good German scholars, and knew several of the dialects, so
that we were able to learn a good deal of what had happened by listening
to the men's talk. The school inspector in his terror had lost all
self-control, and forgetful of the warnings given him, threw himself off
the seat and leaped into space, thereby endangering the safety of all.
He mercifully fell into one of the clumps of trees some distance down
the slope, and so escaped without very much damage to himself, except
shock to the system and bruises. The poor horses, however, fared
infinitely worse. The weight of the snow lifted the rings from the hooks
on the carriage, and at the same time carried the poor brutes down with
it into the valley--never again to do a day's work.
"The difficulties still before us were very serious. We could neither go
backward nor forward, and there was danger of more avalanches falling.
The next posting village was still far ahead, and there was no chance of
our advancing a step until the brave body of men could cut a way through
or make a clearance, and even then time would be required to bring back
horses."
The ladies were at last extricated from their still dangerous position,
and amid a scene of the greatest excitement, arrived at a little
Tyrolese village. The people could not do enough to welcome them, and
every kindness was shown to them. Thus ended a wonderfully narrow escape
for all who were concerned in the adventure.
[Illustration: A mountain path.]
[Illustration: A village completely buried beneath an avalanche.]
[Illustration: Peasants of the mountains.]
[Illustration: Terraces cut on the hill sides and planted with trees to
prevent the fall of avalanches.
_To face_ p. 65.]
CHAPTER IV
A MONTH BENEATH AN AVALANCHE
One of the treasures of collectors of Alpine books is a small volume in
Italian by Ignazio Somis. The British Museum has not only a copy of the
original, but also a couple of translations, from one of which,
published in 1768, I take the following account. I have left the quaint
old spelling and punctuation just as they were; they accentuate the
vividness and evident truth of this "True and Particular Account of the
most Surprising preservation and happy deliverance of three women," who
were buried for a month under an avalanche. The occurrence was fully
investigated by Ignazio Somis, who visited the village of Bergemoletto,
and obtained his narrative from the lips of one of the survivors.
"In the month of February and March of the year 1755, we had in Turin, a
great fall of rain, the sky having been almost constantly overcast from
the ninth of February till the twenty-fourth of March. During this
interval, it rained almost every day, but snowed only on the morning of
the twenty-first of February, when the liquor of Reaumur's thermometer
stood but one degree above the freezing point. Now, as it often snows in
the mountains, when it only rains in the plain; it cannot appear
surprising that during this interval, there fell vast quantities of snow
in the mountains that surround us, and in course, several valancas[3]
were formed. In fact, there happened so many in different places on the
side of Aosta, Lanzo, Susa, Savoy, and the county of Nice, that by the
end of March, no less than two hundred persons had the misfortune of
losing their lives by them. Of these overwhelmed by these valancas,
three persons, however, Mary Anne Roccia Bruno, Anne Roccia, and
Margaret Roccia, had reason to think themselves in other respects,
extremely happy, having been dug alive on the twenty-fifth of April, out
of a stable, under the ruins of which, they had been buried, the
nineteenth of March, about nine in the morning, by a valanca of snow,
forty-two feet higher than the roof, to the incredible surprise of all
those who saw them, and afterwards heard them relate how they lived all
this while, with death, as we may say, continually staring them in the
face.
"The road from Demonte to the higher valley of Stura, runs amidst many
mountains, which, joining one another, and sometimes rising to a great
height, form a part of those Alps, by historians and geographers, called
maritime Alps, separating the valley of Stura and Piedmont, from
Dauphiny and the county of Nice. Towards the middle of the road leading
to the top of these mountains, and on the left of the river Stura, we
meet with a village called Bergemolo, passing through which village, and
still keeping the road through the said valley, we, at about a mile
distance, arrive at a little hamlet called Bergemoletto, containing
about one hundred and fifty souls. From this place there run two narrow
lanes, both to the right and left, one less steep and fatiguing than the
other, and in some measure along two valleys, to the mountains. The
summit of the mountain makes the horizon an angle much greater than 45°,
and so much greater in some places, as to be in a manner perpendicular,
so that it is a very difficult matter to climb it, even by a winding
path. Now it was from the summit of the aforesaid mountains that fell
the valancas of snow, which did so much mischief, and almost entirely
destroyed the hamlet of Bergemoletto.
"The bad weather which prevailed in so many other places, prevailed
likewise in the Foresta of Bergemoletto. By this word Foresta, the
Alpineers understand the villages dispersed over the vallies covered
with small trees and bushes, and surrounded with high mountains; for it
began to snow early in March, and the fall increased so much on the 16,
17, 18 and 19, that many of the inhabitants began to apprehend, and not
without reason, that the weight of that which was already fallen, and
still continued to fall, might crush their houses, built with stones
peculiar to the country, cemented by nothing but mud, and a very small
portion of lime, and covered with thatch laid on a roof of shingles and
large thin stones, supported by thick beams. They, therefore, got upon
their roofs to lighten them of the snow. At a little distance from the
church, stood the house of Joseph Roccia, a man of about fifty, husband
of Mary Anne, born in Demonte, of the family of Bruno; who, with his son
James, a lad of fifteen, had, like his neighbours, got upon the roof of
his house on the 19th in the morning in order to lessen the weight on
it, and thereby prevent its destruction. In the meantime the clergyman
who lived in the neighbourhood, and was about leaving home, in order to
repair to the church, and gather his people together to hear mass;
perceiving a noise towards the top of the mountains, and turning his
trembling eyes towards the quarter from whence he thought it came,
discovered two valancas driving headlong towards the village. Wherefore
raising his voice he gave Joseph notice, instantly to come down from
the roof, to avoid the impending danger, and then immediately retreated
himself into his own house.
"These two valancas met and united, so as to form but one valanca which
continued to descend towards the valley, where, on account of the
increase of its bulk, the diminution of its velocity and the insensible
declivity of the plane it stopped and arrested by the neighbouring
mountain, though it covered a large tract of land, did no damage either
to the houses or the inhabitants. Joseph Roccia, who had formerly
observed that the fall of one valanca was often attended with that of
others, immediately came off the roof at the priest's notice, and with
his son fled as hard as he could towards the church, without well
knowing, however, which way he went; as is usually the case with the
Alpineers, when they guess by the report in the air, that some valanca
is falling or seeing it fall with their own eyes. The poor man had
scarce advanced forty steps, when hearing his son fall just at his
heels, he turned about to assist him, and taking him up, saw the spot on
which his house, his stable, and those of some of his neighbours stood,
converted into a huge heap of snow, without the least sign of either
walls or roofs. Such was his agony at this sight, and at the thoughts
of having lost in an instant, his wife, his sister, his family, and all
the little he had saved, with many years increasing labour and economy,
that hale and hearty, as he was, he immediately, as if heaven and earth
were come together, lost his senses, swooned away, and tumbled upon the
snow. His son now helped him, and he came to himself little by little;
till at last, by leaning upon him, he found himself in a condition to
get on the valanca, and, in order to re-establish his health there, set
out for the house of his friend, Spirito Roccia, about one hundred feet
distant from the spot, where he fell. Mary Anne, his wife, who was
standing with her sister-in-law Anne, her daughter Margaret, and her son
Anthony, a little boy two years old, at the door of the stable, looking
at the people throwing the snow from off the houses, and waiting for the
ringing of the bell that was to call them to prayers, was about taking a
turn to the house, in order to light a fire, and air a shirt for her
husband, who could not but want that refreshment after his hard labour.
But before she could set out, she heard the priest cry out to them to
come down quickly, and raising her trembling eyes, saw the foresaid
valancas set off, and roll down the side of the mountain, and at the
same instant heard a horrible report from another quarter, which made
her retreat back quickly with her family, and shut the door of the
stable. Happy it was for her, that she had time to do so; this noise
being occasioned by another immense valanca, the whole cause of all the
misery and distress, she had to suffer for so long a time. And it was
this very valanca, over which Joseph, her husband was obliged to pass
after his fit, in his way to the house of Spirito Roccia.
"Some minutes after the fall of the valanca another huge one broke off
driving along the valley and beat down the houses which it met in its
course. This valanca increased greatly, by the snow over which it
passed, in its headlong course, and soon reached with so much
impetuosity, the first fallen valanca, it carried away great part of it;
then returning back with this reinforcement, it demolished the houses,
stopping in the valley which it had already overwhelmed in its first
progress. So that the height of the snow, Paris measure, amounted to
more than seventy-seven feet; the length of it to more than four hundred
and twenty-seven and the breadth above ninety-four. Some people affirm
that the concussion of the air occasioned by this valanca, was so great,
that it was heard at Bergemolo, and even burst open some doors and
windows at that place. This I know that nothing escaped it in
Bergemoletto, but a few houses, the church, and the house of John
Arnaud.
"Being therefore gathered together, in order to sum up their
misfortunes, the inhabitants first counted thirty houses overwhelmed;
and then every one calling over those he knew, twenty-two souls were
missing, of which number, was D. Giulio Caesare Emanuel, their parish
priest, who had lived among them forty years. The news of this terrible
disaster, soon spread itself over the neighbourhood, striking all those
who heard it, with grief and compassion. All the friends and relations
of the sufferers, and many others, flocked of their own accord, from
Bergemolo and Demonte; and many were dispatched by the magistrates of
these places, to try if they could give any relief to so many poor
creatures, who, perhaps, were already suffocated by the vast heap of
snow that lay upon them; so that by the day following, the number
assembled on this melancholy occasion amounted to three hundred. Joseph
Roccia, notwithstanding his great love for his wife and family, and his
desire to recover part of what he had lost, was in no condition to
assist them for five days, owing to the great fright and grief,
occasioned by so shocking an event, and the swoon which overtook him at
the first sight of it. In the meantime, the rest were trying, if, by
driving iron-rods through the hardened snow, they could discover any
roofs; but they tried in vain. The great solidity and compactness of the
valanca, the vast extent of it in length, breadth and heighth, together
with the snow, that still continued to fall in great quantities, eluded
all their efforts; so that after some days' labour, they thought proper
to desist from their trials, finding that it was throwing away their
time and trouble to no purpose. The husband of poor Mary Anne, no sooner
recovered his strength, than in company with his son, and Anthony and
Joseph Bruno, his brothers-in-law who had come to his assistance from
Demonte, where they lived, did all that lay in his power to discover the
spot, under which his house, and the stable belonging to it, were
situated. But neither himself, nor his relations, could make any
discovery capable of affording them the smallest ray of comfort; though
they worked hard for many days, now in one place, and now in another,
unable to give up the thoughts of knowing for certain, whether any of
their family was still alive, or if they had under the snow and the
ruins of the stable, found, at once, both death and a grave. But it was
all labour lost, so that, at length, he thought proper to return to the
house of Spirito Roccia, and there wait, till, the weather growing
milder, the melting of the snow should give him an opportunity of paying
the last duty to his family, and recovering what little of his substance
might have escaped this terrible calamity.
