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ADVENTURES ON THE ROOF OF
THE WORLD
SOME
BOOKS ON MOUNTAINEERING
=The Annals of Mont Blanc=: A Monograph. By C. E. MATHEWS, sometime
President of the Alpine Club. With Map, 6 Swan-types and other
Illustrations, and Facsimiles. Demy 8vo, cloth gilt, 21s. net.
=The Life of Man on the High Alps=: Studies made on Monte Rosa. By
ANGELO MOSSO. Translated from the Second Edition of the Italian by
E. LOUGH KIESOW, in collaboration with F. KIESOW. With numerous
Illustrations and Diagrams. Royal 8vo, cloth, 21s.
=The Early Mountaineers=: The Stories of their Lives. By FRANCIS
GRIBBLE. Fully Illustrated. Demy 8vo, cloth gilt, 21s.
=The Climbs of Norman-Neruda.= Edited, with an Account of his last
Climb, by MAY NORMAN-NERUDA. Demy 8vo, cloth, 21s.
=In the Ice World of Himalaya.= By FANNY BULLOCK WORKMAN and WILLIAM
HUNTER WORKMAN. With four large Maps and nearly 100 Illustrations.
Demy 8vo, cloth gilt, 16s. Also a 6s. Edition.
=From the Alps to the Andes.= By MATHIAS ZURBRIGGEN. Demy 8vo, cloth,
10s. 6d. net.
=Mountaineering in the Sierra Nevada.= By CLARENCE KING. Crown 8vo,
cloth, 6s. net.
=True Tales of Mountain Adventure= (for Non-Climbers, Young and Old).
By Mrs AUBREY LE BLOND (Mrs Main). Demy 8vo, cloth, 10s. 6d. net.
LONDON: T. FISHER UNWIN.
[Illustration: THE FINDING OF THE LAST BIVOUAC OF MESSRS. DONKIN AND FOX
IN THE CAUCASUS. (P. 116.)
From a drawing by Mr. Willink after a sketch by Captain Powell. Taken,
by kind permission of Mr. Douglas Freshfield, from "The Exploration of
the Caucasus."
_Frontispiece._]
ADVENTURES ON THE
ROOF OF THE WORLD
BY
MRS AUBREY LE BLOND
(MRS MAIN)
AUTHOR OF
"MY HOME IN THE ALPS," "TRUE TALES OF MOUNTAIN ADVENTURE," ETC.
_ILLUSTRATED_
[Illustration: colophon]
LONDON
T. FISHER UNWIN
PATERNOSTER SQUARE
1904
(_All rights reserved._)
TO
JOSEPH IMBODEN
MY GUIDE AND FRIEND FOR TWENTY YEARS,
I dedicate
THESE RECORDS OF A PASTIME IN WHICH I OWE
MY SHARE TO HIS SKILL, COURAGE, AND
HELPFUL COMPANIONSHIP.
PREFACE
"Dear heart," said Tommy, when Mr Barlow had finished his narrative,
"what a number of accidents people are subject to in this world!"
"It is very true," answered Mr Barlow, "but as that is the case, it is
necessary to improve ourselves in every possible manner, so that we may
be able to struggle against them."
Thus quoted, from _Sandford and Merton_, a president of the Alpine Club.
The following True Tales from the Hills, if they serve to emphasise not
only the perils of mountaineering but the means by which they can be
lessened, will have accomplished the aim of their editor.
This book is not intended for the climber. To him most of the tales will
be familiar in the volumes on the shelves of his library or on the lips
of his companions during restful hours in the Alps. But the non-climber
rarely sees _The Alpine Journal_ and the less popular books on
mountaineering, nor would he probably care to search in their pages for
narratives likely to interest him.
To seek out tales of adventure easily intelligible to the non-climber,
to edit them in popular form, to point out the lessons which most
adventures can teach to those who may climb themselves one day, has
occupied many pleasant hours, rendered doubly so by the feeling that I
shall again come into touch with the readers who gave so kindly a
greeting to my _True Tales of Mountain Adventure_. In that work I tried
to explain the principles of mountaineering and something of the nature
of glaciers and avalanches. Those chapters will, I think, be found
helpful by non-climbers who read the present volume.
For much kindly advice and help in compiling this work I am indebted to
Mr Henry Mayhew, of the British Museum, and to Mr Clinton Dent. Mrs
Maund has enabled me to quote from a striking article by her late
husband. Sir W. Martin Conway, Sir H. Seymour King, Messrs Tuckett, G.
