“As we had now been going for several hours without food, and since leaving the rock rib, where we had breakfasted, had come across no ledge or irregularity of any kind affording a resting-place, it was with no little satisfaction that I descried, on the opposite side of the couloir, at a spot about 30 or 40 feet above, where the cliff on our left somewhat receded, several broken fragments of rock cropping out of the ice, of size and shape to provide seats for the whole party. We cut up and across to them, and sat down, or rather hooked ourselves on, for a second breakfast. We were here approximately on a level with the summit of our rock buttress of the 11th, and saw that it was only connected with the mountain by a broken and dangerous-looking ridge of ice and névé running up to an ice-slope at the foot of the glacier cliffs. The gap in the latter was not visible from our position. The tower we had tried to turn appeared far below, and the intervening rocks of the buttress, though not jagged, were steep and smooth like a roof. The first gleams of sunshine now arrived to cheer us, and, getting under way once more, we pushed on hopefully, as the couloir was rapidly widening and the face of the mountain almost in full view. We had also surmounted the rock wall which had so long shut out the prospect on our left, and it was at this point that, happening to glance across the slabs, we caught sight of a large flat rock rapidly descending. It did not bound nor roll, but slid quietly down with a kind of stealthy haste, as if it thought, though rather late, it might still catch us, and was anxious not to alarm us prematurely. It fell harmlessly into the couloir, striking the ice near the rock rib within a few feet of our tracks, and we saw no other falling stones while we were on the mountain.
“Leaving the welcome resting-place, Mummery again took the lead, and cut up and across the couloir, now becoming less steep, to a rib or patch of rocks higher up on the right, which we climbed to its upper extremity, a distance of some 70 or 80 feet.
“Here, taking to the ice once more, we soon approached the foot of the first great snow-slope on the face, and rejoiced in the near prospect of easier going. At the top of this slope, several hundred feet straight before us, was a low cliff or band of rocks, for which we decided to aim, there being throughout the entire length of the intervening slope no suspicious grey patches to indicate ice. The angle was, moreover, much less severe, and it being once more my turn to lead, I went at it with the zealous intention of making up time. My ardour was, however, considerably checked at finding, when but a short distance up the slope, that the coating of névé was so exceedingly thin as to be insufficient for good footing without cutting through the hard ice below. Instead, therefore, of continuing in a straight line for the rocks, we took an oblique course to the right, towards one of the hanging glaciers before referred to, and crossing a longitudinal crevasse, climbed without much difficulty up its sloping bank of névé. Hurrah! here was good snow at last, only requiring at most a couple of slashes with the adze end of the axe for each step. If this continued we had a comparatively easy task before us, as the rocks above, though smooth and steep, were broken up here and there by bands and streaks of snow. Taking full advantage of this our first opportunity for making speed, we cut as fast as possible and made height rapidly. We still aimed to strike the band of rocks before described, though at a point much more to the right, and nearer to where its extremity was bounded by the ice-cliffs of another hanging glacier; but, alas! as we approached nearer and nearer to the base of the cliffs, looming apparently higher and higher over our heads, the favouring névé, over which we had been making such rapid progress, again began to fail, and before we could reach the top of the once more steepening slope the necessity of again resorting to the pick end of the axe brought home the unwelcome conviction that our temporary respite had come to an end, and that, instead of snow above, and apart from what help the smooth rocks might afford, nothing was to be expected but hard, unmitigated ice.
“We immediately felt that, as it was already past noon, the establishment of this fact would put a totally different complexion on our prospects of success, and, instead of reaching the summit, we might have to content ourselves with merely crossing the ridge. We continued cutting, however, and reached the rocks, the last part of the slope having once more become exceedingly steep. To turn the cliff, here unclimbable, we first spent over half an hour in prospecting to the right, where a steep ice-gully appeared between the rocks and the hanging glacier; but, abandoning this, we struck off to the left, cutting a long traverse, during which we were able to hitch the rope to rocks cropping out through the ice. The traverse landed us in a kind of gully, where, taking to the rocks whenever practicable, though climbing chiefly by the ice, we reached a broken stony ledge, large and flat enough to serve as a luncheon place, the only spot we had come across since leaving the rock rib, where it was possible really to rest sitting. Luncheon over, we proceeded as before, choosing the rocks as far as possible by way of change, though continually obliged to take to the ice-streaks by which they were everywhere intersected. This went on all the rest of the afternoon, till, when daylight began to wane, we had attained an elevation considerably above the gap between our mountain and the Aiguille de Blaitiére, or more than 10,900 feet above the sea.
“The persistent steepness and difficulty of the mountain had already put our reaching the ridge before dark entirely out of the question, though we decided to keep going as long as daylight lasted, so as to leave as little work as possible for the morrow.
“The day had been gloriously fine, practically cloudless throughout, and I shall never forget the weird look of the ice-slopes beneath, turning yellow in the evening light, and plunging down and disappearing far below in the mists which were gathering at the base of the mountain; also, far, far away, we caught a glimpse of the Lake of Geneva, somewhere near Lausanne. I had turned away from the retrospect, when an exclamation from Slingsby called me to look once more. A gap had appeared in the mists, and there, some 2700 feet below us, as it were on an inferior stage of the world, we caught a glimpse of the snow-field at the very foot of the mountain, dusky yellow in the last rays of the sun. Mummery was in the meantime continuing the everlasting chopping, in the intervals of crawling up disobliging slabs of rock, till twilight began to deepen into darkness, and we had to look about for a perch on which to roost for the night. The only spot we could find, sufficiently large for all three of us to sit, was a small patch of lumps of rocks, more or less loose, some 20 or 30 feet below where we stood, and we succeeded, just as the light failed, or about 8.30 P.M., and after some engineering, in seating ourselves side by side upon it. Our boots were wet through by long standing in ice-steps, and we took them off and wrung the water out of our stockings. The others put theirs on again, but, as a precaution against frost-bite, having pocketed my stockings, I put my feet, wrapped in a woollen cap, inside the rucksack, with the result that they remained warm through the night. The half hour which it took me next morning to pull on the frozen boots proved, however, an adequate price for the privilege of having warm feet. As a precaution against falling off our shelf we hitched the rope over a rock above and passed it round us, and to make sure of not losing my boots (awful thought!), I tied them to it by the laces.
