Stories of Alpine Adventure

Front matter

AVITH ROPE ANU ICE-AXE. [Drawn by Frank Dabd, R.I.] STORIES ■ it ALPINE ADVENTURE BY FRANK MUNDELL AUTHOR OF STORIES OF BALLOON ADVENTURE, fHE DARING DEEDS" I I i 1 1 . i [ LONDON : THE SUNDAY SCHOOL UNION 57 and 59 Ludgate Hill, E.C. The " Adventure " Series. Croivn Svo, cloth hoards, well Illustrated, IS. 6d. each. STORIES OF BALLOON ADVENTURE. By Fkank Mundell. Other Volumes in preparation. London : THE SUNDAY SCHOOL UNION, 57 and 59 Ludgate Hill, E.C.

Preface

In the following pages will be found a number of incidents of Alpine Adventure, its delights, difficulties, and dangers. As in other volumes of this series, no attempt has been made at historical or consecutive narrative — the object being simply to present a series of pictures of some of the most remarkable scenes which have taken place in the " Playground of Europe." F. M. i. CONTENTS — ♦ — ' BAP. PA0E I. ON MOUNTAINEERING ..... 13 II. THE KING OF MONT BLANC . . . .17 III. EARLY ADVENTURES ON MONT BLANC . . .35 IV. ENGULPIIED IN THE SNOW . . . .43 V. FIVE WEEKS BURIED . . . . .50 VI. ADVENTURES ON THE SC HP.ECKHORN . . .59 VII. TO THE SUMMIT OF THE WBI88HORN . . . U8 VIII. WHYMPER AND THE MATTERHORN . . .81 IX. SUCCESS AND ITS COST ..... 99 X. CAUGHT IN AN AVALANCHE . . . .110 XI. FALLING ROCKS AND SLIDING SNOWS . . . 117 XII.

AN ALPINE HERO ..... 127 XIII. A FEARFUL FALL . . . . . .137 XIV. A PERILOUS CLIMB ..... 145 XV. ENTOMBED IN A GLACIER .... LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS — ♦ — PACE WITH rope and ice-axe .... Frontispiece BALMAT GOT ON THE RIDGE ASTRIDE, AND DRAGGED HIM- SELF ALONG ...... 23 BALMAT ON THE SUMMIT OF MONT BLANC . . 31 " I WAS CARRIED DOWN IN SPITE OF MY STRUGGLES" . 46 AN AVALANCHE ....... 51 SWISS CHALETS ....... 57 OX THE BRINK OF A CORNICE ..... 64 PICKING A PATHWAY ...... 72 EDWARD WHYMPER ...... 83 THE MATTERHORN . . . . . .91 WILDLY STRETCHING OUT THEIR HANDS IN A VAIN ENDEAV- OUR TO SAVE THEMSELVES .... 105 THEY KEPT PUSHING ON . . . . .111 THEY- WERE CAUGHT IN AN AVALANCHE . . . 113 188ES HAD TO BE JUMPED .... 119 BY THE LIGHT OF LANTERNS ..... 129 A SEARCH PARTY BROUGHT DOWN THE BODY . . .141 A GLACIER .......

Mont Blanc is the Monarch of Mountains : They crown'd him long ago On a throne of rocks, in a robe of clouds, With a diadem of snow. Byron. STORIES . >i ALPINE ADVENTURE — ♦ — CHATTEIi I. ON MOUNTAINEEEING. HE love of adventure is part of human nature. Almost all of us have it in a greater or less degree, though all of us have not the opportunity of indulging it. Even those who have not the nerve and daring requisite for adventure in its more exciting and hazardous forms, read eagerly of the feats performed or attempted by others. Our own country is full of men, ay, and women too, who have risked life and limb in perilous achievements by land or sea. Indeed the love of adventure for its own sake is one of the chief characteristics of the English-speaking race, and it has been of untold value to us in our progress as a nation. ■4 Of all adventurous recreations, mountaineering is at once the most exacting and the most fascinating.

