LOST IN THE ICE FOR FORTY YEARS
It was in 1786 that the summit of Mont Blanc was reached for the first
time. It had been attained on only eleven occasions, and no accidents
had happened on it when, in 1820, the catastrophe since known as the
Hamel accident, took place.
Dr Joseph Hamel was a Russian savant, and Counsellor of State to the
Czar. He much desired to ascend Mont Blanc in order that he might make
scientific experiments on the top, and in August 1820, he came to
Chamonix for the purpose. It is of no use, and of little interest to
general readers, if I enter into particulars of the controversy which
this expedition excited. Some declared that Dr Hamel urged his guides
to proceed against their better judgment. Others say that the whole
party--which included two Englishmen and nine guides--were anxious to
continue the ascent, and, indeed, saw no reason for doing otherwise.
Certain it is, however that in those days no one was a judge of the
condition of snow, and able to tell from its consistency if an
avalanche were likely or not.
[Illustration: MONT BLANC.
The black line shows the probable course the bodies took during their
40 years' descent in the ice.
_By a local Photographer._]
[Illustration: Nicolas Winhart, escaping on this occasion with his
life, afterwards perished on the Col des Grands Montets in 1875 (page
99).
_By a local Photographer._]
[Illustration: A Banker at Geneva, who was a most active searcher for
Henry Arkwright's body. He was killed in a duel in 1869. It is
interesting to compare the old-fashioned costume with that of the
present day climber.
_By a local Photographer._]
[Illustration: THE RELICS.
The rope was found round the body but worn through in two places by
the hip bones. The handkerchief, shirt front with studs, prune stones,
watch chain, pencil case, cartridge, spike of alpenstock, coins, glove
tied with spare bootlace, etc., all belonged to Henry Arkwright.]
The party, which at first numbered fourteen, duly reached the rocks of
the Grands Mulets, where it was usual to spend the night. The sky
clouded over towards evening, and there was a heavy thunderstorm
during the night. Next morning the weather was too unsettled for the
ascent to be tried, so a couple of guides were sent down to Chamonix
for more provisions, and a second night was spent in camp. Early next
morning, in beautiful weather, a start was made, one of the members of
the party, Monsieur Selligne, who felt ill, and two guides leaving the
others and going down to Chamonix. The rest safely reached the Grand
Plateau. The snow, hardened by the night's frost, had thus far
supported the weight of the climbers and made their task easy. It was,
however, far from consolidated beneath the crust, as the warm wind of
the previous days had made it thoroughly rotten.
All were in excellent spirits during the halt for breakfast on the
Grand Plateau, that snowy valley which is spread out below the steeper
slopes of the final mass of the mountain. Dr Hamel employed part of
his time in writing a couple of notes announcing his arrival on the
top of Mont Blanc leaving a blank on each to insert the hour. These
notes he intended to despatch by carrier pigeon, the bird being with
them, imprisoned in a large kettle.
At 10.30 they reached the foot of what is now known as the Ancien
Passage. This is a steep snow-slope leading almost directly to the top
of Mont Blanc. When the snow is sound, and the ice above does not
overhang much, this route is as safe as any other; but a steep slope
covered with a layer of rotten snow is always most dangerous. At that
time, the Ancien Passage was the only way ever taken up Mont Blanc.
They had ascended a considerable distance, the snow being softer and
softer as they rose, and they formed a long line one behind the other,
not mounting straight up, but making their way rather across the
slope. Six guides walked at the head of the troop, and then, after an
interval, the two Englishmen and two more guides, Dr Hamel being last.
All seemed to be going excellently. Everyone plodded along, and
rejoiced to be so near the culminating point of the expedition. No
thought of danger disturbed them.