"Towards the end of March, the weather, through the lengthening of the
days, and the setting in of the warm winds, which continued to blow till
about the twentieth of April, began to grow mild and warm; and, of
course, the great valanca to fall away by the melting of the snow and
ice that composed it; so that little by little, the valley began to
assume its pristine form. This change was very sensible, especially by
the eighteenth of April, so that the time seemed to be at hand for the
surviving inhabitants of Bergemoletto to resume their interrupted
labours, with some certainty of recovering a good part of what they had
lost on the unfortunately memorable morning of the nineteenth of March.
Accordingly, they dispersed themselves over the valanca, some trying in
one place, and some in another, now with long spades, and another time
with thick rods of iron, and other instruments proper to break the
indurated snow. One of the first houses they discovered by this means,
was that of Louisa Roccia, in which they found her dead body, and that
of one of her sons. Next day, in the house called the confreria, that
had two rooms on the ground floor, and one above them, they found the
body of D. Giulio Caesare Emanuel, with his beads in his hand. Joseph
Roccia, animated by these discoveries, set himself with new spirits
about discovering the situation of his house, and the stable belonging
to it; and with spades and iron crows, made several and deep holes in
the snow, throwing great quantities of earth into them; earth mixed
with water, being very powerful in destroying the strong cohesion of
snow and ice. On the twenty-fourth, having made himself an opening two
feet deep into the valanca, he began to find the snow softer and less
difficult to penetrate; wherefore, driving down a long stick, he had the
good fortune of touching the ground with it.
"It was no small addition to Joseph's strength and spirit, to be thus
able to reach the bottom; so that he would have joyfully continued his
labour, and might perhaps on that very day, had it not been too far
advanced, have recovered some part of what he was looking for, and found
that which, assuredly, he by no means expected to meet with. When,
therefore, he desisted for that time, it was with much greater
reluctance than he had done any of the preceding days. The anxiety of
Joseph, during the following night, may well be compared to that of the
weather-beaten mariner, who finding himself, after a long voyage, at the
mouth of his desired port, is yet, by the coming on of night obliged to
remain on the inconstant waves till next morning. Wherefore, at the
first gleam of light, he, with his son, hastened back to the spot, where
the preceding day he had reached the ground with the stick, and began to
work upon it again; but he had not worked long, when lo, to his great
surprise, who should he see coming to his assistance but his two
brothers-in-law Joseph and Anthony Bruno.
"Anthony, it seems, the night between the preceding Thursday and Friday,
being then in Delmonte, dreamed that there appeared to him, with a pale
and troubled countenance, his sister Mary Anne Roccia, who, with an
earnestness intermixed with grief and hope, called upon him for
assistance in the following words:
"'Anthony, though you all look upon me as dead in the stable where the
valanca of snow overwhelmed me on the nineteenth of March, God has kept
me alive. Hasten therefore to my assistance, and to relieve me from my
present wretched condition; in you, my brother, have I placed all my
hopes, dont abandon me; help, help I beseech you.' Anthony's
imagination, was so affected by the thoughts of thus seeing his sister,
and hearing her utter these piteous words, that he immediately started
up, and calling out to his brother Joseph, he acquainted him with what
he had seen and heard. They both, therefore, as soon as it was day, set
out for Bergemoletto, where they arrived a little before eight, tired
and out of breath, for they seemed to have their sister continually
before their eyes, pressing them for help and assistance. Having
therefore taken a little rest and refreshment, they set out again for
the place, where Joseph Roccia, and many others, were hard at work in
looking for the wrecks of their houses. Joseph had left the spot, where,
the day before he thought he had reached the ground, and was trying to
reach it in other places. His brothers-in-law immediately fell to work
with him, and making many new holes in the snow, the interior parts of
which were not so very hard, with the same iron rods, with earth and
with long poles, they at last, about ten, discovered the so long sought
for house, but found no dead bodies in it. Knowing that the stable did
not lie one hundred feet from the house, they immediately directed their
search towards it, and proceeding in the same manner, about noon, they
got a long pole through a hole, from whence issued a hoarse and languid
voice, which seemed to say: 'help, my dear husband, help, my dear
brother, help.' The husband and brother thunderstruck, and at the same
time encouraged by these words, fell to their work with redoubled
ardour, in order to clear away the snow, and open a sufficient way for
themselves, to the place from whence the voice came, and which grew more
and more distinct as the work advanced. It was not long, therefore,
before they had made a pretty large opening, through which (none minding
the danger he exposed himself to) Anthony descended, as into a dark
pit, asking who it was, that could be alive in such a place. Mary Anne
knew him by his voice, and answered with a trembling and broken accent,
intermixed with tears of joy. 'Tis I, my dear brother, who am still
alive in company with my daughter and my sister-in-law, who are at my
elbow. God, in whom I have always trusted, still hoping that he would
inspire you with the thought of coming to our assistance, has been
graciously pleased to keep us alive.' God, who had preserved them to
this moment, and was willing they should live, inspired Anthony with
such strength and spirits, that, notwithstanding the surprise and
tenderness with which so joyful and at the same time so sad a sight must
have affected him, had presence of mind enough to acquaint his
fellow-labourers, all anxiously waiting for the report of his success,
that Mary Anne, Margaret, and Anne Roccia were still alive. Whereupon
Joseph Roccia, and Joseph Bruno, enlarging the passage as well as they
could, immediately followed him into the ruins; whilst the other
Alpineers, scattered over the valanca in quest of their lost substance,
and the dead bodies of their relations, on the son's calling out to
them, flocked round the mouth of the pit, to behold so extraordinary a
sight; not a little heightened by that of two live goats scampering out
of the opening. In the meantime, those who had descended into the hole,
were contriving how to take out of it the poor and more than half dead
prisoners, and convey them to some place, where they might recover
themselves. The first thing they did was to raise them up, and take them
out of the manger in which they had been so long stowed. They then
placed them one by one on their shoulders, and lifted them up to those
who stood round the mouth of the pit, who with very great difficulty
took hold of them by the arms, and drew them out of their dark
habitation. Mary Anne, on being exposed to the open air, and seeing the
light, was attacked by a very acute pain in the eyes, which greatly
weakened her sight, and was attended with so violent a fainting fit,
that she had almost like to have lost, in the first moment of her
deliverance, that life, which she had so long and with such difficulty
preserved. But this was a consequence that might be easily foreseen. She
had been thirty-seven days, secluded, in a manner entirely, from the
open air; nor had the least ray of light, in all that time, penetrated
her pupils.
"Her son found means to bring her to herself with a little melted snow,
there being nothing else at hand fit for the purpose, and the accident
that happened her was improved into a rule for treating the companions
of her misfortune. They, therefore, covered all their faces, and wrapped
them up so well, as to leave them but just room to breathe, and in this
condition took them to the house of John Arnaud, where Mary Anne was
entirely recovered from her fit, by a little generous wine. They then
directly placed them in some little beds put up in the stable, which was
moderately warm, and almost entirely without light, and prepared for
them a mess of rye meal gruel, mixed with a little butter; but they
could swallow but very little of it."
CHAPTER V
A MONTH BENEATH AN AVALANCHE--(_continued_)
"It is now proper I should say something of the most marvellous
circumstance, attending this very singular and surprising accident, I
mean their manner of supporting life, during so long and close a
confinement. I shall relate what I have heard of it from their own
mouths, being the same, in substance, with what Count Nicholas de
Brandizzo, intendant of the city and province of Cuneo, heard from them
on the sixteenth of May, when, by order of our most benevolent
sovereign, he repaired to Bergemoletto, effectually to relieve these
poor women, and the rest of the inhabitants, who had suffered by the
valanca.
"To begin then; on the morning of the twenty-ninth of March, our three
poor women, expecting every minute to hear the bell toll for prayers,
had in the mean time, taken shelter from the rigour of the weather, in a
stable built with stones, such as are usually found in these quarters,
with a roof composed of large thin stones, not unlike slate, laid on a
beam ten inches square, and covered with a small quantity of straw, and
with a pitch sufficient to carry off the rain, hail or snow, that might
fall upon it. In the same stable were six goats, (four of which I heard
nothing of) an ass and some hens. Adjoining to this stable, was a little
room, in which they had fixed a bed, and used to lay up some provisions,
in order to sleep in it in bad weather without being obliged to go for
anything to the dwelling-house, which lay about one hundred feet from
it. I have already taken notice, that Mary Anne was looking from the
door of the stable at her husband and son, who were clearing the roof of
its snow, when warned by a horrible noise, the signal by which the
Alpineer knows the tumbling of the valancas, she immediately took
herself in with her sister-in-law, her daughter, and her little boy of
two years old, and shut the door, telling them the reason for doing it
in such a hurry. Soon after they heard a great part of the roof give
way, and some stones fall on the ground, and found themselves involved
on all sides with a pitchy darkness; all which they attributed, and with
good reason, to the fall of some valanca. Upon this, they for some time
thought proper to keep a profound silence, to try if they could hear any
noise, and by that means have the comfort of knowing that help was at
hand, but they could hear nothing. They therefore set themselves to
grope about the stable, but without being able to meet with anything
but solid snow. Anne light upon the door, and opened it, hoping she had
found out the way to escape the imminent danger they thought they were
in of the buildings tumbling about their ears; but she could not
distinguish the least ray of light, nor feel any thing but a hard and
impenetrable wall of snow, with which she acquainted her fellow
prisoners. They, therefore, immediately began to bawl out with all their
might; 'help, help, we are still alive'; repeating it several times; but
not hearing any answer, Anne put the door to again. They continued to
grope about the stable, and Mary Anne having light upon the manger, it
occurred to her, that, as it was full of hay, they might take up their
quarters there, and enjoy some repose, till it should please the
Almighty to send them assistance. The manger was about twenty inches
broad, and lay along a wall, which, by being on one side supported by an
arch, was enabled to withstand the shock, and upheld the chief beam of
the roof, in such a manner, as to prevent the poor women from being
crushed to pieces by the ruins. Mary Anne placed herself in the manger,
putting her son by her, and then advised her daughter and her
sister-in-law to do so too. Upon this, the ass which was tied to the
manger, frightened by the noise, began to bray and prance at a great
rate; so that, fearing lest he should bring the parapet of the manger,
or even the wall itself about their ears; they immediately untied the
halter, and turned him adrift. In going from the manger, he stumbled
upon a kettle that happened to lie in the middle of the stable, which
put Mary Anne upon picking it up, and laying it by her, as it might
serve to melt the snow in for their drink, in case they should happen to
be confined long enough to want that resource. Anne, approving this
thought, got down, and groping on the floor till she had found it, came
back to the manger.
