A WONDERFUL SLIDE DOWN A WALL OF ICE
Twice at least in the Alps climbers have lost their footing at the top
of a steep slope, and rolled down it for so long a distance that it
seemed impossible they could survive. The two plucky mountaineers who
have competed in an involuntary race to the bottom of a frozen
hillside are Mr Birkbeck, in his famous slide near Mont Blanc, and Mr
Whymper, when he made his startling glissade on the Matterhorn.
It was in July 1861 that a party of friends, whose names are well
known to all climbers, set out to cross a high glacier pass in the
chain of Mont Blanc. The Revs. Leslie Stephen, Charles Hudson, and
Messrs Tuckett, Mather, and Birkbeck were the travellers, while in
addition to the three magnificent guides, Melchior Anderegg, Perren,
and Bennen, there were two local guides from the village of St
Gervais.
Let me give the account of the accident in Mr Hudson's own words. How
sad to think that, only four years later, this capable and brave
mountaineer himself perished on the grim north slopes of the
Matterhorn!
The Col de Miage is reached by a steep slope of ice or frozen snow,
and is just a gap in the chain of peaks which runs south-west from
Mont Blanc. Col is the word used for a pass in French-speaking
districts.
"On the morning of the 11th, at 3.30, we left the friendly rock on or
near which we had passed the night, and at 7 o'clock we had reached
the summit of the Col de Miage. Here we sat down on a smooth, hard
plain of snow, and had our second breakfast. Shortly afterwards
Birkbeck had occasion to leave us for a few minutes, though his
departure was not remarked at the time. When we discovered his
absence, Melchior followed his footsteps, and I went after him, and,
to our dismay, we saw the tracks led to the edge of the ice-slope, and
then suddenly stopped. The conclusion was patent at a glance. I was
fastening two ropes together, and Melchior had already bound one end
round his chest, with a view to approach or even descend a portion of
the slope for a better view, when some of the party descried Birkbeck
a long way below us. He had fallen an immense distance.
"My first impulse led me to wish that Melchior and I should go down to
Birkbeck as fast as possible, and leave the rest to follow with the
ropes; but on proposing this plan some of the party objected. For a
considerable time Birkbeck shouted to us, not knowing whether we could
see his position. His course had been arrested at a considerable
distance above the bottom of the slope, by what means we know not; and
just below him stretched a snow-covered crevasse, across which he must
pass if he went further. We shouted to him to remain where he was, but
no distinguishable sounds reached him; and to our dismay we presently
saw him gradually moving downwards--then he stopped--again he moved
forwards and again--he was on the brink of the crevasse; but we could
do nothing for him. At length he slipped down upon the slope of snow
which bridged the abyss. I looked anxiously to see if it would support
his weight, and, to my relief, a small black speck continued visible.
This removed my immediate cause of apprehension, and after a time he
moved clear of this frail support down to the point where we
afterwards joined him. Bennen was first in the line, and after we had
descended some distance he untied himself and went down to Birkbeck.
It was 9.30 when we reached him. He told us he was becoming faint and
suffering from cold. On hearing this, Melchoir and I determined to
delay no longer, and, accordingly, unroped and trotted down to the
point where we could descend from the rocks to the slope upon which he
was lying. Arrived at the place, I sat on the snow, and let Birkbeck
lean against me, while I asked him if he felt any internal injury or
if his ribs pained him. His manner of answering gave me strong grounds
for hoping that there was little to fear on that score."
Mr Hudson gives a graphic description of poor Mr Birkbeck's appearance
when he was found on the snow. "His legs, thighs, and the lower part
of his body were quite naked, with his trousers down about his feet.
By his passage over the snow, the skin was removed from the outside of
the legs and thighs, the knees, and the whole of the lower part of the
back, and part of the ribs, together with some from the nose and
forehead. He had not lost much blood, but he presented a most ghastly
spectacle of bloody raw flesh. This, added to his great prostration,
and our consciousness of the distance and difficulties which separated
him from any bed, rendered the sight most trying. He never lost
consciousness. He afterwards described his descent as one of extreme
rapidity, too fast to allow of his realising the sentiment of fear,
but not sufficiently so to deprive him of thought. Sometimes he
descended feet first, sometimes head first, then he went sideways, and
once or twice he had the sensation of shooting through the air.