Suddenly there was a dull, harsh sound. Immediately the entire surface
of the snow began to move. "My God! The avalanche! We are lost!"
shrieked the guides. The slope at Dr Hamel's end of the party was not
steep,--barely more than 30°--but up above it was more rapid. The
leading guides were carried straightway off their feet. Hamel was also
swept away by the gathering mass of snow. Using his arms as if
swimming, he managed to bring his head to the surface, and as he did
so the moving snow slowed down and stopped. In those few moments, some
1200 feet had been descended. At first Dr Hamel thought that he alone
had been carried away, but presently he saw his English friends and
their guides--no more.
"Where are the others?" cried Dr Hamel. Balmat, who a moment before
had let his brother pass on to the head of the party, wrung his hands
and answered, "The others are in the crevasse!"
The crevasse! Strange that all had forgotten it! The avalanche had
poured into it, filling it to the brim.
"A terrible panic set in. The guides lost all self-control. Some
walked about aimlessly, uttering loud cries. Matthieu Balmat sat in
sullen silence, rejecting all kind offices with an irritation which
made it painful to approach him. Dornford threw himself on the snow in
despair, and Henderson, says Hamel, 'was in a condition which made one
fear for the consequences.' A few minutes later two other guides
extricated themselves, but the remaining three were seen no more.
Hamel and Henderson descended into the crevasse, and made every
possible attempt to find the lost guides, but without avail; the
surviving guides forced them to come out, and sore at heart they
returned to Chamonix.
"The three guides who were lost were Pierre Carrier, Pierre Balmat,
and Auguste Tairraz. They were the three foremost in the line and felt
the first effects of the avalanche. Matthieu Balmat, who was fourth in
the line, saved himself by his great personal strength and by presence
of mind. Julien Dévouassoud was hurled across the crevasse, and Joseph
Marie Couttet was dragged out senseless by his companions, 'nearly
black from the weight of snow which had fallen upon him.'"[3]
Scientific men had already begun to give attention to the movement of
glaciers. In addition to this, cases had occurred where the remains
of persons lost on glaciers had been recovered years afterwards. A
travelling seller of hats, crossing the Tschingel Glacier on his way
from the Bernese Oberland to Valais, had fallen into a crevasse.
Eventually his body and his stock of merchandise was found at the end
of the glacier. Near the Grimsel, the remains of a child were
discovered in the ice. An old man remembered that many years before a
little boy had disappeared in that locality and must doubtless have
been lost in a crevasse. These facts were probably known to Dr Hamel,
and he made the remark that perhaps in a thousand years, the bodies of
his guides might be found. Forbes, who knew more of the subject,
believed that, travelling in the ice, they would reach the end of the
glacier in forty years.
He was right, for on 15th August 1861, his "bold prediction was
verified, and the ice give up its dead." On that day, the guide,
Ambrose Simond, who happened to be with some tourists on the lower
part of the Glacier des Bossons, discovered some pieces of clothing
and human bones. From that time until 1864 the glacier did not cease
to render up, piece by piece, the remains and the belongings of the
three victims.
An accident, very similar to that which befell Dr Hamel's party, took
place in 1866. This has for me a very special interest, as I have met
the brother of the Englishman who perished, and have examined all the
documents, letters, newspaper cuttings, and photographs relating to
the catastrophe. The guide, Sylvain Couttet, an old friend of mine,
since dead, has given a moving account of the sad event. Sylvain knew
Mont Blanc better than any other native of Chamonix, and though when I
knew him he had given up guiding, he desired to add one more ascent of
the great white peak to his record, for at that time he had been up
ninety-nine times. I accordingly invited him to come with my party
when we climbed it from the Italian side. He did so--he had never been
up that way before--and I well remember how he slipped himself free of
the rope after the last rocks, saying, "Ah, you young people, you go
on. The old man will follow." Alone he arrived on the top, strode
about over its snowy dome as if to say good-bye, and was just as ready
for his work as any of us when, in a stiff gale, we descended the
ridge of the Bosses.
But to return to what is known as the Arkwright accident.