"In this situation the good women continued many hours, every moment
expecting to be relieved from it; but, at last, being too well
convinced, that they had no immediate relief to expect, they began to
consider how they might support life, and what provisions they had with
them for that purpose. Anne recollected that the day before she had put
some chestnuts into her pocket, but, on counting them, found they
amounted only to fifteen. Their chief hopes, therefore, and with great
reason now rested on thirty or forty cakes, which two days before had
been laid up in the adjoining room. The reader may well imagine, though
Anne had never told me a word of it, with what speed and alertness she
must, on recollecting these cakes, have got out of the manger, to see
and find out the door of the room where they lay; but it was to no
purpose; she roved and roved about the stable to find out what she
wanted, so that she was obliged to come as she went, and take up her
seat again amongst her fellow-sufferers, who still comforted themselves
with the hopes of being speedily delivered from that dark and narrow
prison. In the mean while, finding their appetite return, they had
recourse to their chestnuts. The rest of the chestnuts they reserved for
a future occasion. They then addressed themselves to God, humbly
beseeching him to take compassion on them, and vouchsafe in his great
mercy to rescue them from their dark grave, and from the great miseries
they must unavoidably suffer, in case it did not please him to send them
immediate assistance. They spent many hours in ejaculations of this
kind, and then thinking it must be night, they endeavoured to compose
themselves. Margaret and the little boy, whose tender years prevented
their having any idea of what they had to suffer in their wretched
situation, or any thought of death, and of what they must suffer, before
they could be relieved, fell asleep. But it was otherwise with Mary Anne
and Anne, who could not get the least rest, and spent the whole night in
prayer, or in speaking of their wretched condition, and comforting one
another with the hopes of being speedily delivered from it. As it seemed
to them, after many hours, that it was day again, they endeavoured to
keep up their spirits with the thoughts, that Joseph with the rest of
their friends and relations not getting any intelligence of their
situation, would not fail of doing all that lay in their power to come
at them. The sensation of hunger was earliest felt by the two youngest;
and the little boy crying out for something to eat, and there being
nothing for him but the chestnuts, Anne gave him three.
"I said, that these women seemed to have some notion of the approach of
day and night, but I should never have dreamed in what manner this idea
could be excited in them, shut up as they were in a body of ice,
impervious to the least ray of light, had not they themselves related it
to me. The hens shut up in the same prison, were it seems the clocks,
which by their clucking all together, made them think the first day that
it was night, and then again after some interval that it was day again.
This is all the notion they had of day and night for two weeks together;
after which, not hearing the hens make any more noise, they no longer
knew when it was day or night.
"This day the poor women and the boy supported themselves with their
chestnuts; and at the return of the usual signal of night, the boy and
Margaret went to sleep; while the mother and aunt spent it in
conversation and prayer. On the next day the ass by his braying, gave
now and then, for the last time, some signs of life. On the other hand,
the poor prisoners had something to comfort themselves with; for they
discovered two goats making up to the manger. This, therefore, was a
joyful event, and they gave the goats some of the hay they sat upon in
the manger, shrunk up with their knees to their noses. It then came into
Anne's head to try if she could not get some milk from the milch goat;
and recollecting that they used to keep a porringer under the manger for
that purpose, she immediately got down to look for it, and happily found
it. The goat suffered herself to be milked, and yielded almost enough to
fill the cup which contained above a pint. On this they lived the third
day. The night following the boy and the girl slept as usual, while
neither of the two others closed their eyes. Who can imagine how long
the time must have appeared to them, and how impatient they must have
been to see an end to their sufferings? This, after offering their
prayers to the Almighty, was the constant subject of their conversation.
'O, my husband,' Mary Anne used to cry out, 'if you two are not buried
under some of the valancas and dead; why do not you make haste to give
me, your sister, and children, that assistance which we so much stand in
need of? We are thank God, still alive, but cannot hold out much longer,
so it will soon be too late to think of us.' 'Ah, my dear brother,'
added Anne, 'in you next to God, have we placed all our trust. We are
alive, indeed, and it depends upon you to preserve our lives, by digging
us out of the snow and the ruins, in which we lie buried.' 'But let us
still hope,' both of them added, 'that as God has been pleased to spare
our lives, and provide us with the means of prolonging it, he will still
in his great mercy put it into the hearts of our friends and relations
to use all their endeavours to save us.' To this discourse succeeded new
prayers, after which they composed themselves as well as they could, in
order to get, if possible, a little sleep.
"The hens having given the usual signal of the return of day, they began
again to think on the means of spinning out their lives. Mary Anne
bethought herself anew of the cakes put up in the adjacent room; and
upon which, could they but get at them, they might subsist a great while
without any other nourishment. On the first day of their confinement,
they had found in the manger a pitch fork, which they knew used to be
employed in cleaning out the stable, and drawing down hay through a
large hole in the hay-loft, which lay over the vault. Anne observed,
that such an instrument might be of service in breaking the snow, and
getting at the cakes, could they but recover the door leading into the
little room. She, therefore, immediately got out of the manger, from
which she had not stirred since the first day, and groping about,
sometimes meeting with nothing but snow, sometimes with the wall, and
sometimes loose stones, she, at length, light upon a door, which she
took for the stable door, and endeavoured to open it as she had done the
first day, but without success; an evident sign that the superincumbent
snow had acquired a greater degree of density, and pressed more forcibly
against it. She, therefore, made step by step, the best of her way back
to the manger, all the time conversing with her fellow-sufferers; and
taking the fork with her, continued to rove and grope about, till at
last she light upon a smooth and broad piece of wood, which to the touch
had so much the appearance of the little door, as to make her hope she
had at last found what she had been so earnestly looking for. She then
endeavoured to open it with her hand, but finding it impossible, told
the rest that she had a mind to employ the pitch fork; but Mary Anne
dissuaded her from doing so. 'Let us,' said she, 'leave the cakes where
they are a little longer, and not endanger our lives any further, by
endeavouring to preserve them. Who knows but with the fork, you might
make such destruction, as to bring down upon our heads, that part of the
stable that still continues together, and which, in its fall, could not
fail of crushing us to pieces. No, God keep us from that misfortune.
Lay down your fork Anne, and come back to us, submitting yourself to the
holy will of the Almighty, and patiently accept at his hands whatever he
may please to send us.' Anne, moved by such sound and affecting
arguments and reasons, immediately let the fork fall out of her hands,
and returned to the manger. 'Let us,' continued Mary Anne, 'let us make
as much as we can of our nursing goats, and endeavour to keep them alive
by supplying them with hay. Here is a good deal in the manger, and it
occurs to me, that when that is gone, we may supply them from another
quarter, for by putting up my hand, trying what was above me, I have
discovered that there is hay in the loft, and that the hole to it is
open, and just over our heads; so that we have nothing to do, but to
pull it down for the goats, whose milk we may subsist upon, till it
shall please God to dispose otherwise of us."
This reasoning was not only sound in itself, but supported by facts; for
ever since their confinement, they had heard stones fall from time to
time upon the ground, and these stones could be no others than those of
the building, which the shock of the valanca had first loosened, and
which the weight it every day acquired by encreasing in density,
afterwards enabled it to displace. Wherefore, had she happened to
disturb with the pitch-fork, as there was the greatest reason to fear
she might, any of those parts, which, united together, served to keep
up the beam that supported the great body of snow, under which they lay
buried, the fall of the stable, and their own destruction, must have
infallibly been the consequence of it.
"This day the sensation of hunger was more and more lively and
troublesome, without their having anything to allay it with but snow,
and the milk yielded them by one of the goats their fellow prisoners. I
say one of the goats for as yet they had milked but one of them,
thinking it would be useless, or rather hurtful, even if they could, to
take any milk from that in kid. Anne had recourse to the other, and in
the whole day, got from her about two pints of milk, on which, with the
addition of a little snow, they subsisted."
The little boy, unable to struggle against the terrible conditions, grew
rapidly weaker and weaker, and the time had now come when he passed
painlessly away.
"The death of this poor child proved the severest trial that the three
women, the two eldest especially, had to suffer during their long
confinement; and from this unfortunate day, the fear of death, which
they considered as at no great distance, began to haunt them more and
more. The little nourishment, which the goat yielded the poor women, had
made them suffer greatly on the preceding days; they were, besides,
benumbed, or rather frozen with the intense cold. Add to this the
necessary, but inconvenient and tormenting posture of their feet, knees,
and every other part of their bodies; the snow, which melting over their
heads, perpetually trickled down their backs, so that their clothes, and
their whole bodies were perfectly drenched with it: they were often on
the point of swooning away, and obliged to keep themselves from
fainting, by handling the snow, and putting some of it into their
mouths; the thirst with which their mouths were constantly burnt up; the
thoughts, that in all this time no one had been at the pains to look for
and relieve them; the consideration, that all they had hitherto
suffered, was nothing in comparison of what they had still to suffer
before they could recover their liberty, or sink under the weight of all
the evils which encompassed them; all these, certainly, were
circumstances sufficient to render them to the last degree, wretched and
miserable. Add to this, that the milk of their fond and loving nurse,
fell away little by little, till at length, instead of about two pints,
which she, in the beginning used to yield, they could not now get so
much as a pint from her. The hay that lay in the manger was all out, and
it was but little the poor women could draw out of the hole which lay
above them; so that as the goats had but little fodder, little
sustenance could be expected from that which they thought proper to
milk. These animals were become so tame and familiar, in consequence of
the fondness shewn them, that they always came on the first call to the
person that was to milk them, affectionately licking her face and hands.
Anne, encouraged by this tameness of theirs, bethought herself of
accustoming them to leap upon the manger, and from thence upon her
shoulders, so as to reach the hole of the hay-loft, and feed themselves;
so apt is hard necessity to inspire strength and ingenuity. She began by
the goat that yielded them milk, helping her up into the manger, and
then putting her upon her shoulders. This had the desired effect, the
animal being thereby enabled to reach much further with its head, than
they could with their hands. They did then the same by the other goat,
from whom, as soon as she should drop her kid, they expected new relief.