Yet, strangely enough, little more than a hundred years ago climbing as a pastime was unknown ; and even after the triumph of Jacques Balmat, Mont Blanc was for many years the only mountain wliich received any attention. The formation of the Alpine Club, a society which came into existence in 1857 for the purpose of exploring the peaks, passes, and glaciers of the Alpine mountain system, at once gave an impetus to this enchanting recreation. It was not long before it was found that a new pleasure — healthful and full of adventure — had been discovered. The Alps quickly became the " Playground of Europe." Within comparatively easy access were ranges of mountains affording ample scope to the adventurer. And the Alpine valleys yielded any number of guides — men who were fearless and expert climbers, and almost as sme-footed as the chamois which they hunted among the rocky fastnesses. -Men of widely different tastes and professions joined in the sport, and endeavoured to scale apparently inaccessible mountains, deriving pleasure from the thrilling presence of danger and the necessity of constant watchfulness.

Gradually mountaineering developed and came to be recognised as an art. The ON MOUNTAINEERING 15 sad experience of fatal accidents taught men to distinguish between the real and imaginary dangers of the Alps, and showed them that risk could be reduced to a minimum by skill and care. Of course, then as now, there were those who scornfully asked, " What is the good of it all ? What, is the benefit of such great exertion ? " pointing out the ever-present danger of a sudden and horrible death. Vanity, they declared, was at the root of the matter. But that is not so. The charms of mountaineering are as varied and as many-sided as the mountain itself. The health-giving properties of the recreation, the necessary exercise of strength and judgment, and the pleasurable sensation of having overcome difficulties, may be mentioned among the multitude of its fascinating attractions.

The recreation has a mural no less than a physical aspect. Whymper tells us that " often in grappling with everyday difficulties, in apparently hopeless (asks, encouragement has been found in the remembrance of hard-won victories over stubborn Alps." That there are dangers of a very real kind it is impossible to deny ; lait many of them may be avoided by experience and caution. Indeed, the greater number of fatal accidents which occur are directly traceable to the neglect of measures such as ordinary prudence should suggest. Subject as the Alps are to many sudden and violent changes of weather, it is of the utmost importance that the mountaineer should understand the weather signs, and that he should be quick in thought as in action. Wbat under normal conditions may be a safe and easy mountain, becomes dangerous under a storm.

Avalanches and falling rocks, sources of terrible peril, have to be encountered, and fathomless crevasses have to be crossed. There are, besides, a host of minor risks ; and experience alone can tell the mountaineer how these may be wisely met. " Patience, pluck, and perseverance " would be no unsuitable motto for the Alpine adventurer, for these are qualities which are absolutely essential, as will be seen from the following pages. The words of one of our greatest climbers contain advice of rare precious ness to all who would attain the heights. He says : " Remember that courage and strength are nought without prudence, and that a momentary negligence may destroy the happiness of a lifetime. Do nothing in haste ; look well to each step ; and from the beginning think what may be the end."

Chapter II. The King Of Mont Blanc

F mortal man can do it, I think I can," exclaimed Jacques Balmat as he stood at the door of his cottage one evening in 1786, looking with longing eyes towards the white-headed monarch of the Alpine peaks. Balmat was a guide by profession, and his one aim and ambition for many a day had been to reach the summit of Mi mt Blanc, and be the first man to stand on the highest point of land of the European con tinent. By day his mind was filled with the daring project, and at night his rest was disturbed by alter nating dreams of success and failure, adventure and death. At length his state of mind became unbearable, and he determined to find out whether or not the summit was accessible. Early one morning he set off alone. As he was leaving the house, his wife asked him where he was going. ,:To the mountain," he replied, "and don't be alarmed if I am not back to-night; I shall likely sleep up there."