In the year 1866, Henry Arkwright, a young man of twenty-nine,
aide-de-camp to the Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, was travelling in
Switzerland with his mother and two sisters. Writing from Geneva on
3rd September to a member of his family, he said, "We have ventured to
try our luck higher up, as the weather is so warm and settled--as
otherwise I should leave Switzerland without seeing a glacier." On
what an apparent chance--a run of fine weather--do great issues
depend!
The party shortly afterwards moved on to Chamonix, where many
excursions were made, thanks to the beautiful weather which still
continued. It had now become quite the fashion to go up Mont Blanc, so
one is not surprised that Henry Arkwright, though no climber, decided
to make the attempt. One of his sisters went with him as far as the
hut at the Grands Mulets, and they were accompanied by the guide
Michael Simond, and the porters Joseph and François Tournier. Another
party proposed also to go up. It consisted of two persons only,
Sylvain Couttet and an _employé_ of the Hotel Royal named Nicolas
Winhart, whom Sylvain had promised to conduct to the top when he had
time and opportunity. It was the 12th October when they left Chamonix,
and all went well across the crevassed Glacier des Bossons, and they
duly reached their night quarters.
While the climbers were absent next day, Miss Fanny Arkwright employed
herself with writing and finishing a sketch for her brother.
Meanwhile the two parties, having set out at an early hour, advanced
quickly up the snow-slopes. The days were short, and it was desirable
to take the most direct route. For years the Ancien Passage had been
abandoned, and the more circuitous way by the Corridor used instead.
However, the snow was in good order, and as up to then no accidents
had happened through falling ice, this danger was little dreaded,
though it is sometimes a very real one in the Ancien Passage. So the
guides advised that this should be the way chosen, and both parties
directed their steps accordingly. Sylvain Couttet has left a
remarkable description of the events which followed, and portions of
this I now translate from his own words as they appeared in _The
Alpine Journal_.
The two parties were together at the beginning of the steep
snow-slope. Sylvain's narrative here commences:--"I said to the
porter, Joseph Tournier, who had thus far been making the tracks, 'Let
us pass on ahead; you have worked long enough. To each of us his
share!' It was to this kindly thought for my comrade that, without the
slightest doubt, Winhart and I owe our salvation! We had been walking
for about ten minutes near some very threatening _séracs_ when a crack
was heard above us a little to the right. Without reasoning, I
instinctively cried, 'Walk quickly!' and I rushed forwards, while
someone behind me exclaimed, 'Not in that direction!'
"I heard nothing more; the wind of the avalanche caught me and carried
me away in its furious descent. 'Lie down!' I called, and at the same
moment I desperately drove my stick into the harder snow beneath, and
crouched down on hands and knees, my head bent and turned towards the
hurricane. I felt the blocks of ice passing over my back, particles of
snow were swept against my face, and I was deafened by a terrible
cracking sound like thunder.
"It was only after eight or ten minutes that the air began to clear,
and then, always clinging to my axe, I perceived Winhart 6 feet below
me, with the point of his stick firmly planted in the ice. The rope by
which we were tied to each other was intact. I saw nothing beyond
Winhart except the remains of the cloud of snow and a chaos of
ice-blocks spread over an area of about 600 feet.
"I called out at the top of my voice--no answer--I became like a
madman, I burst out crying, I began to call out again--always the
same silence--the silence of death.
"I pulled out my axe, I untied the rope which joined us, and both of
us, with what energy remained to us, with our brains on fire and our
hearts oppressed with grief, commenced to explore in every direction
the enormous mountain of shattered ice-blocks which lay below us.
Finally, about 150 feet further down I saw a knapsack--then a man. It
was François Tournier, his face terribly mutilated, and his skull
smashed in by a piece of ice. The cord had been broken between
Tournier and the man next to him. We continued our search in the
neighbourhood of his body, but after two hours' work could find
nothing more. It was vain to make further efforts! Nothing was visible
amongst the masses of _débris_, as big as houses, and we had no tools
except my axe and Winhart's stick. We drew the body of poor Tournier
after us as far as the Grand Plateau, and with what strength remained
to us we descended as fast as we could towards the hut at the Grands
Mulets, where a terrible ordeal awaited me--the announcement of the
catastrophe to Miss Arkwright.