She, too, in the same manner, found means to get at the hay, which
afforded the poor women some relief in the midst of their pressing
necessity. After this day, the goats required no further assistance,
they so soon learned to leap of themselves on the manger, and from
thence on the women's shoulders. But we must not conclude that hunger
was the chief of the poor women's sufferings; far from it. After the
first days, during which it proved a sore torment to them, they through
necessity, grew so accustomed to very little and very light nourishment,
that they no longer felt any sensation of that kind, but lived
contentedly on the small quantity of milk they could get from their
goat, mixed with a little snow. Their breath was what gave them most
uneasiness; for it began to be very difficult on the fifth or sixth day,
every inspiration being attended with the sensation of a very heavy and
almost insupportable load upon them.
"They now had lost all means of guessing at the returns of night and
day, and their only employment was to recommend themselves fervently to
God, beseeching him to take compassion of them, and at length, put an
end to their miseries, which increased from day to day. At last, their
nurse growing dry, they found themselves without any milk, and obliged
to live upon snow alone for two or three days, Mary Anne not approving
an expedient proposed by her sister. This was to endeavour to find the
carcasses of the hens; for as they had not heard them for some days
past, they had sufficient reason to think they were dead; and then eat
them, as the only thing with which they could prolong life. But Mary
Anne, rightly judging that it would be almost impossible to strip them
clean of their feathers, and that besides, the flesh might be so far
putrified, as to do them more harm than good, thought proper to dissuade
her sister from having recourse to this expedient. But the unspeakable
providence of God, whose will it was that they should live, provided
them with new means of subsistence, when least they expected it, by the
kidding of the other goat. By this event, they judged themselves to be
about the middle of April; wherefore, after offering God their most
humble thanks, for having preserved them so long, in the midst of so
many, and such great difficulties they again beseeched him to assist
them effectually, till they could find an opportunity of escaping their
doleful prison, and see an end to their great sufferings. Their hopes of
this their humble supplication being heard, were raised on the
appearance of this new supply, and on their reflecting that the snow
begins to thaw in April, in consequence of which that about the stable
would soon dissolve enough to let some ray of light break in upon them.
Mary Anne told me, that, though she was thoroughly sensible of the
badness of her condition, in which it was impossible for her to hold out
much longer, and saw it every day grow worse and worse; she never,
however, despaired of her living to be delivered. For my part, I cannot
sufficiently admire the courage and intrepidity of Anne, who told me,
that in all this time she never let a tear escape her but once. This was
on its occurring to her, that, as they must at length perish for want,
it might fall to her lot to die last. For the thought of finding herself
amidst the dead bodies of her sister and her niece, herself too in a
dying condition, terrified and afflicted her to such a degree, that she
could no longer command her tears, but wept bitterly.
"I observed, that the goat had kidded. This event afforded the poor
women a new supply of milk, Anne for a while getting two porringers at a
time from her, with which they recruited themselves a little. But as the
goats began to fall short of hay, the milk of the only one that gave
them any, began to lessen in proportion, so that at length they saw
themselves reduced to a single, and even half a porringer. It was,
therefore, happy for them, that the time drew nigh, in which God had
purposed to rescue them from their horrible prison and confinement, and
put an end to their sufferings. One time they thought they could hear a
noise of some continuance at no great distance from them. This was
probably the 20th, when the parish priest's body was found. And, upon
it, they all together raised their weak and hoarse voices, crying out,
'Help, help!' but the noise ceased, and they this time neither saw nor
heard anything else that might serve as a token of their deliverance
being at hand. However, this noise alone was sufficient to make them
address God with greater fervour than ever, beseeching him to have
compassion on them, and to confirm them still more and more in their
warm hopes, that the end of their long misery was not far off. In fact,
they again heard another noise, and that nearer them, as though
something had fallen to the ground. On this they again raised their
voices, and again cried out, 'Help, help': but no one answered, and soon
after the noise itself entirely ceased. Their opinion concerning this
noise, and in this they certainly were not mistaken, was that it came
from the people, who were at work to find them, and who left off at the
approach of night, and went home with a design to return to their labour
the next morning. After the noise of the body fallen to the ground in
their neighbourhood, they seemed for the first time to perceive some
glimpse of light. The appearance of it scared Anne and Margaret to the
last degree, as they took it for a sure fore-runner of death, and
thought it was occasioned by the dead bodies; for it is a common opinion
with the peasants that those wandering wild-fires, which one frequently
sees in the open country, are a sure presage of death to the persons
constantly attended by them, which ever way they turn themselves; and
they accordingly call them death fires. But Mary Anne, was very far
from giving in to so silly a notion. On the contrary the light inspired
her with new courage, and she did all that lay in her power to dissipate
the fears of her sister and daughter, revive their hopes in God, and
persuade them that their deliverance and the end of all their sufferings
was at hand; insisting that this light could be no other than the light
of heaven, which had, at last, reached the stable, in consequence of the
valanca's melting, and still more in consequence of the constant boring
and digging into it by their relations, in order to come at their dead
bodies. Mary Anne guessed right for it was the next day that Anthony
descended into the ruins of the stable, and to his unspeakable surprise
found the poor women alive, blessing and exalting the most high, and
restored them from darkness to light, from danger to security, from
death to life, by drawing them out of the manger, and removing them to
the house of Joseph Arnaud, where they continued to the end of July.
"Thirty-seven entire days did these poor women live in the most horrible
sufferings occasioned no less by filth and the disagreeable posture they
were confined to, than by cold and hunger; but the Lord was with them.
He kept them alive, and they are still living, in a new cottage built
the same year in the Foresta of Bergemoletto, at no great distance from
their former habitation."
CHAPTER VI
AN EXCITING CAUCASIAN ASCENT
The following account of the ascent of Gestola, in the Central Caucasus,
is taken from _The Alpine Journal_, and the author, Mr C. T. Dent, has
most kindly revised it for this work, and has added a note as follows:
"At the time (1886) when this expedition was made, the topography of the
district was very imperfectly understood. The mountain climbed was
originally described as Tetnuld Tau--Tau = Mountain. Since the
publication of the original paper a new survey of the whole district has
been carried out by the Russian Government and the nomenclature much
altered. The peak of Tetnuld is really to the south of Gestola. The
nomenclature has in the following extract been altered so as to
correspond with that at present in use and officially sanctioned."
The party consisted of Mr Dent, the late Mr W. F. Donkin, and two Swiss
guides. They had safely accomplished the first part of their ascent of a
hitherto unclimbed peak, and were on the ridge and face to face with
the problem of how to reach the highest point. After describing the
glorious scenery which lay around them, Mr Dent writes:
"Woven in between all these peaks lay a wilderness of crevassed slopes,
jagged rock ridges, and stretching glaciers, bewildering in their beauty
and complexity. To see the wondrous sights that were crowded into those
few minutes while we remained on the ridge, we would willingly have gone
five times further and fared ten times worse. In high spirits we turned
to the left (S.S.E.), and began our journey along the ridge which was to
lead us to Gestola, ever keeping an eye on the snowy form of Tetnuld,
and marvelling whether it would overtop our peak or not. For a few
steps, and for a few only, all went well. The snow was in good order on
the ridge, but we had to leave this almost immediately and make S.W. in
order to skirt the heights which still intervened between us and our
peak. The ice began to change its character. Two or three steps were cut
with a few strokes of the axe, and then all went well again for a time.
Then more steps, and a more ringing sound as the axe fell. We seemed,
too, however we might press on, to make no impression on this first
slope. Our doubt returned; the leader paused, drew up the rope, and bit
at a fragment of ice as he gazed anxiously upwards over the face. No! we
were on the right track, and must stick to it if we would succeed. For
an hour and a quarter we kept at it in silence, save for the constant
ringing blows of the axe. Our courage gradually oozed out, for when we
had worked back to the ridge again, we seemed to have made no progress
at all. The top of the mountain far above was already swathed in cloud,
and a distant storm on the south side was only too obvious. Another
little peak was won before we looked about again, but the summit seemed
no nearer. The exertion had begun to tell and the pace became slower.
Some one remarked that he felt hungry, and we all thereupon realised our
empty state, so we fortified ourselves for further efforts on a dainty
repast of steinbock, black bread a week old, and water--invigorating
victuals and exhilarating drink, rather appropriate to the treadmill
kind of exercise demanded. It is under conditions such as these that
strange diet tells on the climber; but even more trying and more
weakening than the poor quality of the food was the want of sleep from
which we had suffered for a good many nights. In the language of
science, our vital force and nervous energy were becoming rather rapidly
exhausted, or, to put it more colloquially and briefly, we were awfully
done. Three hours more at least was the estimate, and meanwhile the
weather was growing worse and worse. Reflecting that all points fall to
him who knows how to wait and stick to it, we pressed on harder to
escape from the dispiriting thoughts that suggested themselves, and
almost of a sudden recognised that the last of the deceptive little tops
had been left behind us, and that we were fighting our way up the final
peak. Better still, Tetnuld, which for so long had seemed to tower above
us, was fast sinking in importance, and there really seemed now, as we
measured the peak with the clinometer between the intervals of
step-cutting, to be little difference between the two points. The air
was so warm and oppressive that we were able to dispense with gloves.
One of the guides suffered from intense headache, but the rest of us, I
fancy, felt only in much the same condition as a man does at the finish
of a hard-run mile race. The clouds parted above us for a while,
mysteriously, as it seemed, for there was no wind to move them; but we
could only see the slope stretching upwards, and still upwards. Yet we
could not be far off now. Again we halted for a few seconds, and as we
glanced above, we mentally took stock of our strength, for there was no
question the pleasure had been laborious. Some one moved, and we were
all ready on the instant. To it once more, and to the very last victory
was doubtful. True, the summit had seemed close enough when the last
break in the swirling clouds had enabled us to catch a glimpse of what
still towered above; but our experience of Swiss snow mountains was
long enough to make us sceptical as to apparent tops, and possibly the
Caucasian giants were as prone to deceive as the human pigmies that
crawled and burrowed at their bases.
"Still anxious, still questioning success, we stepped on, and the pace
increased as the doubt persisted. It is often said to be impossible, by
those who don't try, to explain why the second ascent of a mountain
always appears so much easier than the first; some explanation may be
found in the fact that on a virgin peak the uncertainty is really
increasing during the whole time, and the climax comes in the last few
seconds. Every step upwards make success more probable, and at the same
time, would make failure more disappointing. In fact, the only periods
when we are morally certain of success on a new expedition are before
the start and when victory is actually won. Still, we could hardly
believe that any insuperable obstacle would now turn us back; yet all
was new and uncertain, and the conditions of weather intensified the
anxiety. The heavy stillness of the air seemed unnatural, and made the
mind work quicker. The sensibility became so acute that if we ceased
working and moving for a moment the silence around was unendurable, and
seemed to seize hold of us. A distant roll of thunder came almost as a
relief. A step or two had to be cut, and the delay appeared
interminable. Suddenly, a glimpse of a dark patch of rocks appeared
above looming through the mist. The slope of the ridge became more
gentle for a few yards. Our attention was all fixed above, and we
ascended some distance without noticing the change. Another short rise,
and we were walking quickly along the ridge. We stopped suddenly; the
rocks we had seen so recently, had sunk below us on our left, while in
front the _arête_ could be followed with the eye, sloping away gradually
for a few yards, and then plunging sharply down to a great depth. It was
all over; through fair weather and through foul we had succeeded; and
there was yet another peak to the credit of the Alpine Club.
