at the bottom of which is a steep cliff, he jumped downward on to
a scree-covered slab, his feet shot from under him, and he fell a
distance of more than a hundred feet. As a result of his injuries he
succumbed shortly after.
This lower cliff of the Broad Stand was responsible for another
fall, which, however, did not prove fatal. A Mr. Petty was climbing
Mickledore Chimney with a large party, amongst whom was his _fiancée_.
The late J. W. Robinson was the leader. At the place where the Chimney
is left and a step across to the Broad Stand effected, Mr. Petty took
off the rope in order to let the leader throw the end of it down to the
others of the party.
An agonized shout from Petty caused Mr. Robinson to turn sharply, and
he saw his companion shooting head downwards with terrific velocity
to the screes below. The distance, carefully measured afterwards, was
a hundred and seven feet. Some of the party, still at the foot of the
Chimney, were horrified to see Mr. Petty hurtling through the air
towards them, and narrowly escaped being struck.
He fell face downward. The angle of his body conformed exactly to
the slope of the screes, and his entire length struck the slope at
once. It seems incredible that he could survive such a fall, and his
friends never hoped to find him alive. His injuries was terrible, but
nevertheless he still lived, and, by careful nursing, regained his full
strength.
[Illustration: THE PILLAR ROCK--THIS IS THE CLIMB THE NOVICES WERE
ATTEMPTING WHEN MR. WALKER WENT TO THEIR ASSISTANCE.
_From a Photograph._]
This is surely the most wonderful bit of luck that ever befell a
climber. It transpired afterwards that he had grown impatient of
waiting for the others to come up and had begun to fill in the time by
a little desultory climbing on a steep slab directly above him. Off
this he had just slipped when he shouted and drew the attention of Mr.
Robinson and the others.
[Illustration: THE PILLAR ROCK AND SHAMROCK (NORTH SIDE)--THE CROSS
SHOWS THE CLIFF MR. WALKER SLID OVER, NOW KNOWN AS “WALKER’S GULLY.”
_From a Photograph._]
Would that Professor Milnes Marshall, who was killed the following year
on the opposite side of Scawfell, could have had such a providential
escape! His fall could not have been one of more than twelve feet, and
yet it proved too great.
In company with the late Owen Glynne Jones and Joseph Collier,
Professor Marshall had just previously climbed Scawfell Pinnacle by way
of Steep Ghyll, returning down Deep Ghyll to the foot of the crags,
where they had lunch together. Being anxious to obtain a photograph of
the Ghyll, Professor Marshall scrambled up the fell side opposite to
its entrance.
The nature of the ground was so easy and well broken up, although
rocky and steep, that his companions never for a moment dreamt of
disaster. Hearing a noise of falling stones they looked round and
saw a cube of rock, about two feet in diameter, rolling down the
mountain side. This was followed by the body of Professor Marshall.
Both came to rest on the scree slope below the Lord’s Rake, where, to
their great astonishment and horror, Messrs. Jones and Collier found
the life of their companion quite extinct. Exactly how the accident
happened will never be known, but it was surmised at the time that Mr.
Marshall had stepped on the cube of rock and that it had given way
with him. It has become proverbial that “it is on the easy places that
accidents happen,” and no doubt it was the easy nature of the ground
that caused a temporary carelessness on the part of a man who, in all
mountaineering circles, was recognised as a most careful and cautious
climber.
We may pass over briefly the death of the Rev. James Jackson, who fell
on the Pillar and was killed in May, 1878. He was alone at the time,
but his body was found at the foot of a steep cliff, near the summit of
the mountain. In walking along the top of the cliff he had evidently
slipped over, but what caused him to do so will never be known. The
fact that the reverend gentleman had attained to the ripe age of
eighty-two years may suggest a broad reason.
[Illustration: SCAWFELL PINNACLE AND DEEP GHYLL, SHOWING THE GHYLL AS
IT APPEARED WHEN MR. GOODALL GLISSADED DOWN IT TO HIS DEATH.