E. Foster, Cecil Slingsby, Harold Spender, and Edward Fitzgerald have
been good enough to allow me to make long extracts from their writings.
Messrs Newnes have generously permitted me to quote from articles which
appeared in their publications, and the editor of _The Cornhill_ has
sanctioned my reprinting portions of a paper from his magazine. I am
also indebted to the editor of _M'Clure's Magazine_ for a similar
courtesy.
Mons. A. Campagne, Inspector of Water and Forests (France), allows me to
make use of two very interesting photographs from his work on the Valley
of Barège. Several friends have lent me photographs for reproduction in
this work, and their names appear under each of the illustrations I owe
to them. Messrs Spooner have kindly allowed me to use several by the
late Mr W. F. Donkin. When not otherwise stated, the photographs are
from my own negatives.
I take this opportunity of heartily thanking those climbers, some of
them personally unknown to me, whose assistance has rendered this work
possible.
E. LE BLOND.
67 THE DRIVE,
BRIGHTON, _December 1903_.
CONTENTS
CHAP. PAGE
PREFACE ix
I. SOME TALES OF ALPINE GUIDES 1
II. TWO DAYS ON AN ICE-SLOPE 23
III. SOME AVALANCHE ADVENTURES 51
IV. A MONTH BENEATH AN AVALANCHE 65
V. A MONTH BENEATH AN AVALANCHE (_continued_) 81
VI. AN EXCITING CAUCASIAN ASCENT 99
VII. A MELANCHOLY QUEST 116
VIII. SOME NARROW ESCAPES AND FATAL ACCIDENTS 124
IX. A NIGHT ADVENTURE ON THE DENT BLANCHE 152
X. ALONE ON THE DENT BLANCHE 167
XI. A STIRRING DAY ON THE ROSETTA 182
XII. THE ZINAL ROTHHORN TWICE IN ONE DAY 195
XIII. BENIGHTED ON A SNOW PEAK 208
XIV. THE STORY OF A BIG JUMP 222
XV. A PERILOUS FIRST ASCENT 235
XVI. THUNDERSTORMS IN THE ALPS 257
XVII. LANDSLIPS IN THE MOUNTAINS 275
XVIII. SOME TERRIBLE EXPERIENCES 291
XIX. FALLING STONES AND FALLING BODIES 310
GLOSSARY 327
INDEX 329
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
The last bivouac of Messrs Donkin and Fox
in the Caucasus _Frontispiece_
Christian Almer, Joseph Imboden, Jean
Antoine Carrel, Alexander Burgener _To face page_ 3
The last steep bit near the top--At the end
of a hot day--An instant's halt to choose
the best way up a steep wall of rock--The
ice-axes are stowed away in a crack,
to be brought up by the last man " " 6
Auguste Gentinetta--Auguste Gentinetta
on the way to the Matterhorn--The
beginning of the climb up the Matterhorn--The
spot where was the _bergschrund_
into which Mr Sloggett's party
fell " " 8
Auguste Gentinetta on a mountain-top--The
ice-cliffs over which Mr Sloggett's party
would have fallen had they not been
dashed into the _bergschrund_--The
ruined chapel by the Schwarzsee--The
last resting-place at Zermatt of some
English climbers " " 11
On a snow ridge--A halt for lunch above
the snow-line--Mrs Aubrey Le Blond " " 51
A cutting through an avalanche--The
remains of an avalanche--An avalanche
of stones--A mountain chapel " " 59
A mountain path--Peasants of the
mountains--A village buried beneath an
avalanche--Terraces planted to
prevent avalanches " " 65
A typical Caucasian landscape " " 105
Melchior Anderegg, his son and grandchild " " 124
Crevasses and séracs--On the border of a
crevasse--A snow bridge--Soft snow in
the afternoon " " 133
The Bétemps Hut--Ski-ing--A fall on Skis--A
great crevasse " " 137
The balloon "Stella" getting ready to start
(p. 301)--A bivouac in the olden days--Boulder
practice--The last rocks
descending " " 148
Provisions for a mountain hotel--An outlook
over rock and snow--Dent Blanche
from Schwarzsee (winter)--Dent Blanche
from Theodule Glacier (summer) " " 152
Hut on Col de Bértol--Ascending the
Aiguilles Rouges--Summit of the Dent
Blanche--Cornice on the Dent Blanche " " 156
Ambrose Supersax (p. 209)--View from the
Rosetta " " 182
Climbing party leaving Zermatt--The
Gandegg Hut--The Trift Hotel--Zinal
Rothhorn from Trift Valley " " 195
Zinal Rothhorn--Top of a Chamonix Aiguille--A
steep face of rock--"Leading
strings" " " 202
A _bergschrund_--Homewards over the snow-slopes " " 230
The Ecrins--Clouds breaking over a ridge--Summit
of the Jungfrau--Wind-blown
snow " " 235
The Ecrins from the Glacier Blanc " " 247
Slab climbing--A rock ridge--On the Dent
du Géant--The top at last " " 252
The second largest glacier in the Alps--On
a ridge in the Oberland " " 259