Not even to his wife would he at this time entrust the secret ambition of his life. With a strong staff in his hand, a sack over his shoulder, and a crust of bread and a flask of brandy in his pocket, he stalked out of Chamouni and began his perilous journey up the mountain-side. Proceeding by way of the Cote and the Glacier des Bossons, he reached the three conical rocks known as the Grands Mulets in seven hours. Here he paused for a brief rest. After a mouthful of bread and a sip of brandy he went on again. As he advanced he kept a sharp lookout to find some suitable place in which tu spend the night, but none presented itself: and it was not till he had gone too far to retrace his steps by daylight that he was faced with the necessity of spending the night in the snow. Just then, however, he caught sight of a bare flat rock projecting through the snow.

It was only six feet in circumference, and afforded no shelter; but as it was the first likely place he had seen, and as there was little chance of him finding better accommodation farther on, he determined to make the most of it. Another morsel of bread and a mouthful of brandy formed his supper, and he sat down on the stone to await the dawn. Presently the sun sunk into the west, gilding the summit of the mountain with its brilliant rays, and wrapping the valley in gloom. After a time the moon rose, pale and cloud-circled, shedding a dull silvery light all around. To Balmat, exhausted as he was by his long day's exertions, sleep was out of the question; for on one side of his narrow resting-place was a sheer precipice of eight hundred feet, into which the slightest unconscious movement might have precipitated him.

As the night wore on the moon became obscured and snow fell heavily. Balmat was drenched to the skin, and the keen wind seemed to cut through him like a knife. Colder and colder it grew ; his breath froze on his handkerchief, ami it was only by continually shifting his position, and keeping his hands and feet in motion, that he kept himself alive. The dreadful strangeness of his surroundings oppressed him with an unspeakable awe. It was not fear, fur there was nothing near to make him afraid — there was neither sound nor sign of life ; the muffling snuvv returned no answer to his call — but it was the wild, unaccountable sense of solitude which takes possession of us at times, when the nerves pass beyond control, and usurp, in a manner, the function of the brain. Now and again the supreme silence was In iiken by the thunderous descent of an avalanche, or by the cannon-like cracking of a glacier.

So the night passed. When at length day dawned, the sun rose with clouds, and Balmat saw that he would have to abandon the attempt to reach the summit. He spent the day in examining the passes and glaciers, and towards nightfall he began the descent. When darkness overtook him he had reached a point below the ice region. Thoroughly worn out, he lay down on the ground and slept till morning. It is a marvel that he ever woke out of that sleep, for on awaking he found his clothes were frozen to his body, and he felt numb all over. It was with the utmost difficulty that he made his way down the mountain. He had nearly reached the base when he met three guides setting out on an expedition. Being suspicious that they were about to attempt to scale the summit, he asked them where they were going.

At first they returned evasive answers; but in the end they told him in strict confidence that they were going to try to make the ascent, and asked Balmat to accompany them. " With pleasure," he replied, " but I must go and see my wife first. Go slowly; I will catch you up." Fatigue was at once forgotten, and he hurried off to his cottage, told his wife to prepare him some food, changed his clothes, and went after the others. They bivouacked near the spot where he had previ ously spent the night, and at dawn the little party set out. About three o'clock in the afternoon they reached the Dome de Gouter. Here they were joined by other two guides out on a similar expedition. The two parties united, and compared notes. While they were so engaged Balmat set out alone, in the hope of finding the way to the summit.

He quickly saw that the only possible path was by crossing the narrow ridge which unites the Dome to the summit of Mont 1 Slane. But how was this to be done ? The ridge itself was only a few inches wide, and fell away on either side into an abyss many hundreds of feet deep. There was only one way to traverse it, and Balmat ilid not hesitate to make the attempt. Climbing to the end, he got on to the ridge astride, as if on horse back, and dragged himself along for about a quarter us a mile. His farther progress was at this point stopped by a jutting-out mass of ice, which he found it impossible to surmount. When he returned to the spot where he bad left his party, Balmat was dismayed to find the place deserted. Disheartened by the appearance of the mountain, they had pronounced the attempt to be hopeless, and returned to the valley, as their tracks in the snow plainly showed.

