_DEATH OF BENNEN ON THE HAUT DE CRY._
By PHILIP C. GOSSETT.
[On a March morning in 1864 I was returning to town from
Chislehurst, when my attention was directed to an account of an
Alpine disaster published in that day’s ‘Times.’ No names were
mentioned, and I commented rather severely on the rashness of
trusting to mountain-snow so early in the year. On the following
day I learned that my brave Bennen was one of the victims. Mr.
P. C. Gossett wrote for the ‘Alpine Journal’ a ‘Narrative of the
Accident,’ which, through the obliging kindness of the author, I am
enabled to publish here. Mr. Gossett was accompanied by his friend
M. Boissonnet on the fatal day.]
On February 28, 1864, we left Sion with Bennen to mount the Haut de
Cry. We started at 2.15 A.M. in a light carriage that brought us to
the village of Ardon, distant six miles. We there met three men that
were to accompany us as local guides and porters--Jean Joseph Nance,
Frederic Rebot, who acted as my personal guide, and Auguste Bevard.
We at once began to ascend on the right bank of the Lyzerne. The night
was splendid, the sky cloudless, and the moon shining brightly. For
about half an hour we went up through the vineyards by a rather steep
path, and then entered the valley of the Lyzerne, about 700 feet above
the torrent. We here found a remarkably good path, gradually rising
and leading towards the Col de Chéville. Having followed this path for
about three hours, we struck off to the left, and began zigzagging up
the mountain-side through a pine forest. We had passed what may be
called the snow-line in winter a little above 2,000 feet. We had not
ascended for more than a quarter of an hour in this pine forest before
the snow got very deep and very soft. We had to change leader every
five or six minutes, and even thus our progress was remarkably slow. We
saw clearly that, should the snow be as soft above the fir region, we
should have to give up the ascent. At 7 A.M. we reached a chalet, and
stopped for about twenty minutes to rest and look at the sunrise on the
Diablerets. On observing an aneroid, which we had brought with us, we
found that we were at the height of about 7,000 feet: the temperature
was -1° C.
The Haut de Cry has four _arêtes_, the first running towards the W.,
the second SE., the third E., and the fourth NE. We were between the
two last-named _arêtes_. Our plan was to go up between them to the
foot of the peak, and mount it by the _arête_ running NE. As we had
expected, the snow was in much better state when once we were above
the woods. For some time we advanced pretty rapidly. The peak was
glistening before us, and the idea of success put us in high spirits.
Our good fortune did not last long; we soon came to snow frozen on the
surface, and capable of bearing for a few steps and then giving way.
But this was nothing compared to the trouble of pulling up through
the pine wood, so instead of making us grumble it only excited our
hilarity. Bennen was in a particularly good humour, and laughed aloud
at our combined efforts to get out of the holes we every now and then
made in the snow. Judging from appearances, the snow-field over which
we were walking covered a gradually rising Alp. We made a second
observation with our aneroid, and found, rather to our astonishment and
dismay, that we had only risen 1,000 feet in the last three hours. It
was 10 o’clock: we were at the height of about 8,000 feet; temperature
= -1.5 C. During the last half-hour we had found a little hard snow,
so we had all hope of success. Thinking we might advance better on
the _arête_, we took to it, and rose along it for some time. It soon
became cut up by rocks, so we took to the snow again. It turned out
to be here hard frozen, so that we reached the real foot of the peak
without the slightest difficulty. It was steeper than I had expected
it would be, judging from the valley of the Rhone. Bennen looked at it
with decided pleasure; having completed his survey, he proposed to take
the eastern _arête_, as in doing so we should gain at least two hours.