Thirteen thousand feet above the sea--On
the Furggen Grat--A "personally
conducted" party on the Breithorn--Packing
the knapsack " " 269
Monte Rosa from the Furggen Grat--The
Matterhorn from the Wellenkuppe " " 272
A glacier lake--Amongst the séracs--Taking
off the rope--Water at last! " " 297
The balloon "Stella" starting from Zermatt--A
moment after " " 298
The Matterhorn from the Hörnli Ridge--The
Matterhorn from the Furgg Glacier--Joseph
Biner--The Matterhorn Hut " " 302
A hot day on a mountain-top--A summit
near Saas--Luncheon _en route_ (winter)--Luncheon
on a glacier pass (summer) " " 310
A tedious snow-slope--A sitting glissade--A
glacier-capped summit--On the
frontier " " 312
Unpleasant going--On the crest of an old
moraine " " 317
An awkward bit of climbing--Guides at
Zermatt--The Boval Hut--_Au revoir!_ " " 322
ADVENTURES ON THE ROOF OF THE WORLD
CHAPTER I
SOME TALES OF ALPINE GUIDES
In a former work, I have given some details of the training of an Alpine
guide, so I will not repeat them here.
The mountain guides of Switzerland form a class unlike any other, yet in
the high standard of honour and devotion they display towards those in
their charge, one is reminded of two bodies of men especially deserving
of respect and confidence, namely, the Civil Guards of Spain and the
Royal Irish Constabulary. Like these, the Alpine guide oftentimes risks
his health, strength--even his life--for persons who are sometimes in
themselves the cause of the peril encountered. Like these, mere bodily
strength and the best will in the world need to be associated with
intelligence and foresight. Like these, also, keen, fully-developed
powers of observation are essential. A certain climber of early days has
wittily related in _The Alpine Journal_ a little anecdote which bears on
this point. "Some years ago," writes the late Mr F. Craufurd Grove, "a
member of this Club was ascending a small and easy peak in company with
a famous Oberland guide. Part of their course lay over a snow-field
sinking gradually on one side, sharply ended by a precipice on the
other. The two were walking along, not far from the edge of this
precipice, when the Englishman, thinking that an easier path might be
made by going still nearer the edge, diverged a little from his
companion's track. To his considerable surprise, the guide immediately
caught hold of him, and pulled him back with a great deal more vigour
than ceremony, well-nigh throwing him down in the operation. Wrathful,
and not disinclined to return the compliment, the Englishman
remonstrated. The guide's only answer was to point to a small crack,
apparently like scores of other cracks in the _névé_, which ran for some
distance parallel to the edge of the precipice, and about 15 feet from
it.
[Illustration: JEAN ANTOINE CARREL OF VALOURNANCHE.
By Signor Vittorio Sella.]
[Illustration: CHRISTIAN ALMER OF GRINDELWALD.]
[Illustration: ALEXANDER BURGENER OF EISTEN (SAASTHAL).]
[Illustration: JOSEPH IMBODEN OF ST. NICHOLAS.
_To face p. 3._]
"The traveller was not satisfied, but he was too wise a man to spend
time in arguing and disputing, while a desired summit was still some
distance above him. They went on their way, gained the top, and the
traveller's equanimity was restored by a splendid view. When, on the
descent, the scene of the morning's incident was reached, the guide
pointed to the little crack in the _névé_, which had grown perceptibly
wider. 'This marks,' he said, 'the place where the true snow-field ends.
I feel certain that the ice from here to the edge is nothing but an
unsupported cornice hanging over the tremendous precipice beneath. It
might possibly have borne your weight in the early morning, though I
don't think it would. As to what it will bear now that a powerful sun
has been on it for some time--why, let us see.' Therewith he struck the
_névé_ on the further side of the ice sharply with his axe. A huge mass,
some 20 or 30 feet long, immediately broke away, and went roaring down
the cliff in angry avalanche. Whereat the traveller was full of
amazement and admiration, and thought how there, on an easy mountain and
in smiling weather, he had not been very far from making himself into an
avalanche, to his own great discomfort and to the infinite tribulation
of the Alpine Club."