“After dinner we settled down to spend the evening. The weather fortunately remained perfect, and the moon had risen, though hidden from us by our mountain. Immediately below lay Chamonix, like a cheap illumination, gradually growing more patchy as the night advanced and the candles went out one by one, while above the stars looked down as if silently wondering why in the world we were sitting there. The first two hours were passed without very much discomfort, but having left behind our extra wraps to save weight, as time wore on the cold began to make itself felt, and though fortunately never severe enough to be dangerous, made us sufficiently miserable. Packed as we were, we were unable to indulge in those exercises generally adopted to induce warmth, and we shivered so vigorously at intervals that, when all vibrating in unison, we wondered how it might affect the stability of our perch. Sudden cramp in a leg, too, could only be relieved by concerted action, it being necessary for the whole party to rise solemnly together like a bench of judges, while the limb was stretched out over the valley of Chamonix till the pain abated, and it could be folded up and packed away once more. We sang songs, told anecdotes, and watched the ghostly effect of the moonlight on a subsidiary pinnacle of the mountain, the illuminated point of which, in reality but a short distance away, looked like a phantom Matterhorn seen afar off over an inky black arête formed by the shadow thrown across its base by the adjoining ridge. We had all solemnly vowed not to drop asleep, and for me this was essential, as my centre of gravity was only just within the base of support; but while endeavouring to give effect to another chorus, in spite of the very troublesome vibrato before referred to, I was grieved and startled at the sudden superfluous interpolation of two sustained melancholy bass notes, each in a different key and ominously suggestive of snoring. The pensive attitude of my companions’ heads being in keeping with their song, in accordance with a previous understanding, I imparted to Mummery, who sat next to me, a judicious shock, but, as in the case of a row of billiard balls in contact, the effect was most noticeable at the far end, and Slingsby awoke, heartily agreeing with me how weak it was of Mummery to give way thus. The frequent necessity for repeating this operation, with strengthening variations as the effect wore off, soon stopped the chorus which, like Sullivan’s ‘Lost Chord,’ trembled away into silence.
“The lights of Chamonix had by this time shrunk to a mere moth-eaten skeleton of their earlier glory, and I became weakly conscious of a sort of resentment at the callous selfishness of those who could thus sneak into their undeserved beds, without a thought of the three devoted explorers gazing down at them from their eyrie on the icy rocks.
“From 2 to 4 o’clock the cold became more intense, aggravated by a slight ‘breeze of morning,’ and while waiting for dawn we noticed that it was light enough to see.
“Daylight, however, did not help Mummery to find his hat, and we concluded it had retired into the bergschrund under cover of darkness.
“We helped each other into a standing position, and decided to start for the next patch of rocks above, from there to determine what chance of success there might be in making a dash for the summit, or, failing this, of simply crossing the ridge and descending to the Col du Géant. There was very little food left, and, as we had brought no wine, breakfast was reduced to a slight sketch, executed with little taste and in a few very dry touches. Owing to the time required to disentangle virulently kinked and frozen ropes, etc., the sun was well above the horizon when we once more started upwards, though unfortunately, just at this time, when his life-giving rays would have been most acceptable, they were entirely intercepted by the ridge of the Blaitiére. We started on the line of steps cut the night before, but soon after Mummery had recommenced cutting, the cold, or rather the impossibility, owing to the enforced inaction, to get warm, produced such an overpowering feeling of drowsiness that Slingsby and I, at Mummery’s suggestion, returned to the perch, and jamming ourselves into the space which had before accommodated our six legs, endeavoured to have it out in forty winks. Mummery meanwhile continued step-cutting, and at the end of about half an hour, during which Slingsby and I were somewhat restored by a fitful dose, returned, and we tied on again for another attempt.
“Surmounting the patches of rock immediately above our dormitory, we arrived at the foot of another slope of terribly steep, hard ice, some 200 feet in height. At the top of this again was a vertical crag 14 or 15 feet high, forming the outworks of the next superior band of rocks, which was interspersed with ice-streaks as before. A few feet from the base of this crag was a narrow ledge about 1 foot in width, where we were able to sit after scraping it clear of snow. Slingsby gave Mummery a leg up round a very nasty corner, and he climbed to a point above the crag, whence he was able to assist us with the rope up a still higher and narrower ledge. Beyond was another steep slope of hard ice, topped by a belt of rocks, as before.
“Before reaching this point the cold had again begun to tell upon me, and I bitterly regretted the mistaken policy of leaving behind our extra wraps, especially as the coat I was wearing was not lined. As there was no probability of a change for the better in the nature of the going before the ridge was reached, I began to doubt the wisdom of proceeding, affected as I was, where a false step might send the whole party into the bergschrund 3000 feet below; but it was very hard, with the summit in view and the most laborious part of the ascent already accomplished, to be the first to cry ‘Hold!’ I hesitated for some time before doing so, and the others meanwhile had proceeded up the slope. The rope was almost taut when I shouted to them the state of the case, and called a council of war. They returned to me, and we discussed what was practically something of the nature of a dilemma. To go on at the same slow rate of progress and without the sun’s warmth meant, on the one hand, the possible collapse of at least one of the party from cold, while, on the other hand, to turn back involved the descent of nearly 3000 feet of ice, and the passage, if we could not turn it, of the couloir and its ghastly ice-wall. Partly, I think, to delay for a time the adoption of the latter formidable alternative, partly to set at rest any doubt which might still remain as to the nature of the going above, Mummery volunteered to ascend alone to the rocks at the summit of the ice-slope, though the chance of their offering any improved conditions was generally felt to be a forlorn hope. He untied the rope, threw the end down to us, and retraced his steps up the slope, in due time reaching the rocks some 100 or 130 feet above, but, after prospecting in more than one direction, returned to us with the report that they offered no improvement, and that the intersecting streaks were nothing but hard ice. He, however, was prepared to continue the attempt if we felt equal to the task. If we could at that moment have commanded a cup of hot soup or tea, or the woollen jackets which in our confidence in being able to reach the ridge we had left behind, I am convinced I should have been quite able to proceed, and that the day and the mountain would have been ours; but in the absence of these reviving influences and that of the sun, I was conscious that in my own case, at any rate, it would be folly to persist, so gave my vote for descending. As the food was practically exhausted, the others agreed that it would be wiser to face the terrible ordeal which retracing our steps involved (we did not then know that it meant recutting them), rather than continue the ascent with weakened resources and without absolute certainty of the accessibility of the summit ridge.