Rebot had been over this last-named _arête_ in summer, and was of
Bennen’s opinion. Two or three of the party did not like the idea much,
so there was a discussion on the probable advantages and disadvantages
of the NE. and E. _arêtes_. We were losing time; so Bennen cut matters
short by saying: ‘Ich will der Erste über die arête!’ Thus saying, he
made for the E. _arête_; it looked very narrow, and, what was worse,
it was considerably cut up by high rocks, the intervals between the
teeth of the _arête_ being filled up with snow. To gain this _arête_,
we had to go up a steep snow-field, about 800 feet high, as well as
I remember. It was about 150 feet broad at the top, and 400 or 500
at the bottom. It was a sort of couloir on a large scale. During the
ascent we sank about one foot deep at every step. Bennen did not seem
to like the look of the snow very much. He asked the local guides
whether avalanches ever came down this couloir, to which they answered
that our position was perfectly safe. We had mounted on the northern
side of the couloir, and having arrived at 150 feet from the top, we
began crossing it on a horizontal curve, so as to gain the E. _arête_.
The inflexion or dip of the couloir was slight, not above 25 feet, the
inclination near 35°. We were walking in the following order: Bevard,
Nance, Bennen, myself, Boissonnet, and Rebot. Having crossed over
about three-quarters of the breadth of the couloir, the two leading
men suddenly sank considerably above their waists. Bennen tightened
the rope. The snow was too deep to think of getting out of the hole
they had made, so they advanced one or two steps, dividing the snow
with their bodies. Bennen turned round and told us he was afraid of
starting an avalanche; we asked whether it would not be better to
return and cross the couloir higher up. To this the three Ardon men
opposed themselves; they mistook the proposed precaution for fear, and
the two leading men continued their work. After three or four steps
gained in the aforesaid manner, the snow became hard again. Bennen
had not moved--he was evidently undecided what he should do; as soon,
however, as he saw hard snow again, he advanced and crossed parallel
to, but above, the furrow the Ardon men had made. Strange to say, the
snow supported him. While he was passing I observed that the leader,
Bevard, had about twenty feet of rope coiled round his shoulder. I
of course at once told him to uncoil it and get on the _arête_, from
which he was not more than fifteen feet distant. Bennen then told
me to follow. I tried his steps, but sank up to my waist in the very
first. So I went through the furrows, holding my elbows close to my
body, so as not to touch the sides. This furrow was about twelve feet
long, and, as the snow was good on the other side, we had all come
to the false conclusion that the snow was accidentally softer there
than elsewhere. Boissonet then advanced; he had made but a few steps
when we heard a deep, cutting sound. The snow-field split in two about
fourteen or fifteen feet above us. The cleft was at first quite narrow,
not more than an inch broad. An awful silence ensued; it lasted but a
few seconds, and then it was broken by Bennen’s voice, ‘Wir sind alle
verloren.’ His words were slow and solemn, and those who knew him felt
what they really meant when spoken by such a man as Bennen. They were
his last words. I drove my alpenstock into the snow, and brought the
weight of my body to bear on it; it went in to within three inches of
the top. I then waited. It was an awful moment of suspense. I turned
my head towards Bennen to see whether he had done the same thing. To
my astonishment, I saw him turn round, face the valley, and stretch
out both arms. The ground on which we stood began to move slowly, and
I felt the utter uselessness of any alpenstock. I soon sank up to
my shoulders and began descending backwards. From this moment I saw
nothing of what had happened to the rest of the party. With a good deal
of trouble I succeeded in turning round. The speed of the avalanche
increased rapidly, and before long I was covered up with snow and in
utter darkness. I was suffocating, when with a jerk I suddenly came
to the surface again. The rope had caught most probably on a rock,
and this was evidently the moment when it broke. I was on a wave of
the avalanche, and saw it before me as I was carried down. It was
the most awful sight I ever witnessed. The head of the avalanche was
already at the spot where we had made our last halt. The head alone
was preceded by a thick cloud of snow-dust; the rest of the avalanche
was clear. Around me I heard the horrid hissing of the snow, and far
before me the thundering of the foremost part of the avalanche. To
prevent myself sinking again, I made use of my arms much in the same
way as when swimming in a standing position. At last I noticed that I
was moving slower; then I saw the pieces of snow in front of me stop at
some yards’ distance; then the snow straight before me stopped, and I
heard on a large scale the same creaking sound that is produced when a
heavy cart passes over hard-frozen snow in winter. I felt that I also
had stopped, and instantly threw up both arms to protect my head in
case I should again be covered up. I had stopped, but the snow behind
me was still in motion; its pressure on my body was so strong that I
thought I should be crushed to death. This tremendous pressure lasted
but a short time, and ceased as suddenly as it had begun. I was then
covered up by snow coming from behind me. My first impulse was to try
and uncover my head--but this I could not do: the avalanche had frozen
by pressure the moment it stopped, and I was frozen in. Whilst trying
vainly to move my arms, I suddenly became aware that the hands as
far as the wrist had the faculty of motion. The conclusion was easy,
they must be above the snow. I set to work as well as I could; it was
time, for I could not have held out much longer. At last I saw a faint
glimmer of light. The crust above my head was getting thinner, and
it let a little air pass, but I could not reach it any more with my
hands; the idea struck me that I might pierce it with my breath. After
several efforts I succeeded in doing so, and felt suddenly a rush of
air towards my mouth; I saw the sky again through a little round hole.