_From a Photograph._]
At Easter, nearly five years later, a party of novices were trying
to climb the Pillar Rock from the east side. For some time they were
unsuccessful. Just then another party reached the top of the Pillar
Mountain; one of them, a Whitehaven youth of the name of Walker, had
climbed the rock some time before. Seeing the predicament of the
novices, he set off down a snow-slope towards them, intending to direct
their ascent. He had only gone a few feet when he slipped on to his
back and shot off down the snow. Gathering terrific and uncontrollable
impetus as he slid, he reached the Rock, which juts out of the side of
the mountain, in a few moments and dashed into it. His body bounded off
it and then fell into a gully on the right. This was filled with hard
snow, which carried him swiftly downward until the crest of a sheer
cliff was reached. Over this, for five hundred feet, he plunged, and
far into the Ennerdale valley below, death, of course, being inevitable.
[Illustration: SCAWFELL AND MICKLEDORE--THE DOUBLE CROSSES INDICATE THE
LEDGE FROM WHICH THE PARTY OF FOUR FELL; THE SINGLE CROSS DENOTES WHERE
PROFESSOR MARSHALL SLIPPED; AND THE CIRCLE SHOWS WHERE ALL THE BODIES,
INCLUDING THAT OF MR. GOODALL, WERE FOUND.
_From a Photograph._]
Of the witnesses of this accident two subsequently lost their reason,
and the death of another shortly afterwards was attributed to the
shock. And all for the want of a little caution and forethought on
a snow-slope! Still, “out of evil comes good,” and no doubt the
remembrance of this terrible tragedy and its contributory cause has
ultimately saved many valuable lives. Only once since then has it been
forgotten in the Lake District, and this led to the last tragedy that
has happened. This was to poor Alexander Goodall, a Keswick youth, who
deliberately set off glissading down the snow at the top of Deep Ghyll
on Scawfell.
To those of us who know the frightful velocity that is attained in a
few feet on steep snow, and the long years of practice necessary to
control this speed, such an act would appear quite inexplicable. But
to him, whose first day on snow it was, and in entire ignorance of its
insidious dangers, that downward slide would present no terrors, until,
with balance gone and ice-axe snatched out of his grasp by the snow
in which he wildly dug it, his mistake flashed across his mind with
terrible meaning. Alas! he learnt his lesson too late; he did not live
to profit by it, for his body dashed downward, crashing into the rocks
as it sped, until it came to rest on the scree-slope five hundred feet
below, within a few feet of the place on which Professor Marshall fell.
A short three months before this same spot witnessed the most terrible
of all the Lakeland tragedies, when a party of skilful climbers fell
from the north face of Scawfell Pinnacle. Even the historical accident
on the first ascent of the Matterhorn, when all of a large party were
killed but Mr. Whymper and two guides, palls before this home disaster,
for here four Englishmen in the prime of their youth were suddenly
called away.
On September 21st, 1903, Messrs. Broadrick, Garrett, Jupp, and
Ridsdale started from Wastdale Head for Scawfell, intent upon climbing
the Pinnacle by the difficult route from Deep Ghyll. This they
successfully accomplished, and afterwards redescended to the foot of
the Pinnacle, where they had lunch with another climbing party, which
was under Mr. W. E. Webb’s leadership.
After lunch Mr. Webb’s party bade them _au revoir_ and went off to
climb one of the cracks on the far end of the crags. After their climb
they foregathered on Mickledore Ridge, and thence set off along the
base of the cliff to regain their knapsacks, which had been left at the
lunching-place.
As they neared the foot of the Pinnacle they heard a shout, but thought
it came from the valley below. Leisurely they rounded a corner, and
there, about fifty yards away, in the vicinity of the screes where they
had lunched, saw four figures stretched out and lying quite still.
In a disconnected way they thought at first that these four figures
were asleep, though it was a peculiar place to fall asleep in; then
something unusual about their attitudes became apparent, and not till
then did the awful reality flash upon them.
They tore across the rough intervening ground and made a dreadful
discovery. Only Mr. Ridsdale was alive, and even he was obviously too
terribly injured to recover. As they approached he raised his head.
“I’ve been shouting for hours,” he murmured. “I’m afraid the others are
all gone, but look after them and don’t mind me.” As he feared, they
were past human aid, and death had evidently visited them with merciful
swiftness, for their bodies were already cold.
It was now nearly six o’clock, and little could be done for poor
Ridsdale, but Mr. Webb and another of his party stayed with him whilst
the other ran down to Wastdale for help.
From that time until nearly ten o’clock they did all in their power
to alleviate the sufferings of the survivor, who was in great pain.