[Illustration: A TYPICAL CAUCASIAN LANDSCAPE.
_To face_ p. 105.
By Signor Vittorio Sella.]
"It was not a time for words. Burgener turned to us and touched the snow
with his hand, and we sat down in silence. Almost on the instant as we
took our places a great burst of thunder rolled and echoed around--a
grim salvo of Nature's artillery. The sudden sense of rest heightened
the effect of the oppressive stillness that followed. Never have I felt
the sense of isolation so complete. Gazing in front into the thin mists,
the very presence of my companions seemed an unreality. The veil of
wreathing vapour screened the huge panorama of the ice-world from our
sight. The black thunderclouds drifting sullenly shut out the world
below. No man knew where we were; we had reached our furthest point
in a strange land. We were alone with Nature, far from home, and far
from all that we were familiar with. Strange emotions thrilled the frame
and quickened the pulse. Weird thoughts crowded through the mind--it was
not a time for words. Believe me, under such conditions a man will see
further across the threshold of the unknown than all the book-reading or
psychological speculation in the world will ever reveal to him.
"Coming back to considerations more prosaic and practical, we found that
it was 1.15 P.M. We realised, too, that the ascent had been very
laborious and exhausting, while there was no doubt that evil times were
in store for us. There were no rocks at hand to build a cairn, but we
reflected that the snow was soft, and that our footsteps would easily be
seen on the morrow. The aneroid marked the height we had attained as
16,550 feet.[4] A momentary break in the mist gave us a view of Dych
Tau, and we had just time to get a compass observation. After a stay of
fifteen minutes we rose and girded ourselves for the descent. I think we
all felt that the chief difficulty was yet to come, but we had little
idea of what was actually to follow. Directly after we had left the
summit a few puffs of wind began to play around and some light snow
fell. Still, it was not very cold, and if the storm would only keep its
distance all might be well. Down the first slope we made our way rapidly
enough, and could have gone faster had we not deemed it wise to husband
our strength as much as possible. In an hour and twenty minutes we
reached the place where we had left the provisions and the camera. The
feast was spread, but did not find favour. Never did food look so
revolting. The bread seemed to have turned absolutely black, while the
steinbock meat looked unfit to keep company with garbage in a gutter; so
we packed it up again at once, more from a desire to hide it from our
eyes than from any idea that it might look more appetising later on.
Andenmatten's headache had become much worse, and he could scarcely at
starting stand steady in his steps. Possibly his suffering was due to an
hour or two of intensely hot sun, which had struck straight down on us
during the ascent. I could not at the moment awaken much professional
interest in his case, but the symptoms, so far as I could judge, were
more like those experienced by people in diving-bells--were pressure
effects in short--for the pain was chiefly in the skull cavities. I may
not here enter into technical details, and can only remark now that
though Andenmatten suffered the most it by no means followed on that
account that his head was emptier than anybody else's. In due course we
came to the ice-slope up and across which we had cut our way so
laboriously in the morning; here, at least, we thought we should make
good progress with little trouble; but the sun had struck full on this
part of the mountain, and all the steps were flattened out and useless.
Every single step ought to have been worked at with as much labour as in
the morning, but it was impossible to do more than just scratch out a
slight foothold, as we made our way round again to the ridge. Below, on
the west side, the slope plunged down into the Ewigkeit, and our very
best attention had to be given in order to avoid doing the same. It was
one of the worst snow faces I ever found myself on, perhaps, under the
conditions, the worst. The direction in which we were travelling and the
angle of the slope made the rope utterly useless. Close attention is
very exhausting: much more exertion is required to walk ten steps,
bestowing the utmost possible care on each movement, than to walk a
hundred up or down a much steeper incline when the angle demands a more
accustomed balance. Not for an instant might we relax our vigilance
till, at 5.30 P.M., we reached once more the ridge close to the place
where we had forced our way through the cornice in the morning.
"We had little time to spare, and hurrying up to the point, looked
anxiously down the snow wall. A glance was sufficient to show that the
whole aspect of the snow had entirely altered since the morning.
Burgener's expression changed suddenly, and a startled exclamation,
which I trust was allowed to pass unrecorded, escaped from him.
Andenmatten brought up some stones and rolled them down over the edge;
each missile carried down a broad hissing band of the encrusting snow
which had given us foot-hold in the morning, and swept the ice-slope
beneath as black and bare as a frozen pond; here and there near rocks
the stones stopped and sank deeply and gently into the soft, treacherous
compound. The light had begun to fail, and snow was falling more heavily
as we pressed on to try for some other line of descent. A hundred yards
further along the ridge we looked over again; the condition of the snow
was almost the same, but the wall was steeper, and looked at its very
worst as seen through the mist. Some one now suggested that we might
work to the north-west end of the ridge and make our way down to the
pass by the ice-fall. We tramped on as hard as possible, only to find at
the end of our journey that the whole mass seemed abruptly cut away far
above the Adine Col, and no line of descent whatever was visible. We
doubled back on our tracks till we came within a few yards of the summit
of a small peak on the ridge, the height of which was probably not less
than 15,000 feet. Already the cold was numbing and our wet clothes began
to stiffen; again we peered over the wall, but the rocks were glazed,
snow-covered, and impossible. The leader stopped, looked right and left
along the ridge, and said, 'I don't know what to do!' For the moment we
seemed hopelessly entrapped; the only conceivable place of shelter for
the night was a patch of rocks close to the summit of the peak near at
hand, and for these we made. It was an utter waste of time. Apart from
sleeping, we could not have remained there an hour, for we met the full
force of the wind, which by this time had risen considerably, and was
whirling the driving snow into every crack and cranny. What might have
begun as a temporary rest would infallibly have ended in a permanent
occupation. Indeed, the cold would have been far too intense that night
for us to have lived on any part of the bleak ridge. The situation was
becoming desperate. 'We must get down off the ridge and out of the
wind.' 'Ay,' said Burgener, 'we must, I know; but where?' The
circumstances did not call for reasonable answers, and so we said,
'Anywhere! To stay up here now means that we shall never get down at
all.' Burgener looked up quickly as if to say no, but hesitated, and
then muttered, 'That is true. Then what will you do? There is no way
down anywhere along the wall with the snow as it is now. There are great
ice-slopes a little way down.' As he spoke he leant over and looked
along the wall for confirmation of his opinions. A little way off a rib
of rock, blacker than the rest, showed through the mist. We both saw it
at the same time; Burgener hesitated, looked at it again, and then
facing round glanced at the prospect above. The wind was stronger and
colder and the snow was driving more heavily. There was no room for
doubt. We must put it to the touch and take the risk. We turned again,
and in a few minutes had squeezed ourselves through the cornice, and
were fairly launched on the descent.
"We were now at a much higher level on the ridge than at the point we
had struck in ascending. It was only possible to see a few yards down;
the rocks looked appallingly steep, glazed, and grizzly, and we knew not
what we were coming to. But at any rate we were moving, and in a stiller
atmosphere soon forgot the cold. We went fast, but only by means of
doing all we knew, for the climbing was really difficult. It was a case
of every man for himself, and every man for the rest of the party. Now
was the time to utilise all that we had ever learned of mountain craft.
Never before, speaking for myself only, have I felt so keenly the
pleasure of being united to thoroughly trustworthy and good
mountaineers; it was like the rush of an eight-oar, where the sense of
motion and the swish through the water alone are sufficient to make
every member of the crew put all his strength into each stroke. The mind
was too active to appreciate the pain of fatigue, and so we seemed
strong again. Now on the rocks, which were loose and crumbly in parts,
elsewhere big and glazed, now in deep snow, now on hard crusts, we
fought our way down. So rapid was the descent that, when the opportunity
offered, we looked anxiously through the mist in the hope of seeing the
glacier beneath. Surely we had hit on a possible line of descent to the
very bottom. But there was not a moment for the grateful repose so often
engendered by enquiring minds on the mountains. We were racing against
time, or at least against the malevolent powers of darkness. Down a
narrow flat couloir of rock of no slight difficulty we seemed to go with
perfect ease, but the rocks suddenly ceased and gave way to an
ill-favoured snow-slope. The leader stopped abruptly and turned sharp to
the right. A smooth ice-gully some 30 feet wide separated us from the
next ridge of rock. The reason for the change of direction was evident
enough when Burgener pointed it out. As long as the line of descent kept
to the side that was more sheltered during the day from the sun, so
long was the snow fairly good. Our leader judged quickly, and with the
soundest reasoning, as it proved directly afterwards, that the line we
had been following would infallibly lead, if pursued further, to snow as
treacherous as that with which we were now so familiar. Across the
ice-slope then we must cut, perhaps a dozen or fifteen steps.
"The first two or three Burgener made vigorously enough, but when within
10 or 15 feet of the rocks the extra effort told. He faltered suddenly;
his blow fell listlessly, and he leant against the slope, resting hands
and head on his axe. 'I am almost exhausted,' he said faintly, as he
turned round to us, while his quivering hands and white lips bore
evidence to the severity of the exertion. So for a minute or two we
stood in our tracks. A word of encouragement called up what seemed
almost a last effort, some little notches were cut, and we gained the
rocks again. A trickling stream of water was coursing down a slab of
rock, and at this we gulped as eagerly as a fevered patient. Standing on
the projecting buttress, we looked anxiously down, and caught sight at
last of the glacier. It seemed close to us; the first few steps showed
that Burgener's judgment was right; he had changed the line of descent
at exactly the right moment, and at the best possible place. Down the
last few hundred feet we were able to go as fast as before. The level
glacier beneath seemed in the darkness to rise up suddenly and meet us.
We tumbled over the _bergschrund_, ran down a short slope on the farther
side of it, and stood in safety on the glacier, saved by as fine a piece
of guiding as I have ever seen in the mountains. We looked up at the
slope. To our astonishment all was clear, and I daresay had been so for
long. Above, in a blue-black frosty sky, the stars were winking merrily;
the mists had all vanished as by magic. No doubt the cold, which would
have settled us had we stayed on the ridge, assisted us materially in
the descent by improving the snow.