A dead silence reigned around me; I was so surprised to be still alive,
and so persuaded at the first moment that none of my fellow-sufferers
had survived, that I did not even think of shouting for them. I then
made vain efforts to extricate my arms, but found it impossible; the
most I could do was to join the ends of my fingers, but they could not
reach the snow any longer. After a few minutes I heard a man shouting:
what a relief it was to know that I was not the sole survivor! to know
that perhaps he was not frozen in and could come to my assistance! I
answered; the voice approached, but seemed uncertain where to go, and
yet it was now quite near. A sudden exclamation of surprise! Rebot
had seen my hands. He cleared my head in an instant, and was about to
try and cut me out completely, when I saw a foot above the snow, and
so near to me that I could touch it with my arms, although they were
not quite free yet. I at once tried to move the foot; it was my poor
friend’s. A pang of agony shot through me as I saw that the foot did
not move. Poor Boissonnet had lost sensation, and was perhaps already
dead. Rebot did his best: after some time he wished me to help him,
so he freed my arms a little more, so that I could make use of them.
I could do but little, for Rebot had torn the axe from my shoulder as
soon as he had cleared my head (I generally carry an axe separate from
my alpenstock--the blade tied to the belt, and the handle attached to
the left shoulder). Before coming to me Rebot had helped Nance out of
the snow; he was lying nearly horizontally, and was not much covered
over. Nance found Bevard, who was upright in the snow, but covered up
to the head. After about twenty minutes the two last-named guides came
up. I was at length taken out; the snow had to be cut with the axe down
to my feet before I could be pulled out. A few minutes after 1 o’clock
P.M. we came to my poor friend’s face.... I wished the body to be taken
out completely, but nothing could induce the three guides to work any
longer, from the moment they saw that it was too late to save him. I
acknowledge that they were nearly as incapable of doing anything as I
was. When I was taken out of the snow the cord had to be cut. We tried
the end going towards Bennen, but could not move it; it went nearly
straight down and showed us that there was the grave of the bravest
guide the Valais ever had, and ever will have. The cold had done its
work on us; we could stand it no longer, and began the descent. We
followed the frozen avalanche for about twenty-five minutes, that being
the easiest way of progressing, and then took the track we had made in
the morning; in five hours we reached Ardon.
[Illustration: JOHANN JOSEPH BENNEN.]
I have purposely put apart the details I have been asked to give on
certain points.
1. The avalanche consisted only of snow; the upper stratum was eleven
days old. At the moment the avalanche started it was about twelve
o’clock, probably a few minutes before. The temperature was then above
freezing point, and we were within 300 or 350 feet from the summit.