Darkness set in before seven o’clock, and their lonely vigil, with the
wind sighing weirdly through the crags above their heads, their three
erstwhile friends lying dead around them, and poor Ridsdale moaning
and but half conscious most of the time, must have been an awful
experience. The remembrance of Ridsdale’s heroic appeal to them to tend
the others before him, and afterwards the manly efforts of Mr. Webb
and his friend to help and sustain their dying comrade in such awful
circumstances through those long, dark hours of waiting, must ever
linger with pride in the hearts of all true Englishmen. We may be a
degenerate race; but, if this Scawfell tragedy has done nothing else,
it has proved that there are still men amongst us.
Little more remains to be told. The rescue party arrived through the
darkness with a stretcher, and by the light of the lanterns, after
strenuous labour and weary suspense, succeeded in conveying the
survivor downward over the rough stones and shale, only to find, alas!
that their effort was in vain, for their burden expired about an hour
before they gained the shelter of the inn.
From what Mr. Ridsdale let fall in his delirium, and by an
investigation of the face of the Pinnacle from which the party fell,
it was not difficult to reconstruct their doings before the accident.
After Mr. Webb’s party had left them they started up the north face of
the Pinnacle, a climb that had not hitherto been accomplished, with Mr.
Broadrick leading. He must subsequently have relinquished it, however,
for their position on the rope when found showed that Mr. Garrett had
taken over the lead. From a narrow ledge about two hundred feet up the
sheer rock-face Mr. Garrett slipped, and the others, not being well
placed to sustain a shock, were plucked one after another from their
holds and dashed to the screes below.
Apart from Mr. Garrett’s slip, there were two prime contributory causes
of the accident. The first was the perseverance of the party beyond
where good anchorage (a place where the leader could be checked by
the rope in case of a slip) was obtainable; and the second was in not
turning back and abandoning the climb when Mr. Broadrick, by far the
most experienced and careful man in the party, gave up the leadership.
It is easy to be wise after the event, but similar circumstances may
arise some day on another climb. If the Scawfell Pinnacle disaster
and its lesson are then recalled, it may be the means of working the
salvation of future climbers, and the loss of four valuable men,
plucked off in their prime, may not have been in vain.
[Illustration]
_Cupid and the Dentist._
BY DR. PAUL S. COLEMAN.
The man who interferes in the love affairs of the passionate,
hot-blooded people of Central America is likely to find he has
stirred up a veritable hornets’ nest, and will be lucky if
he escapes with his life. Such, at least, was Dr. Coleman’s
experience in Salvador, but fortunately everything ended
happily for all concerned.
Those readers of THE WIDE WORLD who are familiar with my
former narrative, entitled “Fallen Among Thieves,”[1] will remember
that my object in going into Central America was for the purpose of
practising dentistry.
[1] See April, 1908, issue.--ED.
While actively engaged in my profession in the Salvadorean city of
Santa Ana, the following series of incidents occurred, which served to
put a great deal of excitement into what might otherwise have been a
somewhat humdrum existence.
Before going farther it is necessary that the reader should understand
some of the characteristics of the Salvadoreans, who are descendants of
the ancient Spanish adventurers, with an admixture of native blood.
The women, in my humble opinion, are for intelligence, character,
and beauty the superiors of any other nation inhabiting the southern
portion of the Western Hemisphere. As for the men, the Spanish
blood seems to predominate in point of passion, for, besides being
the most valiant soldier in time of war of any Central American
race, the Salvadorean is also the most ardent lover and the most
jealously-inclined towards his inamorata of any person upon the face of
the earth. That also is my humble opinion, and that I have good grounds
for my statement will presently appear.
There are just two things the foreigner in Salvador must not do: he
must not poke his nose into political squabbles or try to interfere in
a love affair. Ten times out of ten, if you do, it will be to your very
great sorrow not counting the danger you run.
Now, when the wealthy coffee-planter or “hacienda” owner has need
of the services of a doctor or dental surgeon he never thinks of
leaving his plantation, but rounds up his mule-train, heads it with
an excellent saddle animal, sends it off to the doctor, and invites
the latter to pay him a visit. Experience has taught the practitioners
that these invitations are very remunerative, and when the call comes
business must certainly be very brisk to warrant a refusal. I, for
one, have never found it advisable to decline, and so it happened that
one Sunday afternoon I received a polite note requesting me to visit
the Señor Don Eduardo Castillo, owner of the immense coffee plantation
known as “Las Flores.” I should mention here that I have been compelled
to use assumed names, for the family concerned is one of the most
prominent in Salvador, and would not care for the notoriety which the
publication of their name would give them.