"There seemed still just light enough to search for our tracks of the
morning across the glacier, and we bore well to the right in the hope of
crossing them. I fancy that the marks would have been really of little
use, but, anyhow, we could not find them, and so made a wide sweep
across the upper part of the snow basin. As a result we were soon in
difficulty with the crevasses, and often enough it seemed probable that
we should spend the rest of the night in wandering up and down searching
for snow bridges. But we reached at last a patch of shale and rock,
which we took to be the right bank of the little glacier we had crossed
in the morning. Our clothes were wet, and the cold was becoming so sharp
that it was wisely decided, against my advice, to push on if possible
to the tent at once. For some three or four hours did we blunder and
stumble over the moraine, experiencing not a few tolerably severe falls
as we did so. Andenmatten selected his own line of descent, and in a few
minutes we had entirely lost sight of him. It was too dark to find our
way across the glacier, and we could only hope by following the loose
stone ridge to make our way to the right place. So we stuck to the
rocks, occasionally falling and nearly sticking on their detestably
sharp points. Even a Caucasian moraine leads somewhere if you keep to it
long enough, and as we turned a corner, the huge glimmering mass of Dych
Tau, towering up in front, showed that the end of our journey was not
far off. Presently the little white outline of the tent appeared, but we
regarded it with apathy, and made no effort to quicken our movements,
although the goal was in sight; it seemed to require, in our
semi-comatose condition, almost an effort to stop. As we threw open the
door of the tent the welcome sight of divers packets, neatly arranged in
a corner, met our gaze. The head policeman had proved himself an honour
to his sex, an exception to his compatriots, and a credit to the force.
There were bread, sugar, rice, meat, and firewood--yet we neither spoke
nor were moved. Andenmatten spurned the parcels with his foot and
revealed the lowermost. A scream of delight went up, for they had found
a packet of tobacco. The spell was broken, and once more all were
radiant. Such is man. A strange compound--I refer to the tobacco--it
proved to be, that would neither light nor smoke, and possessed as its
sole property the power of violently disagreeing with the men. It was
past midnight before the expedition was over. There were few
preliminaries observed before going to bed. I don't think that even
Donkin took more than a quarter of an hour in arranging a couch to his
satisfaction, and placing a very diminutive air-cushion on anatomical
principles in exactly the right place, while Andenmatten was fast asleep
in two minutes, his head pillowed gently on some cold mutton, and his
boots reposing under the small of his back. Something weighed on our
minds as we too lay down and tried to sleep. The towering cone of
Tetnuld, the distant view of Uschba, Elbruz, and the giant Dych Tau, the
rock and snow-slopes, pictured themselves one after another as
dissolving views on the white walls of the tent. The expedition was
over, but the pleasure and the impressions it had evoked were not.
Faster and faster followed the visions as in delirium. I sat up, and in
the excitement of the moment dealt a great blow at the nearest object,
which, as it chanced, was Andenmatten's ribs. I shouted out to my
companion. A muffled 'hulloa' was the response, and he too rose up.
'What is it?' 'By Heavens! it is the finest climb we have ever made.'
And so it was."
CHAPTER VII
A MELANCHOLY QUEST
The accident in the Caucasus in 1888, by which Messrs Donkin and Fox and
their two Swiss guides lost their lives, was one of the saddest that has
ever happened in the annals of mountaineering. I will not dwell on it,
but will rather pass on to the search expedition, a short account of
whose operations will serve to illustrate how a thorough knowledge of
mountaineering may be utilised in finding a conjectured spot in an
unmapped region in the snow world.
The year after the accident--for the season when it occurred was too
advanced for a thorough search to be then undertaken--a party of four
Englishmen, Messrs Douglas Freshfield, Clinton Dent, Hermann Woolley,
and Captain Powell, with Maurer of the Bernese Oberland as leading
guide, set out from England to try and ascertain how the accident
happened, and, if possible, recover the remains. They succeeded, in the
course of a profoundly interesting journey, in finding the last camp of
their friends, and from Mr Clinton Dent's fine description in _The
Alpine Journal_ I make, with his kind consent, the following extracts.
They show how well the old school of climbers learnt all the routine of
their art, and how superior is the trained mountaineer of any
nationality to the inexperienced dweller amongst mountains, who is
utterly unable to advance a single step upon them.
Having journeyed to the district and got over all the easier ground at
first met with, the party was now fairly embarked in the region of ice
and snow.
"The day was well advanced," writes Mr Dent, "and it is only on rare
occasions in the Central Caucasus that the valleys and sky are free from
cloud at such an hour. But not a vestige of mist was to be seen. The
conditions were not merely of good omen, but were also in the hightest
degree fortunate, for the object of our search seemed very minute in the
presence of such gigantic surroundings. The air was clear and soft, and
the snow in perfect order for walking. We worked our way due west, and
gradually, as we turned the buttress of rock, a steep and broad
ice-gully came into view, leading up to the pass. This consisted of a
broad snow-topped depression, from 1500 to 1800 feet above the
snow-field. On the right or east of the pass the ridge ran sharply up to
the pinnacle already mentioned, while on the left the ridge, broken up
on its crest by great towers of rock, stretched away to the summit of
Dych Tau, the peak of which from our point of view was not visible. A
careful inspection of the rocks with the telescope revealed nothing. A
possible place for a bivouac might have been found at any point on the
rocks below the pass, but no particularly likely spot was evident. It
was conceivable too, of course, that the travellers had discovered a
more suitable place on the Ullu Auz side, close to the summit of the
pass. In any case our plan of action was clear, and we set forth without
delay to ascend the wall. Two long ribs of rock lying on the right of
the ice-gully offered the best means of access. Both looked feasible,
but it was only after a moment's hesitation that the left-hand one was
selected, as it seemed more broken, was broader, and ran up higher. If
the right-hand rib had been chosen, we might conceivably have missed the
object of our search altogether. We made our way up the rocks without
any great difficulty. Half-melted masses of snow constantly hissed down
the ice-gully as we ascended, and the great chasm that extends along the
base of the cliff was choked for the most part with avalanche snow. The
rocks were steep, but so broken as to offer good hand-and foot-hold.
Still, the mind was sufficiently occupied in attending to the details of
climbing to prevent the thoughts from wandering. Insensibly, we began
to think little save of the view that would be revealed from the top of
the pass. From time to time an opportunity would be found of gazing to
the right or left, but progress was tolerably continuous. Maurer, who
was leading, looked upwards now and again, as he worked out the best
line of ascent, but the rocks were so steep that he could only see a
very few feet. Just about mid-day, as he stopped for a moment to look
upwards, I saw his expression suddenly change. 'Herr Gott!' he gasped
out, 'der Schlafplatz!'[5] I think I shall never forget the thrill the
words sent through me. We sprang up, scrambling over the few feet that
still intervened, and in a moment were grouped on a little ledge just
outside the bivouac. There was little enough to be seen at the first
glance save a low horse-shoe shaped wall of stones, measuring some 6
feet by 8, and carefully built against an overhanging rock. The
enclosure was full of drifted snow, raised up into a hump at the back,
where it covered a large rücksack. On a ledge formed by one of the
stones, a little tin snow spectacle-box caught the eye as it reflected
the rays of the sun. For a few moments all was excitement as the
presence of one object after another was revealed. 'See here,' cried
Maurer, as he scooped away the snow with his hands, 'the sleeping-bags!'
'And here a rücksack,' said another. 'Look, they made a fire there,'
called out a third, 'and here is the cooking kettle and the revolver.'
Then came somewhat of a reaction, and for a few minutes we could but
gaze silently at the place that told so clear a tale, and endeavour to
realise to the full the evidence that had come upon us with such
overwhelming suddenness.
* * * * *
"It is most probable that the accident occurred on the south side of the
cliffs forming the eastern ridge of Dych Tau. The party must have been
roped at the moment, and it is very reasonable to suppose that they were
engaged in traversing one of the many ice and snow covered slopes that
exist on this side. What the exact nature of the accident was matters
little; but it may be remembered that the snow on such slopes and ledges
often binds very lightly, and that there are no mountains, perhaps,
where these places are more numerous or more treacherous than in the
Caucasus. It was possibly one of those rare instances in which the rope
was a source of danger and not of security to the party as a whole. Yet
the rule is clear, and it amounts to this: if a place is too dangerous
to cross with a party roped, lest the slip of one drag down all, then it
is too dangerous to cross at all. So steep are the cliffs that a fall
must have meant instantaneous death. As an example, a torn sleeping-bag
which was thrown over the bivouac wall fell to the very bottom of the
slope, and we saw it just above the _bergschrund_ as we descended. It
was necessary to take down some of the articles discovered, for we might
otherwise have found difficulty in convincing the natives of the success
of the expedition, and this was an important point. The height of the
pass is 14,350 feet, and of the bivouac about 14,000 feet. We left the
bivouac at 3.30 P.M., the day being still perfectly cloudless. The
ice-fall offered some little difficulty, one or two of the bridges by
which we had crossed in the morning having broken down. Still we were
able to keep to almost the same line as that adopted in ascending.
* * * * *
"No one familiar with the Caucasus would be willing to believe that any
native could have reached the bivouac. The people are still very
timorous on ice, and are wholly incapable of facing an ice-fall, much
less of making any way through one. No native could have been got to the
place even if in the train of competent mountaineers; alone, he would
not have set foot on the glacier at all.
"A day or two later we made our way down to the collection of villages
known as Balkar, a good three and a half hours' walk from Karaoul. The
place is not well spoken of, but we were hospitably received and
entertained. In this, as in many other villages subsequently, the story
of our search excited much interest. On every occasion the proceedings
were almost exactly identical. As usual in the Caucasus, the natives all
crowded into our apartment soon after arrival. Powell would then select
some Russian-speaking man in authority, and announce through him that
the results of our expedition would be made known to all who cared to
hear them. The whole story was then told, and admirably Powell used to
narrate it, winding up by pointing out how the people of the district
were now exonerated from any suspicion that may have lain on them. Such
suspicion, he used to add, had never been entertained by any English
people. The account was always listened to in breathless silence. At the
conclusion it was repeated by the chief to the natives in their own
language. Then the rücksack was brought in and the articles found shown.