A fatal accident was only narrowly averted by the skill of the famous
guide Zurbriggen when making an ascent in the New Zealand Alps with Mr
Edward Fitzgerald. I am indebted to this gentleman for permission to
quote the account from his article in _The Alpine Journal_.
The party were making the ascent of Mount Sefton, and were much troubled
by the looseness of the rock on the almost vertical face which they had
to climb. However, at last they reached a ridge, "along which," writes
Mr Fitzgerald, "we proceeded between two precipices, descending to the
Copland and to the Mueller valleys--some 6000 feet sheer drop on either
hand.
"We had next to climb about 300 feet of almost perpendicular cliff. The
rocks were peculiarly insecure, and we were obliged to move by turns,
wherever possible throwing down such rocks as seemed most dangerous. At
times even this resource was denied us, so dangerous was the violent
concussion with which these falling masses would shake the ridge to
which we clung. I carried both the ice axes, so as to leave Zurbriggen
both hands free to test each rock as he slowly worked his way upwards,
while I did my utmost to avoid being in a position vertically beneath
him.
"Suddenly, as I was coming up a steep bit, while Zurbriggen waited for
me a few steps above, a large boulder, which I touched with my right
hand, gave way with a crash and fell, striking my chest. I had been just
on the point of passing up the two ice axes to Zurbriggen, that he might
place them in a cleft of rock a little higher up, and thus leave me
both hands free for my climb. He was in the act of stooping and
stretching out his arms to take them from my uplifted left hand, and the
slack rope between us lay coiled at his feet. The falling boulder hurled
me down head foremost, and I fell about 8 feet, turning a complete
somersault in the air. Suddenly I felt the rope jerk, and I struck
against the side of the mountain with great force. I feared I should be
stunned and drop the two ice axes, and I knew that on these our lives
depended. Without them we should never have succeeded in getting down
the glacier, through all the intricate ice-fall.
"After the rope had jerked me up I felt it again slip and give way, and
I came down slowly for a couple of yards. I took this to mean that
Zurbriggen was being wrenched from his foot-hold, and I was just
contemplating how I should feel dashing down the 6000 feet below, and
wondering vaguely how many times I should strike the rocks on the way. I
saw the block that I had dislodged going down in huge bounds; it struck
the side three or four times, and then, taking an enormous plunge of
about 2000 feet, embedded itself in the glacier now called the Tuckett
Glacier.
"I felt the rope stop and pull me up short. I called to Zurbriggen and
asked him if he were solidly placed. I was now swinging in the air like
a pendulum, with my back to the mountain, scarcely touching the rock
face. It would have required a great effort to turn round and grasp the
rock, and I was afraid the strain which would thus necessarily be placed
on the rope might dislodge Zurbriggen.
"His first fear was that I had been half killed, for he saw the rock
fall almost on top of me; but, as a matter of fact, after striking my
chest it had glanced off to the right and passed under my right arm; it
had started from a point so very near to me that it had not time to gain
sufficient impetus to strike me with great force. Zurbriggen's first
words were, 'Are you very much hurt?' I answered, 'No,' and again I
asked him whether he were firmly placed. 'No,' he replied, 'I am very
badly situated here. Turn round as soon as you can; I cannot hold you
much longer.' I gave a kick at the rocks with one foot, and with a great
effort managed to swing myself round.
"Luckily there was a ledge near me, and so, getting some hand-hold, I
was soon able to ease the strain on the rope. A few moments later I
struggled a little way up, and at last handed to Zurbriggen the ice
axes, which I had managed to keep hold of throughout my fall. In fact,
my thoughts had been centred on them during the whole of the time. We
were in too bad a place to stop to speak to one another; but
Zurbriggen, climbing up a bit further, got himself into a firm position,
and I scrambled up after him, so that in about ten minutes we had passed
this steep bit.
[Illustration: The last steep bit near the top.]
[Illustration: An instant's halt to choose the best way up a steep wall
of rock.]
[Illustration: At the end of a hot day.]
[Illustration: The ice-axes are stowed away in a crack, to be brought up
by the last man.