“As Slingsby on the previous day had insisted on being regarded merely as a passenger, and had therefore not shared in the step-cutting, it was now arranged that he should lead, while Mummery, as a tower of strength, brought up the rear. Though it was past five o’clock, and of course broad daylight, a bright star could be seen just over the ridge of our mountain, not far from the summit—alas! the only one anywhere near it on that day. We started downwards at a steady pace, and soon were rejoicing in the returning warmth induced by the more continuous movement. Before we had gone far, however, we found that most of the steps were partially filled up with ice, water having flowed into them during the previous afternoon, and the work of trimming or practically recutting these was at times exceedingly trying, owing to their distance apart, and the consequent necessity of working in a stooping and cramped position.
“But if the work was tough the worker, fortunately, was tougher still, and Mummery and I congratulated ourselves on being able to send such powerful reserves to the front.
“The morning was well advanced before the sun surmounted the cold screen of the Blaitiére, but having once got to work he certainly made up by intensity for his tardy appearance.
“The provisions, with the exception of a scrap or two of cheese and a morsel of chocolate, being exhausted, and having, as before stated, nothing with us in the form of drink, nothing was to be gained by a halt, though, as we descended with as much speed as possible, we kept a sharp look-out for any signs of trickling water with which to quench the thirst, which was becoming distressing.
“Since finally deciding to return, we had cherished the hope that it might still be possible to turn the ice-wall by way of the great rock buttress, and made up our minds at any rate to inspect it from above. With this in view, when the point was reached where we had on the previous day struck the flank of the hanging glacier instead of continuing in the tracks which trended to the right across the long ice-slope, we cut straight down by the side of the glacier to its foot, and over the slope below, in the direction of the séracs immediately crowning the summit of the buttress.
“On nearer approach, however, it was manifest that even if by hours of step-cutting a passage from the ice to the rocky crest below could be successfully forced, descent by the latter was more than doubtful, while the consequences of failure were not to be thought of.
“Driven, therefore, finally to descend by the couloir, we cut a horizontal traverse which brought us back into the old tracks, a short way above the point where the ice began to steepen for the final plunge, where we braced ourselves for the last and steepest 1000 feet of ice. Slingsby still led, and, on arriving at the spot below our second breakfast-place, where I had last cut pigeon-holes, joyfully announced that one of them contained water. He left his drinking cup in an adjoining step for our use as we passed the spot in turn, and the fact that it was only visible when on a level with our faces may give some idea of the steepness of the descent. The delight of that drink was something to remember, though only obtainable in thimblefuls, and I continued dipping so long that Mummery became alarmed, being under the impression that the cup was filled each time.
“Mummery had previously volunteered, in case we were driven to return by the couloir, to descend first, and recut the steps and hand-holes in the ice-wall, and as we approached the brink we looked about for some projecting stone or knob of rock which might serve as a hitch for the rope during the operation. The only available projection was a pointed stone of doubtful security, somewhat removed from the line of descent, standing out of the ice at the foot of a smooth vertical slab of rock on the left. Round this we hitched the rope, Slingsby untying to give the necessary length. With our feet firmly planted, each in its own ice-step, we paid out the rope as Mummery descended and disappeared over the edge. It was an hour before he re-appeared, and this period of enforced inaction was to me, and I think to Slingsby, the most trying of the whole expedition. The want of food was beginning to tell on our strength, the overpowering drowsiness returned, and though it was absolutely essential for the safety of the party to stand firmly in the ice-steps, it required a strong effort to avoid dropping off to sleep in that position. We were fortunately able to steady ourselves by grasping the upper edge of the ice where it adjoined the rocky slab under which we stood. This weariness, however, must have been quite as much mental as physical from the long-continued monotony of the work, for when Mummery at last reappeared we felt perfectly equal to the task of descending. The rope was passed behind a boss of névé ingeniously worked by Mummery as a hitch to keep it perpendicular, and I descended first, but had no occasion to rely upon it for more than its moral support, as the steps and hand-holds had been so carefully cut. I climbed cautiously down the icy cataract till I reached a point where hand-holds were not essential to maintain the balance, and waited with my face almost against the ice till Slingsby joined me. Mummery soon followed, and rather than leave the spare rope behind detached it from the stone and descended without its aid, his nerve being to all appearance unimpaired by the fatigues he had gone through. I had before had evidence of his indifference while on the mountains to all forms of food or drink, with the single exception, by the way, of strawberry jam, on the production of which he generally capitulates.
“Rejoicing at having successfully passed the steepest portion of the ice-wall without the smallest hitch of the wrong sort, we steadily descended the face of the couloir.
“Here and there, where a few of the steps had been hewn unusually far apart, I was fain to cut a notch or two for the fingers before lowering myself into the next one below. At last the rock rib was reached, and we indulged in a rest for the first time since turning to descend.
“Time, however, was precious, and we were soon under way again, retracing our steps over the steep loose rocks at the base of the rib till forced again on to the ice.
“Oh, that everlasting hard ice-slope, so trustworthy yet so relentlessly exacting!
“Before we could clear the rocks, and as if by way of hint that the mountain had had enough of us, and of me in particular (I could have assured it the feeling was mutual), a flick of the rope sent my hat and goggles flying down to keep company with Mummery’s in the bergschrund, and a sharp rolling stone, which I foolishly extended my hand to check, gashed me so severely as to put climbing out of the question for more than a week. As small pieces of ice had been whizzing down for some time from above, though we saw no stones, it was satisfactory to find our steps across the lower part of the couloir in sufficiently good order to allow of our putting on a good pace, and we soon reached the sheltering rock on the opposite side and the slopes below the bergschrund wherein our hats, after losing their heads, had found a grave. The intense feeling of relief on regaining, at 5.55 P.M., safe and easy ground, where the lives of the party were not staked on every step, is difficult to describe, and was such as I had never before experienced. I think the others felt something like the same sensation. Fatigue, kept at bay so long as the stern necessity for caution lasted, seemed to come upon us with a rush, though tempered with the sense of freedom from care aforesaid, and I fancy our progress down the glacier snow was for a time rather staggery. Though tired, we were by no means exhausted, and after a short rest on a flat rock and a drink from a glacier runnel, found ourselves sufficiently vigorous to make good use of the remaining daylight to cross the intervening glaciers, moraines, and valley of boulders, before commencing to skirt the tedious and, in the dark, exasperating stony wastes of the Charmoz ridge. Sternly disregarding the allurements of numerous stonemen, which here seem to grow wild, to the confusion of those weak enough to trust them, we stumbled along amongst the stones to the brow of the hill overlooking the hotel, where shouts from friends greeted the appearance of our lantern, and, descending by the footpath, we arrived among them at 10.30 P.M., more than fifty-four hours after our departure on the 12th.”