"The poor child was sitting quietly occupied with her sketching.
"'Well, Sylvain!' she cried on seeing me, 'All has gone well?'
"'Not altogether, Mademoiselle,' I replied, not knowing how to begin.
"Mademoiselle looked at me, noticed my bent head and my eyes full of
tears--she rose, came towards me--'What is the matter? Tell me all!'
"I could only answer, 'Have courage, Mademoiselle.'
"She understood me. The brave young girl knelt down and prayed for a
few moments, and then got up pale, calm, dry-eyed. 'Now you can tell
me everything,' she said, 'I am ready.'
* * * * *
"She insisted on accompanying me at once to Chamonix, where she, in
her turn, would have to break the sad tidings to her mother and
sister.
"At the foot of the mountain the sister of Mademoiselle met us, happy
and smiling.
"Do not ask me any more details of that awful day, I have not the
strength to tell them to you."
* * * * *
Thirty-one years passed, when, in 1897, Colonel Arkwright, a brother
of Henry Arkwright's, received the following telegram from the Mayor
of Chamonix:
"Restes Henry Arkwright peri Mont Blanc 1866 retrouvés."
Once more the glacier had given up its dead, and during these
thirty-one years the body of Henry Arkwright had descended 9000 feet
in the ice and had been rendered back to his family at the foot of the
glacier.
The remains of the Englishman were buried at Chamonix, and perhaps
never has so pathetic a service been held there as that which
consigned to the earth what was left of him who thirty-one years
before had been snatched away in the mighty grip of the avalanche.
Many belongings of the lost one's came by degrees to light. A
pocket-handkerchief was intact, and on it as well as on his
shirt-front, Henry Arkwright's name and that of his regiment written
in marking-ink were legible. Though the shirt was torn to pieces, yet
two of the studs and the collar-stud were still in the button-holes
and uninjured. The gold pencil-case (I have handled it), opened and
shut as smoothly as it had ever done, and on the watch-chain there was
not a scratch. A pair of gloves were tied together with a boot-lace
which his sister remembered taking from her own boot so that he might
have a spare one, and coins, a used cartridge, and various other odds
and ends, were all recovered from the ice.
The remains of the guides had been found and brought down soon after
the accident, but that of Henry Arkwright had been buried too deeply
to be discovered.
In connection with the preservation of bodies in ice the following
extract from _The Daily Telegraph_ for 10th May 1902 is of great
interest. It is headed:
MAMMOTH 8000 YEARS OLD
Reuter's representative has had an interview with Mr J.
Talbot Clifton, who has lately returned from an expedition
in Northern Siberia, undertaken for the purpose of
discovering new species of animals.
Mr Clifton gives the following account of the Herz mammoth,
which he saw on his arrival at Irkutsk. "It is," he said,
"about the size of an elephant, which it resembles somewhat
in form. It possesses a trunk, has five toes instead of
four, and is a heavy beast. It is supposed to have lived
about 8000 years ago. Its age was probably not more than
twenty-six years--very young for a mammoth. Its flesh was
quite complete, except for a few pieces which had been
bitten at by wolves or bears. Most of the hair on the body
had been scraped away by ice, but its mane and near foreleg
were in perfect preservation and covered with long hair.
The hair of the mane was from 4 in. to 5 in. long, and of a
yellowish brown colour, while its left leg was covered with
black hair. In its stomach was found a quantity of
undigested food, and on its tongue was the herbage which it
had been eating when it died. This was quite green."
FOOTNOTE:
[3] _The Annals of Mont Blanc_, by C. E. Mathews.