_To face p. 6._]
"We now sat for a moment to recover ourselves, for our nerves had been
badly shaken by what had so nearly proved a fatal accident. At the time
everything happened so rapidly that we had not thought much of it, more
especially as we knew that we needed to keep our nerve and take
immediate action; but once it was all over we both felt the effects, and
sat for about half an hour before we could even move again. I learned
that Zurbriggen, the moment I fell, had snatched up the coil of rope
which lay at his feet, and had luckily succeeded in getting hold of the
right end first, so that he was soon able to bring me nearly to rest;
but the pull upon him was so great, and he was so badly placed, that he
had to let the rope slip through his fingers, removing all the skin, in
order to ease the strain while he braced himself in a better position,
from which he was able finally to stop me. He told me that had I not
been able to turn and grasp the rocks he must inevitably have been
dragged from his foot-hold, as the ledge upon which he stood was
literally crumbling away beneath his feet. We discovered that two
strands of the rope had been cut through by the falling rock, so that I
had been suspended in mid-air by a single strand."
The remainder of the way was far from easy, but without further mishap
the party eventually gained the summit.
That there are many grades of Alpine guides was amusingly exemplified
once upon a time at the Montanvert, where in front of the hotel stood
the famous Courmazeur guide, Emil Rey (afterwards killed on the Dent du
Géant), talking to the Duke of Abruzzi and other first-rate climbers,
while a little way off lounged some extremely indifferent specimens of
the Chamonix _Societé des Guides_. Presently a tourist, got up with much
elegance, and leaning on a tall stick surmounted by a chamois horn,
appeared upon the scene, and addressed himself to Emil Rey. "Combien
pour traverser la Mer de Glace?" he enquired.
"Monsieur," replied Rey, removing his hat with one hand and with the
other indicating the group hard by, "voila les guides pour la Mer de
Glace! Moi, je suis pour la grande montagne!"
[Illustration: Auguste Gentinetta, of Zermatt, 1903.]
[Illustration: The climb up the Matterhorn by the ordinary Swiss route
begins at the rocky corner to the left of the picture.]
[Illustration: Auguste Gentinetta on the way to the Matterhorn.]
[Illustration: The BERGSCHRUND, open when the accident to Mr. Sloggett's
party took place, was above the ice cliff below which the man is
standing.
_To face p. 8._]
One of the most wonderful escapes in the whole annals of mountaineering
was that of a young Englishman, Mr Sloggett, and the well-known guide,
Auguste Gentinetta, the second guide, Alphons Fürrer, being killed on
the spot. They had made a successful ascent of the Matterhorn on 27th
July 1900, and were the first of three parties on the descent. When
nearly down the mountain, not far from the Hörnli ridge, an avalanche of
stones and rocks swept them off their feet. Fürrer's skull was smashed,
and he was killed immediately, and the three, roped together, were
precipitated down a wall of ice. Their axes were wrenched from their
grasp, and they could do nothing to check themselves. Gentinetta
retained full consciousness during the whole of that awful descent, and
while without the slightest hope that they could escape with their
lives, he in no way lost his presence of mind. About 800 feet below the
spot where their fall commenced was a small _Bergschrund_, or crack
across the ice. This was full of stones and sand, and into it the
helpless climbers were flung; had they shot over it nothing in this
world could have saved them. Gentinetta, though much bruised and knocked
about, had no bones broken, and he at once took means to prevent an even
worse disaster than that which had already happened, for Mr Sloggett had
fallen head downwards, with his face buried in sand, and was on the
point of suffocation. Well was it for him that his guide was a man of
promptness and courage. Without losing an instant Gentinetta pulled up
his traveller and got his face free, clearing the sand out of his mouth,
and doing all that mortal could for him. Mr Sloggett's jaw and two of
his teeth were broken, but his other injuries were far less than might
have been expected. Nevertheless, the position of the two survivors was
still a most perilous one. They were exactly at the spot on to which
almost every stone which detached itself from that side of the mountain
was sure to fall, and their ice axes were lost, rendering it almost
impossible for them to work their way to a place of safety. Still, to
his infinite credit, the guide did not lose heart. By some means, which
he now declares he is unable to understand, he contrived to climb, and
to assist his gentleman, up that glassy, blood-stained wall, which even
for a party uninjured, and properly equipped, it would have been no
light task to surmount. This desperate achievement was rendered doubly
trying by Gentinetta's being perfectly aware that if any more stones
fell the two mountaineers must inevitably be swept away for the second
time. At last they gained their tracks and sought a sheltered spot,
where they could safely rest a little. Here they were joined by the
other parties, who rendered invaluable help during the rest of the
descent. The two sufferers finally arrived at the Schwarzsee Hotel,
whence they were carried down the same evening to Zermatt.