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On a snow ridge.
On a snow ridge.
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A halt for lunch above the snow line.
A halt for lunch above the snow line.
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Mrs. Aubrey le Blond, 1903. By Royston Le Blond.
Mrs. Aubrey le Blond, 1903. By Royston Le Blond.
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Mrs. Aubrey le Blond. By Joseph Imboden. To face p. 51.
Mrs. Aubrey le Blond. By Joseph Imboden.
To face p. 51.
WE should never have got into such a position, but when definite orders are not carried out the General must not be blamed. The adventure might easily have cost all three of us our lives.
This is how we came to be imperilling our necks on an incoherent snow-ridge 13,000 feet above the sea. It was the end of September, and my two guides and I were waiting at Zermatt to try the Dent Blanche, a proceeding which, later on, was amply justified by success. Much fresh snow had recently fallen, and the slopes of the mountains were running down towards the valleys faster than the most active chamois could have galloped up them. Idleness is an abomination to the keen climber, and doubly so if he be an enthusiastic photographer, and the sun shone each day from a cloudless sky. Something had to be done, but what could we choose? All the safe second-class ascents up which one might wade through fresh snow without risk, we had accomplished over and over again. Something new to us was what we wanted, and what eventually we found in the stately Hohberghorn. Now this peak is seldom ascended. It is overtopped by two big neighbours, and until these have been done, no one is likely to climb the less imposing peak. Furthermore, the Hohberghorn is a grind, and though we got enough excitement and to spare out of it, yet in our case the circumstances were peculiar. The view was certain to be grand, and, faute de mieux, we decided to start for it.
On this occasion, in addition to my guide of many years’ standing, the famous Joseph Imboden of St Nicholas, I had a second man, who had a great local reputation in his native valley at the other end of Switzerland (and deservedly so, as far as his actual climbing ability was concerned), but who had never been on a rope with Imboden before. This was the cause of the appalling risk we ran during our expedition. We arrived in good time at the hut, and found another party, who proposed going up the Dom, the highest mountain entirely in Switzerland (14,900 feet) next day. Our way lay together for a couple of hours over the great glacier, and we proceeded the following morning in magnificent weather towards our respective peaks.
It was heavy work ploughing our way through the soft new snow, and we could not advance except very slowly. As a result, it was already mid-day when we gained the ridge of the Hohberghorn, not far below the summit. The sun streamed pitilessly down, the snow cracked and slipped at every step. To understand what followed, our position must now be made clear. Imboden, who led, was on the very crest of the ridge. Next to him on the rope, at a distance of about 20 feet, was my place, also on the ridge. At an equal distance behind me was the second guide. He was a trifle below the ridge, on the side to our left. We stood still for a moment, and then Imboden distinctly but very quietly remarked to the other man, “Be on your guard. At any moment now we may expect an avalanche.” I never to this day can understand how he failed to grasp what this meant. It should have been obvious that it was a warning to look out, and at the first sign of approaching danger to step down on to the other side of the ridge. Had not this been a perfectly simple thing to do, we should not have continued the ascent, but the second guide failed us hopelessly when the critical moment came. Imboden, to avoid a small cornice or overhanging eave of snow to our right, now took a few steps along and below the ridge to the left, while the man behind me came in the tracks to the crest, and I followed the leader. From this position the last man could in an instant have been down the slope to his right, and have held us with the greatest ease.
We advanced a yard or two further, and then the entire surface upon which we stood commenced to move! A moment more and we were struggling for our lives, dashing our axes through the rushing snow, and endeavouring to arrest our wild career, which, unless checked at once, would cause us to be precipitated down the entire face of the mountain, to the glacier below. Then it was that the firm bed of snow beneath the newer layer stood us in good stead. Our axes held, and, breathless, bruised and startled, we found ourselves clinging to the slope, while the avalanche, momentarily increasing in volume, thundered down towards the snow-fields below, where at length, heaped high against the mountain-side, it came to rest.
We now took stock of the position. We were practically unhurt, but so confused and rapid had been the slip that the rope was entangled round us in a manner wonderful to behold. There was nothing to prevent us reaching the summit, for every atom of fresh snow had been swept away from the slope, so we continued our climb, and soon were able to rest on the top. To this day, Imboden and I always look back to our adventure on the Hohberghorn as the greatest peril either of us has ever faced.
More than one instance has been recorded where, owing to the prompt action of the last man on the rope, fatal accidents on snow-ridges have been avoided. The two most famous occasions in Alpine annals[2] were when Hans Grass saved his party on Piz Palü, and when Ulrich Almer performed his marvellous feat on the Gabelhorn. It is true that in both these cases the risk was due to the breaking away of a snow-cornice, but the remedy was exactly the same as it ought to have been when our avalanche was started.
I have only to add that we found the other party at the hut, much exhausted by their unsuccessful attempt on the Dom, and very anxious on our account, as they both heard and saw the avalanche which had so nearly ended our mountaineering career.