These were always instantly accepted as absolute proof; the rusty
revolver especially excited attention. Expressions of sorrow and brief
interjections were always heard on all sides. Then the chief spoke to
some such effect as follows: 'We are indeed rejoiced that you have found
these traces. It relieves our people from an irksome and unjust
suspicion. It is well that Englishmen came to our country for this
search, for we believe that no others could have accomplished what you
have done. We are all very grateful to you. Englishmen are always most
welcome in our country. We are glad to receive them. Our houses are
theirs, and the best we can do shall always be done for your
countrymen.' In several places--at Chegem, for instance--words were
added to this effect: 'We remember well Donkin and Fox; they were brave
and good men, and we loved them. It is very sad to us to think that they
are lost.'"
A more detailed account of this melancholy quest will be found in Messrs
Douglas Freshfield's and Vittorio Sella's work, _The Exploration of the
Caucasus_. It is from this, the most beautifully illustrated of any book
on mountaineering, that, with Mr Freshfield's kind permission and that
of Mr Willink, I take the picture of the sleeping-place. The finished
drawing was made by Mr Willink from a sketch by Captain Powell.
CHAPTER VIII
SOME NARROW ESCAPES AND FATAL ACCIDENTS
Probably not half the narrow escapes experienced by climbers are ever
described, even in the pages of the various publications of English and
foreign Alpine Clubs, though when an accident by the breaking of a
snow-cornice is just avoided, the incident is so terribly impressive
that several accounts have found their way into print. Scarcely anything
more startling than a certain occurrence on a ridge of the Mönch, which
happened to the late Mr Moore and his two guides, Melchior and Jacob
Anderegg, has ever been related. The party had succeeded in making the
ascent of the Mönch from the Wengern Alp, it being only the third
occasion when this long and difficult climb was accomplished, each of
their predecessors spending _three days and three nights_ on the
expedition.
[Illustration: MELCHIOR ANDEREGG, OF MEIRINGEN.]
[Illustration: A SON AND A GRANDCHILD OF MELCHIOR ANDEREGG, 1903.
_To face_ p. 124.]
Having gained the summit, the party proceeded to go down by the usual
route towards the Trugberg. This follows a very narrow _arête_. "On the
left hand," says Mr Moore in _The Alpine Journal_, "is an absolute
precipice; on the right a slope, which might be called precipitous,
falls to the Aletsch Glacier. The quantity of snow on the ridge was
enormous, and the sun had begun to tell upon it. We knew too much to
attempt to approach the upper edge, and kept at a distance of some 12
feet below it on the Aletsch side; lower down we dared not go, owing to
the steepness of the slope and the danger of starting an avalanche. With
Melchior in front it is unnecessary to say that we moved with the
greatest caution. No man is more alive than he to the danger arising
from a snow-cornice. He sounded with his axe at every step, and we went
steadily along, anxious, but with every reason to believe that we were
giving the cornice a wide berth. Suddenly came a startling cry from
Melchior. At the same instant I felt myself stagger, and, instinctively
swinging ever so slightly to the right, found myself the next moment
sitting astride on the ridge. With a thundering roar the cornice on our
left for a distance of some 200 yards went crashing down to the depths
below, sending up clouds of snow-dust which completely concealed my
companions from me. It was only by the absence of all strain on the rope
that I knew--though at the moment I scarcely realised the fact--that
they were, like myself, safe. As the dust cleared off, Melchior, also
sitting astride of the ridge, turned towards me, his face white as the
snow which covered us. That it was no personal fear which had blanched
our leader's sunburnt cheeks his first words, when he could find
utterance, showed. 'God be thanked!' said he; 'I never thought to see
either of you there.' We had, in fact, escaped destruction by a
hand's-breadth. As I believe, our right feet had been on the ridge, our
left on the cornice; we had thus just sufficient firm standing-ground to
enable us to make that instinctive movement to the right which had
landed us _á cheval_, for Jacob had fallen in the same position as
Melchior and myself. Few words were said; but words poorly express the
emotions at such a moment. Melchior's axe had been carried down with the
cornice as it fell, but had fortunately lodged on the face of the
precipice 50 feet below. It was too precious to leave behind, so we let
him down by the rope, and descending in a cat-like way peculiar to
first-class guides when not hampered by _Herrshaft_, he regained it
without difficulty.
"Our further descent was uneventful."
One of the greatest dangers of mountaineering is from falling stones,
yet the number of fatal accidents from this cause is as few as the
narrow escapes are many. As exciting an experience as can well be
imagined took place on the Aiguille du Midi at Chamonix in 1871. The
party consisted of Messrs Horace Walker and G. E. Foster. The latter
wrote a graphic account in _The Alpine Journal_, and kindly allows me
to make the following extracts. The guides were Jacob Anderegg and Hans
Baumann, and the climbers wished to ascend from the Montanvert and be
the first to go down the steep face of the mountain on the Chamonix
side.
After some difficulty in finding the route, for both the guides were
unacquainted with the district, and Mr Walker alone knew in a vague sort
of way that the peak was somewhere in the neighbourhood of the Géant
ice-fall, they eventually stood on the top. It had taken them ten hours,
and they sat for some time on the more sheltered Chamonix side, debating
by what route they should descend. The slopes below were very steep, so
they decided to retrace their steps to the foot of the rocks, and then,
turning over on to the Chamonix side of the mountain, make their way as
best they could down ice-filled gullies and precipitous rocks. All at
first went well, and soon they commenced to cross the face of the cliff
to gain a rocky buttress that offered a likely route some hundred feet
below the top of the wall. "Jacob was leading," writes Mr Foster,
"Walker next, I followed, and Baumann brought up the rear. Only one was
moving at a time, and every one had the rope as taut as possible between
himself and his neighbour. Jacob was crossing a narrow gully, when
suddenly, without any warning, as though he had trod on the keystone of
the wall, the whole face for some 30 or 40 feet above him peeled off,
and with a crash like thunder, hundreds of tons of rocks precipitated
themselves on him. In an instant he was torn from his hold, and hurled
down the precipice with them. Fortunately, Walker was able to hold on,
though the strain on him was something awful. As the uproar ceased, and
silence even more impressive succeeded, we looked in one another's faces
with blank dismay. From our position it was impossible to see what had
become of Jacob, and only the tight rope told us that his body at least,
living or dead, was still fastened to us. In a voice singularly unlike
his own, Walker at length cried out, 'Jacob,' and our hearts sank within
us as it passed without response. 'Jacob! Ach Jacob!' Walker repeated;
and I trust none of my readers may ever know the relief we felt when the
reply came back, 'Ich lebe noch.'[6]
"From where I was I could not see him, but Walker craned over a rock,
and then turned round. 'I see him. He is awfully hurt, and bleeding
frightfully.' I then contrived to shift my position, and saw that he was
indeed hurt. His face was black with blood and dirt, the skin torn from
his bleeding hands, while his clothes in ribands threatened worse
injuries still unseen. After a moment, he managed to recover his
footing, and then untied the rope with trembling fingers, and crawled
along the face of the cliff to the other side of the gully, where some
snow offered means to stanch his wounds.
"As soon as he was safe, Baumann called on us to stand still, and
clambered carefully over the spot where the rocks had given way, our
only road lying there. I followed, and then Walker, knotting up the rope
to which Jacob had hung, crossed last. With Jacob below us, care was
necessary in climbing so as to send no more loose fragments on his head,
but we at last reached the spot where he was standing. Thanks to the
snow, the bleeding had already stopped to a great extent, and with the
aid of some sticking-plaster Walker had with him, and some torn strips
from a pocket-handkerchief, we bound up his wounds as well as we could.
He had had a marvellous escape; no fragment had struck him fully, the
rock that had grazed his face having missed knocking out his brains from
his presence of mind in throwing back his head. Fortunately, no bones
were broken, though he was badly bruised all over, and after a quarter
of an hour's rest and a good pull at the brandy-flask, he said he was
ready to start again.
"On taking hold of the rope to tie him on again, we were awestruck to
find all its strands but one had been severed, so that his whole weight
had hung literally on a thread. Strange as it may appear, the rock that
had done this had probably saved his life by jerking him out of the line
of fire. Still, all honour to Messrs Buckingham for their good
workmanship, to which, and Walker's holding powers, we owe our escape
from a miserable ending of our day's work. As it was, poor Walker's ribs
had suffered sadly, and with two wounded men we recommenced our descent.
"Naturally, our trust in the rocks was gone, and we took as soon as
possible to the steep snow of the couloir. This, however, lay so thin on
the ice, that we found we had only exchanged one danger for another.
Baumann led and we followed, driving in our axe-heads at every step, but
were soon forced to descend into a narrow gully, cut by avalanches,
where the snow was deep enough to give better footing. The sides of this
were above our heads, and the bottom not more than a foot wide, so that
the danger from avalanches was very great, but for a time we descended
safely. Then a startled shout from Walker warned me that something was
wrong, and driving my axe desperately into the side, I found myself up
to the neck in a snow avalanche. For a moment I thought all was up, but
held on to the best of my powers. Then finding the stream did not stop,
I looked back, and found Walker and Jacob had contrived to get out of
the gully. With a shout to Baumann, I gave a desperate struggle, and
followed their example, and instantly saw the snow I had held up surge
over Baumann's head. For a moment he held on, then climbed out on my
side. We waited till the avalanche had passed, two of us on one side of
the gully and two on the other, and then Walker and Jacob jumped into it
with a groan, as it shook their bruised bones, and climbed up to our
side, and with an occasional look for Baumann's hat, which the avalanche
had carried off with it, pursued our way.
"So long and steep was the couloir, so thin and treacherous the snow
layer on the ice, that a good hour elapsed before we reached the bottom,
where a formidable _bergschrund_ cut off access to the glacier. Only at
one point could we find a bridge, and that was where our old enemy, the
avalanche gully, terminated, choking the crevasse with its snows, and
spreading in a fan-like mass below. With some hesitation, as our
recollection of it was not pleasant, and it was here all hard ice,
Baumann cut his way down into it. We were scarcely all fairly in it,
when we heard a tremendous crash above. Clearly, another avalanche was
descending, this time composed of rocks. As it was 2000 feet above us,
and would take some time to clear the distance, a short race for life
ensued. Baumann cut steps with amazing rapidity. Fortunately, some half
dozen only were necessary. With one eye on him and one keeping a sharp
look-out for the advent of the unwelcome stranger, we hastened down,
crossed the bridge, scampered down a slope, and merely stooping down to
pick up Baumann's hat, which turned up here, got out of the way just in
time, as an enormous mass of snow and rocks dashed over where we had
stood not a minute before."