[Illustration: Auguste Gentinetta on a Mountain Top, 1903.]
[Illustration: The ruined Chapel by the Schwarzsee.]
[Illustration: The cliff of ice over which Mr. Sloggett's party must
have precipitated if they had not been dashed into the BERGSCHRUND.]
[Illustration: The last resting place at Zermatt of some English
climbers.
_To face p. 11._]
The next day a strong party started for the scene of the accident to
recover the body of the dead guide, Fürrer. It was a difficult and a
dangerous task, and those who examined the wall down which the fall
took place expressed their amazement that two wounded men, without axes,
should have performed what seemed the incredible feat of getting up it.
Both Mr Sloggett and Gentinetta made an excellent recovery, though they
were laid up for many weeks after their memorable descent of the
Matterhorn.
The qualities found in a first-class guide include not only skill in
climbing, but the ability to form a sound conclusion when overtaken by
storm and mist. The following experience which took place in 1874, and
which I am permitted by Mrs Maund to quote from her late husband's
article in _The Alpine Journal_, proves, by its happy termination, that
Maurer's judgment in a critical position was thoroughly to be relied on.
Mr Maund had just arrived at La Bérarde, in Dauphiné, and he writes:--
"The morning of the 29th broke wet and stormy, and Rodier strongly
advised me not to start; this, however, was out of the question, as I
was due at La Grave on that day to keep my appointment with Mr
Middlemore. After waiting an hour, to give the weather a chance, we
started in drizzling rain at 5 A.M. Desolate as the Val des Étançons
must always look, it appeared doubly gloomy that morning, with its
never-ending monotony of rock and moraine unrelieved by a single patch
of green. As we neared the glacier, the weather fortunately cleared,
and the clouds, which till then had enveloped everything, began to mount
with that marvellous rapidity only noticeable in mountain districts,
leaving half revealed the mighty cliffs of the Meije towering 5000 feet
almost sheer above us. As the wind caught and carried into the air the
frozen sheets of snow on his summit, the old mountain looked like some
giant bill distributer throwing his advertisements about. Entirely
protected from the wind, we whiled away an hour and a half, searching
with our telescope for any feasible line of attack. Having satisfied
ourselves that on this side the mountain presented enormous, if not
insurmountable, difficulties, we shouldered our packs and made tracks
for the Brèche, which we reached at 11.45.
"Meanwhile the weather had become worse again, and during the last part
of the ascent it was snowing heavily; the wind too, from which we had
been protected on the south side of the col, was so strong that we were
absolutely obliged to crawl over to the north side. Our position was by
no means a pleasant one; neither Martin nor I knew anything of the pass,
and Rodier, who had told us overnight that he had crossed it more than
once, seemed to know no more, and although sure of the exact bearing of
La Grave, we could not, owing to the fast falling snow, see further
than 300 or 400 yards in advance; added to this, it was intensely cold.
Having paid Rodier 20 francs (a perfect waste of money, as it is
impossible to mistake the way to the Brèche from the Val des Étançons,
and, as I have said, he could not give us the least clue to the descent
on the La Grave side), we dismissed him, hoping devoutly that he might
break his--well, his ice axe, we'll say--on the way down. By keeping
away to the right of the Brèche and down a steep slope, we crossed the
crevasses which lay at its base without difficulty. We then bore to the
left across a plateau, on which the snow lay very deep; floundering
through this sometimes waist deep, we reached the upper ice-fall of the
glacier, and after crossing several crevasses became involved in a
perfect net-work of them. After a consultation, we determined to try to
the right, but met with no better success, as again we were checked by
an absolute labyrinth. At last, about five o'clock, we took to some
rocks which divide the glacier into two branches. Meanwhile the snow was
falling thicker and thicker, and, driven by the strong N.W. wind which
caught up and eddied about what had already fallen, it appeared to come
from every quarter at once. It was impossible to see more than a few
yards in advance, and the rocks which under ordinary circumstances
would have been easy, were, with their coating of at least 4 inches of
snow, much the reverse, as it was quite impossible to see where to put
hand or foot. Our only trust was in our compass, which assured us that
while keeping to the backbone of this ridge we were descending in an
almost direct line towards La Grave.