The famous climber, Mr Tuckett, has very kindly allowed me to quote from Peaks, Passes, and Glaciers, the following description of a narrow escape from an avalanche while descending the Aletschhorn:
“We had accomplished in safety a distance of scarcely more than 150 yards when, as I was looking at the Jungfrau, my attention was attracted by a sudden exclamation from Victor, who appeared to stagger and all but lose his balance. At first, the idea of some sort of seizure or an attack of giddiness presented itself, but, without stopping to enquire, I at once turned round, drove my good 8-foot ash-pole as deeply as possible through the surface layer of fresh snow into the firmer stratum beneath, tightened the rope to give Victor support, and shouted to Peter to do the same. All this was the work of an instant, and a glance at once showed me what had happened. Victor was safe for the moment, but a layer or couche of snow, 10 inches to a foot in thickness, had given way exactly beneath his feet, and first gently, and then fleet as an arrow, went gliding down, with that unpleasant sound somewhat resembling the escape of steam, which is so trying to the nerves of the bravest man, when he knows its full and true significance. At first a mass 80 to 100 yards in breadth and 10 or 15 in length alone gave way, but the contagion spread, and ere another minute had elapsed the slopes right and left of us for an extent of at least half a mile, were in movement, and, like a frozen Niagara, went crashing down the ice-precipices and séracs that still lay between us and the Aletsch glacier, 1800 to 2000 feet below. The spectacle was indescribably sublime, and the suspense for a moment rather awful, as we were clinging to an incline at least as steep as that on the Grindelwald side of the Strahleck—to name a familiar example—and it was questionable whether escape would be possible, if the layer of snow on the portion of the slope we had just been traversing should give way before we could retrace our steps.
“Not a moment was to be lost; no word was spoken after the first exclamation, and hastily uttered, ‘Au col! et vite!’ and then in dead silence, with bâtons held aloft like harpoons, ready to be plunged into the lower and older layers of snow, we stole quietly but rapidly up towards the now friendly-looking corniche, and in a few minutes stood once more in safety on the ridge, with feelings of gratitude for our great deliverance, which, though they did not find utterance in words, were, I believe, none the less sincerely felt by all of us. ‘Il n’a manqué que peu à un grand malheur,’ quietly remarked Victor, who looked exhausted, as well he might be after what he had gone through; but a goutte of cognac all round soon set us right again, and shouting to Bennen, who was still in sight, though dwindled in size to a mere point, we were soon beside him, running down the névé of our old friend, the Aren Glacier. The snow was now soft and the heat tremendous, and both Bennen and Bohren showed signs of fatigue; but a rapid pace was still maintained in spite of the frequent crevasses. Some were cleared in a series of flying leaps, whilst into others which the snow concealed, one and another would occasionally sink, amid shouts of laughter from his companions, who, in their turn, underwent a similar fate. To the carefully secured rope, which, with the alpenstock and ice axe, are the mountaineer’s best friends, we owed it that these sudden immersions were a mere matter of joke; but even the sense of security which it confers does not altogether prevent a ‘creepy’ sensation from being experienced, as the legs dangle in vacancy, and the sharp metallic ring of the icy fragments is heard as they clatter down into the dark blue depths below.”
The higher and more snow-laden the mountain chain, the more risk is there from avalanches. It seems practically certain that Mr Mummery met his death in the Himalayas from an avalanche, and that Messrs Donkin and Fox and their two Swiss guides perished in the Caucasus from a like cause. Sir W. Martin Conway, in his book on the Himalayas, makes several allusions to avalanches, and on at least one occasion, some members of his party had a narrow escape. He relates the adventure as follows:
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A cutting through an immense avalanche which fell some months previously.
A cutting through an immense avalanche which fell some
months previously.
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The remains of a large avalanche.
The remains of a large avalanche.
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An avalanche of stones.
An avalanche of stones.
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A mountain chapel near Zermatt where special prayers are offered for defence against avalanche. To face p. 59.
A mountain chapel near Zermatt where special prayers are
offered for defence against avalanche.
To face p. 59.
“Zurbriggen and I had no more than set foot upon the grass, when we beheld a huge avalanche-cloud descending over the whole width of the ice-fall, utterly enveloping both it and a small rock-rib and couloir beside it. Bruce and the Gurkhas were below the rib, and could only see up the couloir. They thought the avalanche was a small one confined to it, and so they turned back and ran towards the foot of the ice-fall. This was no improvement in position, and there was nothing for them to do then but to run straight away from it, and get as far out to the flat glacier as they could. The fall started from the very top of the Lower Burchi peak, and tumbled on to the plateau above the ice-fall; it flowed over this, and came down the ice-fall itself. We saw the cloud before we heard the noise, and then it only reached us as a distant rumble. We had no means of guessing the amount of solid snow and ice that there might be in the heart of the cloud. The rumble increased in loudness, and was soon a thunder that swallowed up our puny shouts, so that Bruce could not hear our warning. Had he heard he could easily have reached the sheltered position we gained before the cloud came on him. Zurbriggen and I cast ourselves upon our faces, but only the edge of the cloud and an ordinary strong wind reached us. Our companions were entirely enveloped in it. They afterwards described to us how they raced away like wild men, jumping crevasses which they could not have cleared in cold blood. When the snow just enveloped them, the wind raised by it cast them headlong on the ice. This, however, was the worst that happened. The snow peppered them all over, and soaked them to the skin, but the solid part of the avalanche was happily arrested in the midst of the ice-fall, and never came in sight. When the fog cleared they were all so out of breath that for some minutes they could only stand and regard one another in panting silence. They presently rejoined us, and we halted for a time on the pleasant grass.”
In the olden days, before the great Alpine lines had tunnelled beneath the mountains and made a journey from one side of the range to the other in midwinter as safe and as comfortable as a run from London to Brighton, passengers obliged to cross the Alps in winter or spring were exposed to very real peril from avalanches. Messrs Newnes have courteously allowed me to make a short extract from an article which appeared in one of their publications, and in which is described the adventures of two English ladies who were obliged to return home suddenly from Innsbruck on account of the illness of a near relative. Their shortest route was by diligence to Constance, over the Arlberg Pass, and although it was considered extremely dangerous at that time of year—the beginning of May 1880—they resolved to make the attempt. Much anxiety with regard to avalanches was felt in neighbouring villages, as the sun had lately been very hot, and the snow had become rotten and undermined. Owing to heavy falls during the previous winter, the accumulation of snow was enormous, and thus the two travellers set out under the worst possible auspices. The conductor of the diligence warned them of the danger, and told them on no account to open a window or to make any movement which could shake the coach. He got in with them and sat opposite, looking very worried and anxious. They reached the critical part of their journey, and, to quote Mrs Brewer’s words:
“Suddenly a low, booming sound, like that of a cannon on a battlefield or a tremendous peal of thunder, broke on our ears, swelling into a deafening crash; and in a moment we were buried in a vast mass of snow. One of the immense piles from the mountain above had crashed down upon us, carrying everything with it. At the same moment we felt a violent jerk of the coach, and heard a kind of sound which expressed terror; but, happily, our vehicle did not turn over, as it seemed likely to do for a minute or so. There we sat—for how long I know not—scarcely able to breathe, the snow pressing heavily against the windows, and utterly blocking out light and air, so that breathing was a painful effort. And now came a curious sensation. It was an utter suspension of thought, and of every mental and physical faculty.