This was the last adventure the party had that day from avalanches, but
their troubles were as yet by no means over. Some formidable glacier
work had to be accomplished before all was plain sailing. "Though we
were now tolerably reckless, the difficulties in our way nearly beat
us," Mr Foster goes on to say. "Three times we tried, and thrice in
vain, though knife edges of the most revolting description were passed,
and crevasses of fabulous width and depth jumped or got over as seemed
best. Again and again we were forced to return. At length, when we were
almost in despair, a way was found, and at 6.30, drenched by the storm
which by this time had burst upon us, we reached the little hotel at the
Pierrepointue."
There are no climbing dangers which skill and care can more surely avert
than those which are ever present on a crevassed, but snow-covered
glacier.
[Illustration: CREVASSES AND SÉRACS ON THE LOWER PART OF A GLACIER.]
[Illustration: A SNOW BRIDGE OVER A CREVASSE.]
[Illustration: ON THE BORDER OF A CREVASSE ABOVE THE SNOW LINE.]
[Illustration: SOFT SNOW IN THE AFTERNOON ON A GLACIER.
By Signor R. Cajrati Crivelli Mesmer.
_To face_ p. 133.]
Should a party fail to arrest the fall of one of its members, and have
difficulty in pulling him above ground, however, the position may
become most serious. If another party is within hail, matters are
generally simple enough, yet even for four or five people it is not
always the easiest thing in the world to haul up a companion who has
disappeared into the bowels of the earth, especially if the folly of
walking unroped has been indulged in.
A good description of what might have been a serious business but for
the skill and resource of a member of the party is given in the course
of a description of some climbs in the Rocky Mountains. The writer, Mr
Harold B. Dixon, says in _The Alpine Journal_: "A snow-covered crevasse
crossed our route at right angles. The party in front, who were without
ropes, saw the crevasse, and proceeded to leap it. All crossed in safety
but the last man, who broke through the snow and disappeared. Through
the hole the wide mouth of the crevasse was revealed, showing the danger
of trusting to the frail bridge. It was obviously dangerous to recross
without a rope, so his companions signalled to us for help, but for some
time we failed to observe their signals.
"Though stunned by the fall our friend was not materially damaged, but
he was in a sufficiently awkward fix. Jammed between the narrowing walls
of ice, he was unable to move a limb except his right arm. The crevasse
did not drop perpendicularly, but the ice-wall bulged out from the side
we stood on, and then curved over out of sight; we could not see down
more than 18 feet. We stood in a little semicircle at the hole, and one
short sentence was spoken: 'Some one must go down.' We looked at each
other. Sahrbach and Baker are large and heavy men: it was obvious they
must 'pass.' I am of lighter build; I proclaimed my 11 stone and
readiness to go. But Collie went better. 'I am 9 stone 6,' was his
deliberate statement. There was no means of seeing if this was a bluff,
so we threw up our hands--the trick was his. Tying a stirrup loop for
one foot and a noose round his waist, Collie attached himself to one
rope, which was then joined to a second. Meanwhile the Americans were
brought across the crevasse by the aid of another rope, and axes were
fixed deep in the snow in suitable positions to fasten the rope to. Then
we let Collie down as far as he would go. An anxious moment followed. 'I
can't reach him,' came Collie's voice from below. Then, after a few
minutes, 'Send down a slip knot on the other rope.' We made the knot and
lowered the rope. How Collie managed it I don't know, for he could not
reach his man, but he threw the loop round the prisoner's right arm, and
then called on us to pull. At the second haul we felt something give,
and our friend was pulled into an upright position, when Collie could
just reach him with his left hand, and with this he tied a knot above
the elbow of his right arm. By this knot we hauled him out of the narrow
crevasse and on to the bulge of ice without difficulty. But as we pulled
the rope cut into the snow, and we could not raise our burden within 6
feet of the surface. Then, while the rope was held taut, one of us
worked the handle of an axe along under the rope by sitting on the snow
and pushing it forward with his feet. In this way the rope was loosened,
and we could haul up another 3 feet, and then Sahrbach, leaning over,
reached his collar, and our half-frozen friend was deposited on the snow
with an assortment of flasks, while we fished out Collie from his
uncomfortable position. They were both very wet and cold, but no bones
were broken."
Here we see that even with a large party of competent people, it was no
easy matter to rescue a comrade from his icy prison. The details are
well given, and may be useful to any one so unfortunate as to require by
personal experience a knowledge of what should be done under similar
circumstances.
The danger of crossing snow-covered glaciers when the party does not
number more than two was brought home to those who heard of it by one of
the most tragical events which has ever been recorded in the annals of
mountaineering. A German, Dr Schäffer, had been celebrating his golden
wedding at a small place on the Brenner on 22nd August 1900. He engaged
a guide, by name Johann Offerer, and, sleeping at a hut, started early
next morning. They reached the Wildlahner Glacier in an hour and a half
from their sleeping quarters, and after traversing it for some distance
came to a large crevasse. This the guide crossed safely on a snow
bridge, but the tourist, a much heavier man, broke through, and pulled
his companion down with him. They fell about 100 feet, with the result
that the guide had a broken thigh and arm, while Dr Schäffer only
bruised his knee. He put his coat round Offerer and left food beside
him, and then tried to get out of the crevasse. After hours of toil and
pain he managed to reach a ledge not very far below the mouth of the
crevasse, but further he could not get. At last he gave up all hope, and
sat down to die, first, however, writing a full account of the accident,
and leaving a sum of money for the widow of his guide. It is to this
pathetic last effort of his life that we owe our knowledge of what
happened. The only other instance at all like it is the terrible
accident on Mont Blanc in 1870, when eleven persons perished in a
snow-storm, one of their number, Mr Bean, leaving details in his diary
of the events immediately preceding the catastrophe.
[Illustration: THE BETÉMPS HUT.]
[Illustration: SKI-ING.]
[Illustration: HOW A BEGINNER USUALLY ENDS A RUN.]
[Illustration: A GREAT CREVASSE IN THE UPPER SNOW FIELDS.
_To face_ p. 137.]
It was only on 5th September, after a long search, that the remains of
the two unfortunate men were discovered.
The following is of special interest, because, of late years, the
Norwegian sport of ski-ing has become exceedingly popular in Alpine
winter resorts. It is impossible, however, owing to the great length of
the ski, to go in difficult places on them, and therefore mountaineers
have only used them when intending to ascend to points accessible
entirely over snow-slopes, not much broken up by crevasses. The first
fatal accident to a climbing party on ski took place in 1902, and may
serve as a warning to those intending to traverse glaciers in winter on
skis, or indeed even without them. I take my account from a translation
from the Italian, which appeared in _The Alpine Journal_. The comments
by the editor should be laid to heart.
"A party of five gentlemen and four Zermatt guides left Zermatt on 24th
February for the Bétemp Hut, with the intention of ascending the
Signalkuppe and the Zumstein, _via_ the Grenz Glacier and the Capanna
Margherita.
"The 25th was spent in ski practice in the neighbourhood of the hut. On
the 26th the whole party, with the exception of one guide who had
brought a defective pair of skis, left the hut at 3.30 A.M. in weather
marked by no adverse conditions of any kind. The Grenz Glacier was
reached somewhat west of the point marked 3344 mètres on the Siegfried
map. The party unroped, proceeded upwards on their skis towards the
point marked 3496 mètres, the surface of the glacier, covered with deep
snow, showing no crevasses nor the indications of any. About midway
between 3300 mètres and the point 3344 mètres the caravan found itself
on a gentle slope, when a muffled crack was heard, and Herr Koenig, Herr
Flender, and one of the guides, Hermann Perren, were seen to sink almost
simultaneously into a concealed crevasse about 6 feet in width, which
ran in a direction parallel with the glacier, carrying with them a mass
of snow about 65 feet in length and over 14 feet in thickness.
Obviously, no amount of probing would have indicated the presence of the
crevasse, and thus by an unfortunate coincidence the three men were
standing at the same time over the hidden abyss without knowing it. One
of the other guides was instantly lowered into the crevasse by the only
available rope (the other being on Herr Flender's back), which proved to
be just too short to reach Hermann Perren, who had fallen about 90 feet,
and was standing upright against the side of the crevasse, held fast in
a mass of snow which had left his head and one arm free. Two of the
party hurried down to fetch another rope from the Bétemps Hut. In the
meanwhile Perren had managed, after a struggle of two and a half hours,
almost to set himself free, and was eventually drawn out safely,
practically uninjured, save a slightly frost-bitten hand. The dead body
of Herr Flender, found with his neck broken, partially covered with some
2 feet of hard snow, was then extricated, but in spite of persistent
efforts the body of Herr Koenig was not recovered until the next day,
when he was found lying face downwards under a mass of compact snow over
10 feet thick. Death in his case was instantaneous, caused by
suffocation, the body bearing no signs whatever of external injury. Herr
Koenig was laid to rest in the English cemetery at Zermatt, while the
body of Herr Flender was conveyed by his relatives to its last
resting-place at Düsseldorf. This is, we think, the first fatal accident
which has occurred to a party of climbers on skis bound on a serious
climbing expedition. The party on this occasion cannot with justice be
accused of recklessness, for the apparent neglect of the usual
precaution of putting on the rope on a snow-covered glacier will not be
misunderstood by those accustomed to the use of skis, who will readily
understand that the rope is practically impossible, and even dangerous,
for a party on skis.
"A remarkable feature of the accident was the thickness of the mass of
snow which gave way under the three men, and demonstrates the extreme
insecurity of winter snow on a crevassed glacier. It is possible that
the three men were perhaps too close to each other at the time of the
accident.
"It is evident that winter climbers who wish to use skis must carry
their lives in their own hands, and perhaps the safer plan for future
expeditions of this kind will be to make the ascent roped in the usual
way on snow _racquettes_ carrying the skis on the back. On the descent
the risk of breaking through the snow covering during the rapid progress
on skis would of course be very much less than on the ascent."
One of the most fruitful causes of accidents on mountains is the
underrating of difficulties by ignorant persons who, having been hauled
up and let down precipices by a couple of sturdy guides in fine weather,
proceed to inform their friends and acquaintances that "Nowadays the
Matterhorn is mere child's play, don't cher know."
A sorry tale is told by the famous climber, Mr Cecil Slingsby, who,
himself accustomed to undertake the hardest climbs without guides, would
be the first to discourage imitation in any unfit to follow in his
steps.
Writing of Skagastöldstind, in Norway, of which he made the first
ascent, and which is still considered the most difficult of the
fashionable climbs in that country, he says in _The Alpine Journal_:
"In 1880 a young tourist, son of a rich banker, whom I will call Nils,
desirous of emulating our exploits, attempted the mountain, and with the
assistance of two good climbers, who shoved and hau
Showing first 200,000 characters. Full text: gutenberg.org/ebooks/43314