"We had at most two hours of daylight before us, but there was still a
hope that by following our present line we should get off the glacier
before dark. How I regretted now the time lost in the morning. A little
before seven we were brought to a standstill; our further direct descent
was cut off by a precipice, while the rocks on either side fell almost
sheer to the glaciers beneath. It was too late to think of looking for
another road, so nothing now remained but to find the best shelter we
could and bivouac for the night. We re-ascended to a small platform we
had passed a short time before, and selecting the biggest and most
sheltered bit of rock on it, we piled up the few movable stones there
were about, to form the outside wall to our shelter, and having cleared
away as much of the snow as we could from the inside, laid our ice axes
across the top as rafters, with a sodden mackintosh--ironically called a
waterproof by Mr Carter--over all for a roof. Despite this garment, I
was wet to the skin. Luckily, we had each of us a spare flannel shirt
and stockings in our knapsacks, but as the meagre dimensions of our
shelter would not admit of the struggles attendant on a change, we were
obliged to go through the operation outside. I tried to be cheerful, and
Martin tried to be facetious as we wrung out our wet shirts while the
snow beat on our bare backs, but both attempts were lamentable failures.
If up to the present time my readers have not stripped in a snow-storm,
let me strongly advise them never to attempt it. Having got through the
performance as quickly as possible, we crawled into our shelter, but
here again my ill luck followed me, for in entering I managed to tread
on the tin wine-flask which Martin had thrown aside, and, my weight
forcing out the cork, every drop of wine escaped. After packing myself
away as well as I could in the shape of a pot-hook, Martin followed, and
pot-hooked himself alongside me. We were obliged to assume this
elementary shape, as the size of our shelter would not admit of our
lying straight. All the provisions that remained were then produced.
They consisted of a bit of bread about the size of a breakfast-roll,
one-third of a small pot of preserved meat, about two ounces of raw
bacon with the hide on, and half a small flask of a filthy compound
called Genèpie, a sort of liqueur; besides this, we mustered between us
barely a pipe-full of tobacco, and eight matches in a metal-box. The
provisions I divided into three equal parts--one-third for that night's
supper, and the remaining two-thirds for the next day. I need not
enlarge on the miseries of that night. The wind blew through the chinks
between the stones, bringing the snow with it, until the place seemed
all chinks; then the mackintosh with its weight of snow would come in
upon us, and we had with infinite difficulty to prop it up again, only
to go through the same operation an hour later; at last, in sheer
despair, we let it lie where it fell, and found to our relief it kept us
warmer in that position. The snow never ceased one moment although the
wind had fallen, and when morning broke there must have been nearly a
foot of it around and over us. A more desolate picture than that dawn I
have never seen. Snow everywhere. The rocks buried in it, and not a
point peeping out to relieve the unbroken monotony. The sky full of it,
without a break to relieve its leaden sameness, and the heavy flakes
falling with that persistent silence which adds so much to the
desolation of such a scene.
"I was all for starting; for making some attempt either to get down, or
to recross the col. Martin was dead against it--and I think now he was
right. First of all, we could not have seen more than a few yards ahead;
the rocks would have been considerably worse than they were the evening
before, and if we had once got involved amongst the crevasses it was on
the cards that we shouldn't get clear of them again; added to this, even
if we could hit off the col, what with want of sleep and food, and the
fatigue consequent on several hours' floundering in deep snow, we might
not have strength to reach it. At any rate, we decided not to start
until it cleared sufficiently to let us see where we were going. Our
meagre stock of provisions was redivided into three parts, one of which
we ate for breakfast. I then produced the pipe, but to our horror we
found the matches were still damp. Martin, who is a man of resource,
immediately opened his shirt and put the box containing them under his
arm to dry. Meanwhile the snow never ceased, and the day wore on without
a sign of the weather breaking. If it had not been for the excitement of
those matches, I do not know how we should have got through that day; at
last, however, after about six hours of Martin's fond embrace, one
consented to burn, and I succeeded in lighting the pipe. We took turns
at twelve whiffs each, and no smoke, I can conscientiously say, have I
ever enjoyed like that one. During this never-ending day we got a few
snatches of sleep, but the cold consequent on our wet clothes was so
great, our position so cramped, and the rocks on which we lay so
abominably sharp, that these naps were of the shortest duration.
"A little before six the snow ceased, and for a moment the sun tried to
wink at us through a chink in his snow-charged blanket, before he went
to bed--long enough, however, for us to see La Grave far below, with
every alp almost down to the village itself covered with its white
mantle.