“True, in a sort of unconscious way I became aware that the guard was sobbing out a prayer for his wife and children; but it had not the slightest effect on me.
“We might have been buried days and nights for all I knew, for I kept no count of time. In reality, I believe it was but a couple of hours between the fall of the avalanche and the first moment of hope, which came in the form of men striking with pickaxes. The sound seemed to come from a long distance—almost, as it were, from another world.
“The guard, roused by the noise, said earnestly: ‘Ach Gott! I thank Thee.’ And then, speaking to us, he said: ‘Ladies, help is near!’
“Gradually the sound of the digging and the voices of the men grew nearer, till at length one window was open—the one overlooking the valley; and the life-giving air stole softly in upon us. Even now, however, we were told not to move; not that we had any inclination to do so, for we were in a dazed, half-conscious condition. When at length we used our eyes, it was to note that the valley did not seem so deep, and that the villages with their church spires had disappeared; the meaning of it was not far to seek.
“We were both good German scholars, and knew several of the dialects, so that we were able to learn a good deal of what had happened by listening to the men’s talk. The school inspector in his terror had lost all self-control, and forgetful of the warnings given him, threw himself off the seat and leaped into space, thereby endangering the safety of all. He mercifully fell into one of the clumps of trees some distance down the slope, and so escaped without very much damage to himself, except shock to the system and bruises. The poor horses, however, fared infinitely worse. The weight of the snow lifted the rings from the hooks on the carriage, and at the same time carried the poor brutes down with it into the valley—never again to do a day’s work.
“The difficulties still before us were very serious. We could neither go backward nor forward, and there was danger of more avalanches falling. The next posting village was still far ahead, and there was no chance of our advancing a step until the brave body of men could cut a way through or make a clearance, and even then time would be required to bring back horses.”
The ladies were at last extricated from their still dangerous position, and amid a scene of the greatest excitement, arrived at a little Tyrolese village. The people could not do enough to welcome them, and every kindness was shown to them. Thus ended a wonderfully narrow escape for all who were concerned in the adventure.
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A mountain path.
A mountain path.
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A village completely buried beneath an avalanche.
A village completely buried beneath an avalanche.
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Peasants of the mountains.
Peasants of the mountains.
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Terraces cut on the hill sides and planted with trees to prevent the fall of avalanches. To face p. 65.
Terraces cut on the hill sides and planted with trees to
prevent the fall of avalanches.
To face p. 65.
ONE of the treasures of collectors of Alpine books is a small volume in Italian by Ignazio Somis. The British Museum has not only a copy of the original, but also a couple of translations, from one of which, published in 1768, I take the following account. I have left the quaint old spelling and punctuation just as they were; they accentuate the vividness and evident truth of this “True and Particular Account of the most Surprising preservation and happy deliverance of three women,” who were buried for a month under an avalanche. The occurrence was fully investigated by Ignazio Somis, who visited the village of Bergemoletto, and obtained his narrative from the lips of one of the survivors.
“In the month of February and March of the year 1755, we had in Turin, a great fall of rain, the sky having been almost constantly overcast from the ninth of February till the twenty-fourth of March. During this interval, it rained almost every day, but snowed only on the morning of the twenty-first of February, when the liquor of Reaumur’s thermometer stood but one degree above the freezing point. Now, as it often snows in the mountains, when it only rains in the plain; it cannot appear surprising that during this interval, there fell vast quantities of snow in the mountains that surround us, and in course, several valancas[3] were formed. In fact, there happened so many in different places on the side of Aosta, Lanzo, Susa, Savoy, and the county of Nice, that by the end of March, no less than two hundred persons had the misfortune of losing their lives by them. Of these overwhelmed by these valancas, three persons, however, Mary Anne Roccia Bruno, Anne Roccia, and Margaret Roccia, had reason to think themselves in other respects, extremely happy, having been dug alive on the twenty-fifth of April, out of a stable, under the ruins of which, they had been buried, the nineteenth of March, about nine in the morning, by a valanca of snow, forty-two feet higher than the roof, to the incredible surprise of all those who saw them, and afterwards heard them relate how they lived all this while, with death, as we may say, continually staring them in the face.
“The road from Demonte to the higher valley of Stura, runs amidst many mountains, which, joining one another, and sometimes rising to a great height, form a part of those Alps, by historians and geographers, called maritime Alps, separating the valley of Stura and Piedmont, from Dauphiny and the county of Nice. Towards the middle of the road leading to the top of these mountains, and on the left of the river Stura, we meet with a village called Bergemolo, passing through which village, and still keeping the road through the said valley, we, at about a mile distance, arrive at a little hamlet called Bergemoletto, containing about one hundred and fifty souls. From this place there run two narrow lanes, both to the right and left, one less steep and fatiguing than the other, and in some measure along two valleys, to the mountains. The summit of the mountain makes the horizon an angle much greater than 45°, and so much greater in some places, as to be in a manner perpendicular, so that it is a very difficult matter to climb it, even by a winding path. Now it was from the summit of the aforesaid mountains that fell the valancas of snow, which did so much mischief, and almost entirely destroyed the hamlet of Bergemoletto.
“The bad weather which prevailed in so many other places, prevailed likewise in the Foresta of Bergemoletto. By this word Foresta, the Alpineers understand the villages dispersed over the vallies covered with small trees and bushes, and surrounded with high mountains; for it began to snow early in March, and the fall increased so much on the 16, 17, 18 and 19, that many of the inhabitants began to apprehend, and not without reason, that the weight of that which was already fallen, and still continued to fall, might crush their houses, built with stones peculiar to the country, cemented by nothing but mud, and a very small portion of lime, and covered with thatch laid on a roof of shingles and large thin stones, supported by thick beams. They, therefore, got upon their roofs to lighten them of the snow. At a little distance from the church, stood the house of Joseph Roccia, a man of about fifty, husband of Mary Anne, born in Demonte, of the family of Bruno; who, with his son James, a lad of fifteen, had, like his neighbours, got upon the roof of his house on the 19th in the morning in order to lessen the weight on it, and thereby prevent its destruction. In the meantime the clergyman who lived in the neighbourhood, and was about leaving home, in order to repair to the church, and gather his people together to hear mass; perceiving a noise towards the top of the mountains, and turning his trembling eyes towards the quarter from whence he thought it came, discovered two valancas driving headlong towards the village. Wherefore raising his voice he gave Joseph notice, instantly to come down from the roof, to avoid the impending danger, and then immediately retreated himself into his own house.