Next morning found me with my entire dental paraphernalia packed
upon the backs of a number of mules, and myself, under the escort of
half-a-dozen servants, traversing the mountain trails leading around
the base of the big volcano eight miles north of Santa Ana, upon
the way to the “finca” of Las Flores. The journey was made without
incident, though it was far into the night before we arrived, the
distance traversed being something like forty-five miles.
Señor Eduardo met me at the door, and after partaking of a late dinner,
being very much fatigued, I retired to my room, which was situated at
the extreme end of the immense building. In point of furnishings and
size the place constituted a small palace. Indeed, the manner in which
the wealthy owners of these South American coffee plantations have
managed to gather the comforts of life and many luxuries at so great a
distance from a seaport or railroad is perfectly astounding. They have
practically every modern convenience, and many others which you or I
have never been used to.
It was late next morning when I awoke, very sore and stiff from my long
ride. I found, however, that I was just in time for “coffee,” which is
usually served at ten o’clock. Here I had the pleasure of meeting the
members of the family, consisting of the mother, an aunt, one son, and
two very charming daughters, both of whom spoke perfect English, having
attended a school in the City of London for several years. I decided
immediately that my four weeks’ visit was going to be very enjoyable,
and I flattered myself that I had made a fairly good impression upon my
hosts.
Life upon the “finca” was indeed delightful. Situated as it was at
an altitude of over four thousand feet above sea-level, the days
and nights were exhilaratingly cool and pleasant. I soon struck up
a friendship--which still lasts--with the son of the house, and we
enjoyed many pleasant hours in riding over the surrounding country. To
the left, adjoining the plantation, was the immense cattle ranch owned
by a young man named Gonzales, who, I found out later, was very much
in love with the elder of Don Eduardo’s daughters, while three leagues
farther on was another coffee plantation owned by an old man named
Vasquez, whose son, I understood, had been paying much attention to the
younger girl.
Two weeks passed very happily and speedily. Very early in my visit I
became acquainted with how matters stood as regards the two courtships.
The younger Vasquez, Roberto, had already proposed and had been
accepted, while the other young man, Enrique, had been calling for
several years--indeed, he often came two or three times a day--but as
yet had never declared himself.
Being by this time well acquainted with Roberto and his betrothed, I
laughingly suggested one afternoon to the two daughters and himself
that it would be a good idea, as a means of finding out exactly what
Enrique’s intentions were, for me to kiss the Señorita Hortensia one
day when Enrique called, doing it in such a manner that the bashful
lover could not fail to see, but so that his witnessing the act should
appear an accident. The señorita, being full of girlish fun, had no
objection, and so it came to pass that the very next afternoon, when
we saw Enrique coming over, Miss Hortensia and I repaired to a very
secluded spot upon the veranda, but one which was clearly visible
from the road. There, in plain view of the approaching Enrique, I
administered the salute--much to my satisfaction. If I could have
foreseen its outcome, however, I should certainly have thought twice
about my action.
Enrique saw me kiss the señorita just as he was dismounting, and, with
an almost imperceptible start, he remounted his horse and galloped
away. Then things began to happen. Hortensia--girl-like--retired to
her room and commenced to weep, while her sister Leonia became very
distant and chilly in her manner towards me, impressing upon me that
if anything unpleasant occurred it would be all my fault. The only
ones with whom I seemed to be upon anything like decent terms were
the son and the elder people, who knew nothing about the state of
miniature warfare I had thoughtlessly provoked. Dinner that evening, in
consequence, was a very formal affair.
As, somewhat disconsolately, I pondered over the matter that night
before retiring, I resolved to hunt out Enrique early next day, explain
things fully, and endeavour to bring about a reconciliation. Having
settled the affair satisfactorily in my own mind, I climbed into bed
for the night, and, after reading a short while, dropped off to sleep,
leaving a lamp burning at my bedside.