When the first surprise was over, the hardy mountaineer did not know whether to regret or rejoice at his desertion. The temptation to follow them was powerful ; but the thought that success was nearly within his grasp nerved him to remain. He scrambled upwards for a time, slowly and painfully. The top of the mountain was now enveloped in mist, so he made up his mind not to go any farther ; for he knew thai even if he succeeded in reaching the summit, he would not be believed by the villagers. His next task was to seek for some place in which to spend the night; but not a single sheltered spot was to be found. He therefore decided to hurry down as far as possible before daylight failed. The memory of his previous night's experience nerved him to his utmost speed. Suddenly he became con scious that his sight was failing him — the brilliancy us the snow dazzled his eyes, and he was nearly BALMAT GOT ON THE RIDGE ASTRIDE, ANU DRAGGED HIMSELF ALONG '22 blind.

Whichever way he looked, he seemed to see nothing but large spots of blood. Unable to proceed farther, he sat down and closed his eyes. Al the end of half an hour he had so far recovered that he was able to resume his descent. He had not gone more than a few hundred yards when his staff gave warning of danger, and the next instant he felt the snow sinking beneath his weight — he was on the verge of the Grande Crevasse. With the mechanical promptness of the man who is used to act in sudden emergency, he drew back just in time to save himself from being precipitated iuto the depths below. Cautiously he walked along the side of the crevasse, looking for the frail ice bridge by which he had crossed in the morning ; but again his eyesight failed. When he recovered, night had set in, and there was no escape from the fearful necessity of spending the night where he was — two thousand feet higher than on the former occasion.

Covering his face with his handkerchief, he sat down on his sack. Away down in the valley, ten thousand feet below, he saw the lights in the cot tages of his friends and neighbours ; and as he thought of them around their warm hearths, he wondered bitterly if any one of them pitied him, alone and deserted on that bleak mountain-side. The intense cold deprived him of any feelings of hunger or thirst. Now and again, during a pause in the rumble and crack of avalanche or glacier, the wretched adventurer was cheered by the bark of a dog. There seemed to him to be so much companionship in the sound, so much of a home feeling, that it was welcome, and he listened eagerly for its repetition. The hours dragged slowly by. Snow fell — not in flakes, but in sharp pellets, which cut him like arrows, and seemed to freeze the very marrow in his bones.

A fearful heaviness seized him, and an overpowering desire to sleep took possession of him. He knew only too well that these feelings were the harbingers of death, and he struggled against them as a man ' DO O who fights for his life. The sounds from the valley served to arouse his attention for a time, till one by one the lights were extinguished, and even the dog ceased barking. Then he felt as if the last link which bound him to earth had snapped. He never could tell how he lived through that night. The silence alone was enough to drive him out of his mind, and the noises made by avalanche and glacier were even more fearful than the silence they broke. Dawn again brought disappointment — the summit was shrouded in fog ; so he at once descended. When he reached home he threw himself down on the straw in the barn, and slept for twenty-four hours.

It was several weeks before he was able to get about again after his terrible experience, and during that time he had leisure to think over events, and found that his courage and perseverance had not been altogether in vain. He discovered that if the crevasses which border the Grand Plateau were once crossed, the path to the top of Mont Blanc was clear and unbroken before him. There and then he traced out the route which has been followed ever since with but little variation, and which appears beyond all doubt to be the only practical one. This secret Balmat com municated to Doctor Paccard, his physician, and the two men agreed to attempt the ascent together on the first favourable opportunity. Early on the morning of the 7th of August 17SG, afler many days of fog and unsuitable weather, Balmat looked out of his cottage window, and saw thai the hour for the great venture had arrived.

Dressing himself, he hurried to Paccard's house and asked if he was ready to risk the journey. The doctor replied that he was ready for anything. The day was spent in making arrangements. Balmat was calm as usual, but the doctor wavered between delirious excitement and childish fear, which he tried in vain to hide. More than once he urged Balmat to take a couple of guides with them ; but the pioneer firmly refused, saying, "If you cannot trust yourself with me stay at home. I will go alone.'' Their preparations were of the simplest description, consisting only of a couple of blankets, a small quantity of food, and some syrup to mix with the water. Neither brandy nor wine was included on this occasion, for Balmat had found in his previous expeditions that the alcohol had done him more harm than good.