“These two valancas met and united, so as to form but one valanca which continued to descend towards the valley, where, on account of the increase of its bulk, the diminution of its velocity and the insensible declivity of the plane it stopped and arrested by the neighbouring mountain, though it covered a large tract of land, did no damage either to the houses or the inhabitants. Joseph Roccia, who had formerly observed that the fall of one valanca was often attended with that of others, immediately came off the roof at the priest’s notice, and with his son fled as hard as he could towards the church, without well knowing, however, which way he went; as is usually the case with the Alpineers, when they guess by the report in the air, that some valanca is falling or seeing it fall with their own eyes. The poor man had scarce advanced forty steps, when hearing his son fall just at his heels, he turned about to assist him, and taking him up, saw the spot on which his house, his stable, and those of some of his neighbours stood, converted into a huge heap of snow, without the least sign of either walls or roofs. Such was his agony at this sight, and at the thoughts of having lost in an instant, his wife, his sister, his family, and all the little he had saved, with many years increasing labour and economy, that hale and hearty, as he was, he immediately, as if heaven and earth were come together, lost his senses, swooned away, and tumbled upon the snow. His son now helped him, and he came to himself little by little; till at last, by leaning upon him, he found himself in a condition to get on the valanca, and, in order to re-establish his health there, set out for the house of his friend, Spirito Roccia, about one hundred feet distant from the spot, where he fell. Mary Anne, his wife, who was standing with her sister-in-law Anne, her daughter Margaret, and her son Anthony, a little boy two years old, at the door of the stable, looking at the people throwing the snow from off the houses, and waiting for the ringing of the bell that was to call them to prayers, was about taking a turn to the house, in order to light a fire, and air a shirt for her husband, who could not but want that refreshment after his hard labour. But before she could set out, she heard the priest cry out to them to come down quickly, and raising her trembling eyes, saw the foresaid valancas set off, and roll down the side of the mountain, and at the same instant heard a horrible report from another quarter, which made her retreat back quickly with her family, and shut the door of the stable. Happy it was for her, that she had time to do so; this noise being occasioned by another immense valanca, the whole cause of all the misery and distress, she had to suffer for so long a time. And it was this very valanca, over which Joseph, her husband was obliged to pass after his fit, in his way to the house of Spirito Roccia.
“Some minutes after the fall of the valanca another huge one broke off driving along the valley and beat down the houses which it met in its course. This valanca increased greatly, by the snow over which it passed, in its headlong course, and soon reached with so much impetuosity, the first fallen valanca, it carried away great part of it; then returning back with this reinforcement, it demolished the houses, stopping in the valley which it had already overwhelmed in its first progress. So that the height of the snow, Paris measure, amounted to more than seventy-seven feet; the length of it to more than four hundred and twenty-seven and the breadth above ninety-four. Some people affirm that the concussion of the air occasioned by this valanca, was so great, that it was heard at Bergemolo, and even burst open some doors and windows at that place. This I know that nothing escaped it in Bergemoletto, but a few houses, the church, and the house of John Arnaud.
“Being therefore gathered together, in order to sum up their misfortunes, the inhabitants first counted thirty houses overwhelmed; and then every one calling over those he knew, twenty-two souls were missing, of which number, was D. Giulio Caesare Emanuel, their parish priest, who had lived among them forty years. The news of this terrible disaster, soon spread itself over the neighbourhood, striking all those who heard it, with grief and compassion. All the friends and relations of the sufferers, and many others, flocked of their own accord, from Bergemolo and Demonte; and many were dispatched by the magistrates of these places, to try if they could give any relief to so many poor creatures, who, perhaps, were already suffocated by the vast heap of snow that lay upon them; so that by the day following, the number assembled on this melancholy occasion amounted to three hundred. Joseph Roccia, notwithstanding his great love for his wife and family, and his desire to recover part of what he had lost, was in no condition to assist them for five days, owing to the great fright and grief, occasioned by so shocking an event, and the swoon which overtook him at the first sight of it. In the meantime, the rest were trying, if, by driving iron-rods through the hardened snow, they could discover any roofs; but they tried in vain. The great solidity and compactness of the valanca, the vast extent of it in length, breadth and heighth, together with the snow, that still continued to fall in great quantities, eluded all their efforts; so that after some days’ labour, they thought proper to desist from their trials, finding that it was throwing away their time and trouble to no purpose. The husband of poor Mary Anne, no sooner recovered his strength, than in company with his son, and Anthony and Joseph Bruno, his brothers-in-law who had come to his assistance from Demonte, where they lived, did all that lay in his power to discover the spot, under which his house, and the stable belonging to it, were situated. But neither himself, nor his relations, could make any discovery capable of affording them the smallest ray of comfort; though they worked hard for many days, now in one place, and now in another, unable to give up the thoughts of knowing for certain, whether any of their family was still alive, or if they had under the snow and the ruins of the stable, found, at once, both death and a grave. But it was all labour lost, so that, at length, he thought proper to return to the house of Spirito Roccia, and there wait, till, the weather growing milder, the melting of the snow should give him an opportunity of paying the last duty to his family, and recovering what little of his substance might have escaped this terrible calamity.
