THE MOST TERRIBLE OF ALL ALPINE TRAGEDIES
There is no great mountain in the Alps so easy to ascend as Mont
Blanc. There is not one on which there has been such a deplorable loss
of life. The very facility with which Mont Blanc can be climbed has
tempted hundreds of persons totally unused to and unfitted for
mountaineering to go up it, while the tariff for the guides--£4
each--has called into existence a crowd of incapable and inexperienced
men who are naturally unable, when the need for it arrives, to face
conditions that masters of craft would have avoided by timely retreat.
The great danger of Mont Blanc is its enormous size, and to be lost on
its slopes in a snow-storm which may continue for days is an
experience few have survived. On a rocky mountain there are landmarks
which are of the utmost value in time of fog, but when all is snow and
the tracks are obliterated as soon as made, can we wonder if the
results have been disastrous when a poorly equipped party has
encountered bad weather?
Of all the sad accidents which have happened on Mont Blanc, none
exceeds in pathos that in which Messrs Bean, M'Corkindale, Randall,
and eight guides perished. None of these gentlemen had any experience
of mountaineering. Stimulated rather than deterred by the account
given by two climbers who had just come down from the mountain, and
had had a narrow escape owing to bad weather, these three men, with
their guides, who were "probably about the worst who were then on the
Chamonix roll," set out for the Grands Mulets. The weather was
doubtful, nevertheless the next morning they started upwards, leaving
their only compass at their night quarters.
During the whole of that 6th of September the big telescope at the
Châlet of Plan-Praz above Chamonix was fixed on their route, but they
could only be seen from time to time, as the mountain was constantly
hidden by driving clouds. At last they were observed close to the
rocks known as the Petits Mulets not far below the summit. It was then
a quarter past two o'clock. There was a terrific wind, and the snow
was whirled in clouds. The party could be seen lying down on the
ground, to avoid being swept away by the hurricane.
[Illustration: These small figures, in a waste of Snow, may help to
give some faint idea of the extent of Alpine Snow-fields.]
The Chamonix guide, Sylvain Couttet, had gone to the châlet of
Pierre-Pointue, where the riding path ends, to await the return of the
climbers. On the morning of the 7th, as there was still no sign of
them, Sylvain became uneasy, and mounting to an eminence not far off,
from which he could see nearly all the route to the Grands Mulets, he
carefully searched for tracks with the aid of his telescope. Snow had
fallen during the night, yet there was no trace of footsteps.
Seriously alarmed, Sylvain hurried back to Pierre-Pointue, sent a man
who was there to Chamonix in order that a search party might be held
in readiness, and accompanied by the servant of the little inn he went
up the Grands Mulets. Sylvain had arranged that if no one was there he
would put out a signal and the search party would then ascend without
delay. On reaching the hut at the Grands Mulets his worst fears were
realised--it was empty. He now quickly regained Chamonix from where
fourteen guides were just starting. He remounted with them
immediately. By the time they got a little way above Pierre-Pointue,
the snow was again falling heavily, it was impossible to go further.
Next day the weather was so bad that the party had to descend to
Chamonix, and for several days longer the rain in the valley and the
snow on the heights continued.
On the 15th the weather cleared, and Sylvain went up to Plan-Praz to
see if from there any traces of the lost ones could be discovered with
the telescope. The first glance showed him five black specks near the
Petit Mulets, which could be nothing else but the bodies of some of
the victims. On the 16th, with twenty-three other guides, Sylvain
spent the night at the Grands Mulets. The 17th, they mounted to the
spot they had examined with the telescope, and there they found the
bodies of Mr M'Corkindale and two porters. Three hundred feet higher
was Mr Bean, with his head leaning on his hand, and by him another
porter. These were in a perfectly natural position, whereas the others
appeared to have slipped to where they were, as their clothes were
torn, and the ropes, knapsacks (still containing food), sticks, and so
on, lay by the others above.
The five bodies were frozen hard. As complete a search as possible was
now made for the remaining six members of the party, but without
success. Probably they fell either into a crevasse or down the Italian
side of the mountain.
It is no wonder that Mr Mathews calls this "the most lamentable
catastrophe ever known in the annals of Alpine adventure."
But the most pathetic part of the story is to come.
During those terrible, hopeless hours Mr Bean had made notes of what
was happening, and they tell us all we shall ever know about the
disaster:
"_Tuesday, 6th September._--I have made the ascent of Mont Blanc with
ten persons--eight guides, Mr M'Corkindale, and Mr Randall. We arrived
at the summit at half-past two o'clock. Immediately after leaving it I
was enveloped in clouds of snow. We passed the night in a grotto
excavated out of the snow, affording very uncomfortable shelter, and I
was ill all night. _7th September, morning._--Intense cold--much snow,
which falls uninterruptedly. Guides restless. _7th September,
evening._--We have been on Mont Blanc for two days in a terrible
snowstorm; we have lost our way, and are in a hole scooped out of the
snow at a height of 15,000 feet. I have no hope of descending. Perhaps
this book may be found and forwarded. We have no food. My feet are
already frozen, and I am exhausted. I have only strength to write a
few words. I die in the faith of Jesus Christ, with affectionate
thoughts of my family--my remembrance to all. I trust we may meet in
heaven."