"The slope where he first lost his footing was gentle, and he tried to
stop himself with his fingers and nails, but the snow was too hard. He
had no fear during the descent, owing to the extreme rapidity; but
when he came to a halt on the snow, and was ignorant as to whether we
saw, or could reach him, he experienced deep anguish of mind in the
prospect of a lingering death. Happily, however, the true Christian
principles in which he had been brought up, led him to cast himself
upon the protection of that merciful Being who alone could help him.
His prayers were heard, and immediately answered by the removal of his
fears."
The account of how the injured man was brought down to the valley is
very exciting. Mr Hudson continues:--"The next thing was to get him
down as fast as possible, and the sledge suggested itself as the most
feasible plan. Only the day before, at Contamines, I had had the
boards made for it, and without them the runners (which, tied
together, served me as an alpenstock) would have been useless. Two or
three attempts were made before I could get the screws to fit the
holes in the boards and runners, and poor Melchior, who was watching
me, began to show signs of despair. At length the operation was
completed, and the sledge was ready. We spread a plaid, coats, and
flannel shirts over the boards, then laid Birkbeck at full length on
them, and covered him as well as we could.
"Now came the 'tug-of-war,' for the snow was much softened by the sun,
the slope was steep, and there were several crevasses ahead; added to
this, there was difficulty in getting good hold of the sledge, and
every five or six steps one of the bearers plunged so deeply in the
snow that we were obliged to halt. Birkbeck was all the time shivering
so much that the sledge was sensibly shaken, and all the covering we
could give him was but of little use.
"I was well aware of the great danger Birkbeck was in, owing to the
vast amount of skin which was destroyed, and I felt that every quarter
of an hour saved was of very great importance; still the frequent
delay could not be avoided."
So matters continued till the party was clear of the glacier. Then Mr
Tuckett went ahead to Chamonix, a ten hours' tramp or so, in search
of an English doctor, and on the way left orders for a carriage to be
sent as far as there was a driving road, to meet the wounded man, and
more men beyond to help in carrying him. The chief part of the
transport was done by the three great guides, Melchoir, Bennen, and
Perren, and was often over "abrupt slopes of rock, which to an
ordinary walker would have appeared difficult, even without anything
to carry. We had so secured Birkbeck with ropes and straps, that he
could not slip off the sledge, otherwise he would on these occasions
at once have parted company with his stretcher, and rolled down the
rocks."
At last, after incredible toil, they reached the pastures, and at
about three o'clock in the afternoon eight hours after the accident,
they got to the home of one of the guides, where they were able to
make poor Mr Birkbeck more comfortable before undertaking the rest of
the journey, warming his feet and wrapping him in blankets. For two
hours more the poor fellow had to be carried down, and then they met
the carriage, in which he was driven to St Gervais, accompanied by the
doctor from Chamonix.
Thanks to the skilful treatment and excellent nursing he received, Mr
Birkbeck made a good recovery, though, of course, it was weeks before
he could leave his bed.
Mr Hudson ends his wonderfully interesting narrative with an account
of a visit he paid later in the season to the place where the accident
happened. He says "The result of our observations is as follows: 'The
height of the Col de Miage is 11,095. The height of the point at which
Birkbeck finally came to a standstill is 9328 feet; so the distance he
fell is, in _perpendicular_ height, 1767 feet." As part of the slope
would be at a gentle angle, one may believe that the slip was over
something like a mile of surface! Mr Hudson continues:--"During the
intervening three weeks, vast changes had taken place in the glacier.
The snowy coating had left the couloir in parts, thus exposing ice in
the line of Birkbeck's course, as well as a rock mid-way in the slope,
against which our poor friend would most likely have struck, had the
accident happened later.
"This is one of that long chain of providential arrangements, by the
combination of which we were enabled to save Birkbeck's life.
(1) The recent snow, and favourable state of the glacier,
enabled us to take an easier and much quicker route, if not
the only one possible for a wounded man.
(2) We had a singularly strong party of guides, without
which we could not have got him down in time to afford any
chance of his recovery.
(3) If we had not had real efficient men as travellers in
the party we should not have got the telegram sent to
Geneva; and a few hours' delay in the arrival of Dr
Metcalfe would probably have been fatal.
(4) The day was perfectly calm and cloudless; had there
been wind or absence of sun, the cold might have been too
much for such a shaken system to bear.
(5) We had with us the very unusual addition of a sledge,
without which it would have been scarcely possible to have
carried him down.
"One thing there was which greatly lessened the mental trial to those
engaged in bringing Birkbeck down to St Gervais, and afterwards in
attending upon him, and that was, his perfect calmness and
patience--and of these I cannot speak too highly. No doubt it
contributed greatly to his recovery."