"And then, as our second night closes in, the snow recommences, and we
draw closer together even than before; for we feel that during the long
hours to come we must economise to the fullest the little animal heat
left in us.
"That night I learnt to shiver, not the ordinary shivers, but fits
lasting a quarter of an hour, during which no amount of moral persuasion
could keep your limbs under control; and it was so catching! If either
of us began a solo, the other was sure to join in, and we shivered a
duet until quite exhausted. As we had nothing to drink, I had swallowed
a considerable quantity of snow to quench my thirst, and this, acting on
an almost empty stomach, produced burning heat within, while the cold,
which was now intense, acting externally, induced fever and
light-headedness, and once or twice I caught myself rambling. Martin,
too, was affected in the same way. The long hours wore on, and still
there was no sign of better weather. Towards midnight things looked very
serious. Martin, who had behaved like a brick, thought 'it was very hard
to perish like this in the flower of his age,' and I, too, thought of
writing a line as well as I was able in my pocket-book, bequeathing its
contents to my finder, then of sleeping if I could and waking up with
the Houris; but I had the laugh of him afterwards, because he thought
aloud and I to myself. However, this mood did not last long, and after
shaking hands, I do not quite know why, because we had not quarrelled,
we cuddled up again, and determined, whatever the weather, to start at
daybreak. In half an hour the snow ceased, the wind backed to the S.,
and the temperature rose as if by magic; while the snow melting above
trickled down in little streams upon us. We cleared the snow off the
mackintosh, and putting it over us again, slept like logs in comparative
warmth. When I awoke the sun was well up, and on looking round I could
hardly realise the scene. Not a cloud in the sky! Not a breath of wind!
The rocks around us, which yesterday were absolutely buried, were
showing their black heads everywhere, and only a few inches of snow
remained, so rapid had been the thaw; while far away to the N. the
snow-capped summits of the Pennine Alps stood out in bold relief against
the cloudless sky.
"I woke Martin, and at a quarter to six, after thirty-five hours'
burial, we crawled out of our shelter. At first neither of us could
stand, so chilled were we by long exposure, and so cramped by our
enforced position, but after a good thaw in the hot sun we managed to
hobble about, and pack the knapsacks. After eating the few scraps that
remained, we started at seven o'clock up the ridge that we had descended
two days before.
"We were very shaky on our legs at first, but at each step the stiffness
seemed to wear off, and after half an hour we quite recovered their use;
but there remained an all-pervading sense of emptiness inside that was
not exhilarating. After ascending a short distance, and with my
telescope carefully examining the rocks, we determined to descend to the
glacier below us (the western branch), and crossing this get on to some
more rocks beneath the lower ice-fall. If we could get down these our
way seemed clear.
"I won't trouble you with the details of the descent: suffice it to say
that, without encountering any difficulty, we stepped on to grass about
twelve o'clock, and descending green slopes, still patched here and
there with snow (which would have provided sufficient Edelweiss for all
the hats of the S.A.C.), we arrived safely at La Grave, after a pleasant
little outing of fifty-six hours. Mr Middlemore, despairing of my
coming, had started for England the night before, and had left Jaun to
await my arrival.
"After a hot bath, and some bread-crumbs soaked in warm wine, I went to
bed, and the next morning I awoke as well as I am now, with the
exception of stiffness in the knees, and a slight frost-bite on one
hand. Martin, however, who, I suspect, had eaten a good deal on his
arrival, was seized with severe cramp, and for some hours was very ill.
"Two days' rest put us all to rights again."
Though rivalry may be keen between first-class guides, and bitter things
be said now and then in the heat of the struggle for first place, yet
when a great guide has passed away, it is seldom that one hears anything
but good of him. A pretty story is told--and I believe it is true--of
the son of old Maquignaz of Valtournanche, which exemplifies this
chivalrous trait. Maquignaz and Jean Antoine Carrel were often in
competition in the early days of systematic climbing, and if not
enemies, they were at any rate hardly bosom friends. Carrel's tragic and
noble death on the Matterhorn will be recalled by readers of my _True
Tales of Mountain Adventure_. Not very long ago a French climber was
making an ascent of the Italian side of the Matterhorn, with "young"
Maquignaz as guide. "Where did Carrel fall?" he innocently enquired, as
they ascended the precipitous cliffs on the Breuil side of the mountain.
Young Maquignaz turned sharply to him and exclaimed: "Carrel n'est pas
tombé! _Il est mort!_"