“Towards the end of March, the weather, through the lengthening of the days, and the setting in of the warm winds, which continued to blow till about the twentieth of April, began to grow mild and warm; and, of course, the great valanca to fall away by the melting of the snow and ice that composed it; so that little by little, the valley began to assume its pristine form. This change was very sensible, especially by the eighteenth of April, so that the time seemed to be at hand for the surviving inhabitants of Bergemoletto to resume their interrupted labours, with some certainty of recovering a good part of what they had lost on the unfortunately memorable morning of the nineteenth of March. Accordingly, they dispersed themselves over the valanca, some trying in one place, and some in another, now with long spades, and another time with thick rods of iron, and other instruments proper to break the indurated snow. One of the first houses they discovered by this means, was that of Louisa Roccia, in which they found her dead body, and that of one of her sons. Next day, in the house called the confreria, that had two rooms on the ground floor, and one above them, they found the body of D. Giulio Caesare Emanuel, with his beads in his hand. Joseph Roccia, animated by these discoveries, set himself with new spirits about discovering the situation of his house, and the stable belonging to it; and with spades and iron crows, made several and deep holes in the snow, throwing great quantities of earth into them; earth mixed with water, being very powerful in destroying the strong cohesion of snow and ice. On the twenty-fourth, having made himself an opening two feet deep into the valanca, he began to find the snow softer and less difficult to penetrate; wherefore, driving down a long stick, he had the good fortune of touching the ground with it.
“It was no small addition to Joseph’s strength and spirit, to be thus able to reach the bottom; so that he would have joyfully continued his labour, and might perhaps on that very day, had it not been too far advanced, have recovered some part of what he was looking for, and found that which, assuredly, he by no means expected to meet with. When, therefore, he desisted for that time, it was with much greater reluctance than he had done any of the preceding days. The anxiety of Joseph, during the following night, may well be compared to that of the weather-beaten mariner, who finding himself, after a long voyage, at the mouth of his desired port, is yet, by the coming on of night obliged to remain on the inconstant waves till next morning. Wherefore, at the first gleam of light, he, with his son, hastened back to the spot, where the preceding day he had reached the ground with the stick, and began to work upon it again; but he had not worked long, when lo, to his great surprise, who should he see coming to his assistance but his two brothers-in-law Joseph and Anthony Bruno.
“Anthony, it seems, the night between the preceding Thursday and Friday, being then in Delmonte, dreamed that there appeared to him, with a pale and troubled countenance, his sister Mary Anne Roccia, who, with an earnestness intermixed with grief and hope, called upon him for assistance in the following words:
“‘Anthony, though you all look upon me as dead in the stable where the valanca of snow overwhelmed me on the nineteenth of March, God has kept me alive. Hasten therefore to my assistance, and to relieve me from my present wretched condition; in you, my brother, have I placed all my hopes, dont abandon me; help, help I beseech you.’ Anthony’s imagination, was so affected by the thoughts of thus seeing his sister, and hearing her utter these piteous words, that he immediately started up, and calling out to his brother Joseph, he acquainted him with what he had seen and heard. They both, therefore, as soon as it was day, set out for Bergemoletto, where they arrived a little before eight, tired and out of breath, for they seemed to have their sister continually before their eyes, pressing them for help and assistance. Having therefore taken a little rest and refreshment, they set out again for the place, where Joseph Roccia, and many others, were hard at work in looking for the wrecks of their houses. Joseph had left the spot, where, the day before he thought he had reached the ground, and was trying to reach it in other places. His brothers-in-law immediately fell to work with him, and making many new holes in the snow, the interior parts of which were not so very hard, with the same iron rods, with earth and with long poles, they at last, about ten, discovered the so long sought for house, but found no dead bodies in it. Knowing that the stable did not lie one hundred feet from the house, they immediately directed their search towards it, and proceeding in the same manner, about noon, they got a long pole through a hole, from whence issued a hoarse and languid voice, which seemed to say: ‘help, my dear husband, help, my dear brother, help.’ The husband and brother thunderstruck, and at the same time encouraged by these words, fell to their work with redoubled ardour, in order to clear away the snow, and open a sufficient way for themselves, to the place from whence the voice came, and which grew more and more distinct as the work advanced. It was not long, therefore, before they had made a pretty large opening, through which (none minding the danger he exposed himself to) Anthony descended, as into a dark pit, asking who it was, that could be alive in such a place. Mary Anne knew him by his voice, and answered with a trembling and broken accent, intermixed with tears of joy. ‘Tis I, my dear brother, who am still alive in company with my daughter and my sister-in-law, who are at my elbow. God, in whom I have always trusted, still hoping that he would inspire you with the thought of coming to our assistance, has been graciously pleased to keep us alive.’ God, who had preserved them to this moment, and was willing they should live, inspired Anthony with such strength and spirits, that, notwithstanding the surprise and tenderness with which so joyful and at the same time so sad a sight must have affected him, had presence of mind enough to acquaint his fellow-labourers, all anxiously waiting for the report of his success, that Mary Anne, Margaret, and Anne Roccia were still alive. Whereupon Joseph Roccia, and Joseph Bruno, enlarging the passage as well as they could, immediately followed him into the ruins; whilst the other Alpineers, scattered over the valanca in quest of their lost substance, and the dead bodies of their relations, on the son’s calling out to them, flocked round the mouth of the pit, to behold so extraordinary a sight; not a little heightened by that of two live goats scampering out of the opening. In the meantime, those who had descended into the hole, were contriving how to take out of it the poor and more than half dead prisoners, and convey them to some place, where they might recover themselves. The first thing they did was to raise them up, and take them out of the manger in which they had been so long stowed. They then placed them one by one on their shoulders, and lifted them up to those who stood round the mouth of the pit, who with very great difficulty took hold of them by the arms, and drew them out of their dark habitation. Mary Anne, on being exposed to the open air, and seeing the light, was attacked by a very acute pain in the eyes, which greatly weakened her sight, and was attended with so violent a fainting fit, that she had almost like to have lost, in the first moment of her deliverance, that life, which she had so long and with such difficulty preserved. But this was a consequence that might be easily foreseen. She had been thirty-seven days, secluded, in a manner entirely, from the open air; nor had the least ray of light, in all that time, penetrated her pupils.
“Her son found means to bring her to herself with a little melted snow, there being nothing else at hand fit for the purpose, and the accident that happened her was improved into a rule for treating the companions of her misfortune. They, therefore, covered all their faces, and wrapped them up so well, as to leave them but just room to breathe, and in this condition took them to the house of John Arnaud, where Mary Anne was entirely recovered from her fit, by a little generous wine. They then directly placed them in some little beds put up in the stable, which was moderately warm, and almost entirely without light, and prepared for them a mess of rye meal gruel, mixed with a little butter; but they could swallow but very little of it.”