How long I slept I do not know, but suddenly something woke me, and
I opened my eyes to behold, standing at the foot of the bed, calmly
surveying my person, a disreputable-looking Indian! In his right hand
he held a “machete,” or huge cane knife, about four feet long, and as
I watched him he ran his finger along the edge, seemingly to ascertain
whether or not it was sharp enough for the business he intended it for.
Grabbing my pillow, I sprang to my feet on the bed and backed against
the wall--just in time to catch a heavy blow from the machete upon the
pillow, which I held in front of me as a shield. For the moment I had
forgotten all about the revolver which I usually kept under my head,
and which now lay exposed in the lamplight. As I reached for it the
would-be assassin’s nerve failed him, and with a rush he fled out of
the door. A moment later I heard him mount a horse and make off at a
gallop down the road.
There was, of course, no more sleep for me until daylight. I had no
doubt that Enrique, maddened by jealousy, was the prime mover in the
performance, which, needless to say, upset me very badly. Nevertheless,
I had resolved to see Enrique that day, and now I was more than ever
anxious to clear up the unfortunate misunderstanding that had arisen.
So, saddling early, I proceeded towards the cattle ranch, taking with
me the boy servant who had been kindly assigned to me by Don Eduardo.
When we were about a mile from the ranch the boy, to my amazement,
suddenly doubled up and began to howl. Springing from my horse and
running to him, I found a bullet-hole through the fleshy part of his
thigh, from which the blood flowed freely. The wound had undoubtedly
been caused by a high-power rifle bullet, fired at such a distance that
it was impossible to hear the report. Dressing the wound as best I
could, I took the lad up behind me and made for Las Flores, where I put
him to bed and redressed the wound. Things were getting a good bit too
lively for my liking, and I would much rather have been in Santa Ana
just then than where I was. If I had not been afraid of assassination
on the road I would certainly have made my departure immediately.
This second adventure, of course, caused considerable excitement in
the family, as I had already mentioned my night’s alarm, and I was the
object of much sympathy from the young ladies, who now began to take
my part. I sent several notes over to Enrique’s place, and Don Eduardo
also went across to look him up, but he was not to be found.
[Illustration: “ENRIQUE SAW ME KISS THE SEÑORITA JUST AS HE WAS
DISMOUNTING.”]
About this time another misfortune befell me. Roberto came over and
found me holding a very earnest conversation with his betrothed.
Knowing nothing of previous happenings, this fiery-tempered young
man became violently enraged, and, without asking any explanation,
immediately attacked me with a heavy riding-whip. We had a smart
struggle, but I succeeded in wresting it from him and knocking him down
with a blow from my fist. Springing to his feet with a snarl, he made
off as fast as his legs would carry him, leaving his horse tied to the
gate. The señorita promptly swooned, and the last glimpse Roberto got
of us showed me carrying the young lady in my arms into the house. I
have a faint recollection of seeing him shake his fist at me and grind
his gleaming white teeth.
Well, now I was “up against it” properly, with two heart-broken girls
on my hands and two lovers vowing to have my life. I discussed the
matter at length with Don Eduardo, explaining to him that, while I
liked the young ladies very much indeed and valued their friendship
greatly, I was not in love with them and had done nothing to warrant
anyone in thinking I was, the “kiss incident” notwithstanding. It
seemed very hard lines that I should go in peril of my life and get
into general hot water through trying, by means of a harmless joke, to
bring a bashful or undecided lover “up to the scratch.”
Needless to say, I was very much worried by the turn things were
taking, and for several days I got very little sleep. One night, while
tossing wakefully upon my bed, I seemed to feel some danger in the air,
so much so that I got up and lit the lamp to get rid of the feeling of
depression which seemed to overwhelm me. Lying down again, I fell into
a light slumber. Presently I was awakened by something touching me upon
the shoulder. Opening my eyes, I saw right above me, with his head and
one shoulder through the window, the same old Indian who had previously
visited me. He was trying to slip a noose over my head by means of a
long stick, but the instant I opened my eyes he disappeared. A moment
later the noose slipped over the bed-post, dragging the entire end out
bodily and jerking it against the wall. There followed a snort and a
grunt outside, and the sound of a horse dashing off.
Next morning revealed a broken saddle to which the rope had been tied,
it evidently being the intention to jerk me through the window--which
stood eleven feet from the ground--thus breaking my neck most
effectually.