The snow was thawing, and the whole snow-field in a state of uncertain
equilibrium. By cutting through the snow at the top of the couloir
we cut one of the main points by which the snow of the two different
layers held together; what led us into the error was, as I have before
said, the fact that the snow was quite hard in some places, and quite
soft in others. The avalanche may have taken a minute to descend; I can
give no correct estimation on this point. We fell between 1,900 and
1,960 feet, the head of the avalanche going 800 feet lower.
2. The rope was in my opinion the cause of my poor friend’s as well
as of Bennen’s death. The following facts may prove it: At the moment
the avalanche started the first and last guides merely held the rope;
Bennen had not seen the use of a rope at all, so we had been less
strict than we should otherwise have been in its use. During the
descent the rope caught, probably on a rock below the surface. This
happened between Bennen and Nance, that is to say between the second
and third man in the marching line. Nance told me afterwards that this
was the worst part of the descent; he had the pressure of the snow
on his body, whilst the rope nearly cut him in two. I believe that
it was at this moment that Bennen and Boissonnet lost their upright
position, owing to the pressure of snow on their backs. Nance also lost
his position, but was fortunate in being thrown out horizontally, and
that almost on the surface of the avalanche. I was between Bennen and
Boissonnet, but not tied to the rope, as I had iron rings to my belt
through which the cord ran. Rebot, who was last in the line, was thrown
clean out of the avalanche; he was carried during the descent towards
one of the sides of the stream. He was the only one of us who escaped
unhurt. Thus, when we stopped in our descent, two only were _tied_ to
the rope--Boissonnet and Bennen--the very two who perished.
3. The congealing of the snow happened by pressure. The fore part
of the avalanche stopped first, and the rest was forced against it.
The circumstance I can least understand is the sudden fall in the
temperature of the air after the accident. I can give no estimate of
it, but it was intense.
4. The bruises Bevard, Nance, and I sustained were slight, but our feet
were severely frost-bitten. Bennen has been accused of rashness in this
unfortunate accident. It is not the case. He was misled by the total
difference of the state of snow in a winter ascent from what is to be
met with in summer.
I have been recently favoured with a letter from Mr. Gossett, from
which the following is an extract:
‘Berne: March 17, 1871.
‘Bennen’s body was found with great difficulty the third day after
Boissonnet was found. The cord-end had been covered up with snow.
The curé d’Ardon informed me that poor Bennen was found eight feet
under the snow, in a horizontal position, the head facing the
valley of the Lyzerne. His watch had been wrenched from the chain,
probably when the cord broke; the chain, however, remained attached
to his waistcoat. Three years ago I met one of my Ardon guides;
he told me that Bennen’s watch had been found by a shepherd seven
months after the accident. This shepherd had been one of the party
who went up to look for Bennen; during the following summer he
had watched the melting of the avalanche. When mounted, the watch
obeyed. This reminds me of your fall on the Morteratsch glacier.[18]
[18] See Chapter XIX.
‘I know you were very much attached to Bennen; the same was the
case with him in regard to you. An hour before his death the
Matterhorn showed its black head over one of the _arêtes_ of the
Haut de Cry. I asked Bennen whether he thought it would ever be
ascended. His answer was a decided “Yes”; but he added, alluding
to your last attack on the mountain, “Wir waren fünf; der Professor
und ich stimmten für Vorwärts; die drei andern stimmten dagegen.”
‘There is one circumstance in reference to my fall with the
avalanche of the Haut de Cry that I am utterly unable to
understand: I mean what physical phenomena took place when the
avalanche stopped and froze. It stopped because in its progress
downwards the broad couloir down which it was going got narrower,
and the mass of snow could not pass. It froze because the
successive portions of the body of the avalanche became compressed
against the head, which latter had come to a stop. When the layer
in which I was stopped, the pressure on my body was enormous--so
great, in fact, that I expected I should be crushed flat. This
pressure ceased _suddenly_: I know it, for the atrocious pains
it was causing ceased _suddenly_ too. What happened during that
interval?’
[Bennen was well acquainted with winter snow, but no man of his temper,
and in his position, would place himself in direct opposition to local
guides, whose knowledge of the mountain must have been superior to his
own.]