About five o'clock they started, leaving the village by different routes, so as not to arouse the curiosity of the people. The first night was passed on the mountain-side in comparative comfort, and at two o'clock next morning the two adventurers resumed their journey. All went well for a time till they approached an immense glacier, the sight of which filled the doctor with apprehension. His fears of the day before returned with double force, and he would gladly have abandoned the expedition. Man has always invested the unknown with imaginary terrors, and the doctor was no exception. The difficulties of the route increased. Immense crevasses had to be crossed on narrow ice bridges, which creaked beneath their feet, and on wliich a momentary carelessness meant death. For a time nd was completely unnerved.

The confidence of his guide, however, reassured him, and again he went boldly forward. After they had passed the Grands Mulets Balmat pointed out the rock on which he had passed the first night, and again the doctor was ready to sink with an ungovernable fright. At the same moment, to add to his consternation, a sudden gust of wind sent his hat skimming over the precipice. So fierce indeed was the blast that the two men had to throw themselves on their faces, and as they lay there were in imminent danger of being buried under the huge masses of snow which the tempest tossed hither and thither. By crawling on their hands and knees they managed to make their way to the Dome de Gouter. Here the doctor utterly collapsed, and refused to go a step farther. Balmat used the utmost persuasion at his command in a vain attempt to nerve him to continue the journey.

Not another inch would Paccard advance. Leaving his companion comfortably wrapped in his blanket, with orders to keep awake, the hardy mountaineer set off alone. He found the way much easier than he anticipated ; but he experienced great difficulty in breathing, owing to the rarefaction of the air. Every few yards be had to stop to recover his breath, and he felt as if he had no lungs. His symptoms were becoming alarming, when the happy thought came to him of tying his handkerchief over his mouth. This gave him instant relief, and with head down, in face of the cold and the bitter wind, he pressed forward. Suddenly he was conscious of having reached the highest point anywhere around him. He lifted his head and stared about him. Yes ! at last his reward had come. He found himself standing on the top of Mont Blanc.

We can but faintly conceive the rush of thoughts and emotions which passed through the mind of the hardy guide at this moment. More than once he looked around, in dread expectation that there might be another peak of greater altitude ; but his apprehension was groundless. Every other mountain top lay far below him. Away down in the valley he could see that the inhabitants of Chamouni had assembled to greet the conqueror of the " monarch of mountains." All were there — toddling children and tottering old men and women, waving their hats and handkerchiefs in wild delight. The sight was more than sufficient recompense for all his toil and fatigue and disappoint ment. His triumph was complete. Even then Balmat was not unmindful of his friend JACQUES BALMAT ON THE SUMMIT OF MONT BLANC. the doctor ; so after another hasty glance round, to make assurance doubly sure that he had reached the summit, he descended.

When he reached the spot where he had left Paccard, he found him lying huddled together and apparently dead. Balmat hastily roused him and shouted in his ear the joyful news. " I have been to the top of Mont Blanc." Instead of a word of congratulation, there came a queru lous request to be left alone and allowed to go to sleep. "Sleep?" exclaimed Balmat; "you didn't come here to sleep, but to go to the top of the mountain. I have been up, and you must come too." With considerable difficulty the guide got Paccard on to his feet, but he was in such a deathlike stupor that he did not care what became of him. Balmat's vigorous pushing in time restored some slight anima tion, and they eventually reached the summit. With enthusiasm the guide pointed out the various features of the magnificent panorama which lay unfolded before their eyes.

His words fell on deaf ears — the doctor was as one dead. So with a final wave of his hat to those, below Balmat began the descent, and a fearful descent it was. Paccard had now lost all power of voluntary movement, and it was only by force that the guide got him along — pushing him in the good places, and carrying him on his back in the bad. The excitement alone of this performance kept Balmat up, and about eleven o'clock at night they reached the solid ground below the ice region. For an hour they had been travelling in the dark! When Balmat was wrapping the doctor in his blanket, he found that the unfortunate man had temporarily lost the use of both hands, benumbed by the intense cold, a circumstance to which he was perfectly indifferent. The guide himself had lost the use of one hand, so that there was only one hand between them.

How ever, a vigorous rubbing with snow soon restored the circulation, and after a little supper they stretched themselves on the ground and went to sleep. About six o'clock next morning Balmat was awakened by the doctor, who remarked, " What a strange thing! It's quite dark, vet the birds are singing." " It's broad daylight. Open your eyes. " I don't think I can, for I see nothing. Balmat looked at his companion, and to his surprise saw that his eyes weie wide open. The poor fellow was blind. They at once set off for home, and the guide managed to get Paccard to his house in safety. He then hurried to his own cottage. When he looked at himself in the glass, be was horrified to see that his face was black, bis eyes red, and his lips blue. If he smiled or yawned the blood spurted out from his .5 cheeks and lips, and for long afterwards he could only see in the twilight.

Beyond this he was little the worse for his daring adventure. And the doctor after a time completely recovered his sight. '■IIAPTER III. EARLY ADVENTURES ON MONT BLANC. HE news of Balmat's successful ascent of Mont Blanc quickly spread over Europe, and reached the ears of Horace de Saussure, professor of natural philosophy in the college of Geneva. For twenty-seven years it bad been the dream of his life to reach the summit of Mont Blanc and make scientific observa tions ; but the idea that the mountain was inaccessible had always held him back from the attempt. Now his chance had come, and he lost no time in taking advantage of it. In July 1787 he arrived at Chamouni, intending to start at once ; but unsuitable weather delayed him for several weeks, and it was not until the 1st of August that the attempt could be made.

With eighteen guides and a personal servant he set out, taking with him a number of scientific instruments, a teut, and a large quantity of provisions. The first night was spent at the foot of the mountain, and the next day they ascended a con siderable distance. The cold was so intense that some of the guides declared it would be fatal to spend the night at such an elevation. The tent was, however, pitched in the snow, and all crowded into it. After a time the atmosphere became so op pressive that de Saussure went out to breathe. " The moon," he says, " was shining brilliantly in the middle of a jet-black sky. It was a scene of the most solemn and majestic magnificence." Early next morning the march was resumed, and after many hours of laborious scrambling the summit was gained. While de Saussure enjoyed the view spread out below and around him, the guides fixed up the tent and arranged his instruments ; but when he attempted to use them he experienced the greatest difficulty with his breathing, owing to the rarefaction of the air.

Over ami over again he was compelled to rest, and pant as much as if he had ascended one of the steepest slopes. For three hours and a half he persevered, but at last his sufferings became so intense that he had to give up without having made all the observations he desired. The descent was accordingly begun, and accomplished in safety. By EARLY ADVENTURES ON MONT BLANC 37 this ascent the professor earned for himself the title of " father of mountaineering." He was the first man who had braved the dangers of the Alps in the cause of science. To Marie Paradis, a native of Chamouni, belongs the proud distinction of having been the first woman to make the ascent of the great white mountain. She was only twenty-two years of age. For a long time her great desire had been to follow in the footsteps of Balmat, and she tried to persuade some of the guides to accompany her, but in vain.

Each and all of them absolutely refused, and plainly told her that she could not be in her right senses to dream of such au adventure. At length, in 1809, she succeeded in winning over a guide named Victor Tairraz, who showed her the way to the summit. Many years later this feat was emulated by another lady — a Swiss, named Mademoiselle d'Augeville, who, with four guides, set out on the 4th of September 1838. She was of a delicate but highly excitable temperament, and during tbe ascent she behaved with the utmost courage. When tin* summit was reached, she ordered the guides to lift her up on their shoulders, so that she might say she had been higher than anyone else— higher even than Mont Blanc. On the morning of the 31st of July 1856, an Englishman named Forman, and his daughter, added to the number of successful ascents.