Chapter 8 LOST IN THE ICE FOR FORTY YEARS

It was in 1786 that the summit of Mont Blanc was reached for the first time. It had been attained on only eleven occasions, and no accidents had happened on it when, in 1820, the catastrophe since known as the Hamel accident, took place.

Dr Joseph Hamel was a Russian savant, and Counsellor of State to the Czar. He much desired to ascend Mont Blanc in order that he might make scientific experiments on the top, and in August 1820, he came to Chamonix for the purpose. It is of no use, and of little interest to general readers, if I enter into particulars of the controversy which this expedition excited. Some declared that Dr Hamel urged his guides to proceed against their better judgment. Others say that the whole party-which included two Englishmen and nine guides-were anxious to continue the ascent, and, indeed, saw no reason for doing otherwise. Certain it is, however that in those days no one was a judge of the condition of snow, and able to tell from its consistency if an avalanche were likely or not.

Mont Blanc.

The black line shows the probable course the bodies took during their 40 years' descent in the ice.

By a local Photographer.

Nicolas Winhart, escaping on this occasion with his life, afterwards perished on the Col des Grands Montets in 1875 (page 99).

By a local Photographer.

A Banker at Geneva, who was a most active searcher for Henry Arkwright's body. He was killed in a duel in 1869. It is interesting to compare the old-fashioned costume with that of the present day climber.

By a local Photographer.

The Relics.

The rope was found round the body but worn through in two places by the hip bones. The handkerchief, shirt front with studs, prune stones, watch chain, pencil case, cartridge, spike of alpenstock, coins, glove tied with spare bootlace, etc., all belonged to Henry Arkwright.

The party, which at first numbered fourteen, duly reached the rocks of the Grands Mulets, where it was usual to spend the night. The sky clouded over towards evening, and there was a heavy thunderstorm during the night. Next morning the weather was too unsettled for the ascent to be tried, so a couple of guides were sent down to Chamonix for more provisions, and a second night was spent in camp. Early next morning, in beautiful weather, a start was made, one of the members of the party, Monsieur Selligne, who felt ill, and two guides leaving the others and going down to Chamonix. The rest safely reached the Grand Plateau. The snow, hardened by the night's frost, had thus far supported the weight of the climbers and made their task easy. It was, however, far from consolidated beneath the crust, as the warm wind of the previous days had made it thoroughly rotten.

All were in excellent spirits during the halt for breakfast on the Grand Plateau, that snowy valley which is spread out below the steeper slopes of the final mass of the mountain. Dr Hamel employed part of his time in writing a couple of notes announcing his arrival on the top of Mont Blanc leaving a blank on each to insert the hour. These notes he intended to despatch by carrier pigeon, the bird being with them, imprisoned in a large kettle.

At 10.30 they reached the foot of what is now known as the Ancien Passage. This is a steep snow-slope leading almost directly to the top of Mont Blanc. When the snow is sound, and the ice above does not overhang much, this route is as safe as any other; but a steep slope covered with a layer of rotten snow is always most dangerous. At that time, the Ancien Passage was the only way ever taken up Mont Blanc.

They had ascended a considerable distance, the snow being softer and softer as they rose, and they formed a long line one behind the other, not mounting straight up, but making their way rather across the slope. Six guides walked at the head of the troop, and then, after an interval, the two Englishmen and two more guides, Dr Hamel being last.

All seemed to be going excellently. Everyone plodded along, and rejoiced to be so near the culminating point of the expedition. No thought of danger disturbed them.

Suddenly there was a dull, harsh sound. Immediately the entire surface of the snow began to move. "My God! The avalanche! We are lost!" shrieked the guides. The slope at Dr Hamel's end of the party was not steep,-barely more than 30°-but up above it was more rapid. The leading guides were carried straightway off their feet. Hamel was also swept away by the gathering mass of snow. Using his arms as if swimming, he managed to bring his head to the surface, and as he did so the moving snow slowed down and stopped. In those few moments, some 1200 feet had been descended. At first Dr Hamel thought that he alone had been carried away, but presently he saw his English friends and their guides-no more.

"Where are the others?" cried Dr Hamel. Balmat, who a moment before had let his brother pass on to the head of the party, wrung his hands and answered, "The others are in the crevasse!"

The crevasse! Strange that all had forgotten it! The avalanche had poured into it, filling it to the brim.

"A terrible panic set in. The guides lost all self-control. Some walked about aimlessly, uttering loud cries. Matthieu Balmat sat in sullen silence, rejecting all kind offices with an irritation which made it painful to approach him. Dornford threw himself on the snow in despair, and Henderson, says Hamel, 'was in a condition which made one fear for the consequences.' A few minutes later two other guides extricated themselves, but the remaining three were seen no more. Hamel and Henderson descended into the crevasse, and made every possible attempt to find the lost guides, but without avail; the surviving guides forced them to come out, and sore at heart they returned to Chamonix.

"The three guides who were lost were Pierre Carrier, Pierre Balmat, and Auguste Tairraz. They were the three foremost in the line and felt the first effects of the avalanche. Matthieu Balmat, who was fourth in the line, saved himself by his great personal strength and by presence of mind. Julien Dévouassoud was hurled across the crevasse, and Joseph Marie Couttet was dragged out senseless by his companions, 'nearly black from the weight of snow which had fallen upon him.'"[3]

Scientific men had already begun to give attention to the movement of glaciers. In addition to this, cases had occurred where the remains of persons lost on glaciers had been recovered years afterwards. A travelling seller of hats, crossing the Tschingel Glacier on his way from the Bernese Oberland to Valais, had fallen into a crevasse. Eventually his body and his stock of merchandise was found at the end of the glacier. Near the Grimsel, the remains of a child were discovered in the ice. An old man remembered that many years before a little boy had disappeared in that locality and must doubtless have been lost in a crevasse. These facts were probably known to Dr Hamel, and he made the remark that perhaps in a thousand years, the bodies of his guides might be found. Forbes, who knew more of the subject, believed that, travelling in the ice, they would reach the end of the glacier in forty years.

He was right, for on 15th August 1861, his "bold prediction was verified, and the ice give up its dead." On that day, the guide, Ambrose Simond, who happened to be with some tourists on the lower part of the Glacier des Bossons, discovered some pieces of clothing and human bones. From that time until 1864 the glacier did not cease to render up, piece by piece, the remains and the belongings of the three victims.

An accident, very similar to that which befell Dr Hamel's party, took place in 1866. This has for me a very special interest, as I have met the brother of the Englishman who perished, and have examined all the documents, letters, newspaper cuttings, and photographs relating to the catastrophe. The guide, Sylvain Couttet, an old friend of mine, since dead, has given a moving account of the sad event. Sylvain knew Mont Blanc better than any other native of Chamonix, and though when I knew him he had given up guiding, he desired to add one more ascent of the great white peak to his record, for at that time he had been up ninety-nine times. I accordingly invited him to come with my party when we climbed it from the Italian side. He did so-he had never been up that way before-and I well remember how he slipped himself free of the rope after the last rocks, saying, "Ah, you young people, you go on. The old man will follow." Alone he arrived on the top, strode about over its snowy dome as if to say good-bye, and was just as ready for his work as any of us when, in a stiff gale, we descended the ridge of the Bosses.

But to return to what is known as the Arkwright accident.

In the year 1866, Henry Arkwright, a young man of twenty-nine, aide-de-camp to the Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, was travelling in Switzerland with his mother and two sisters. Writing from Geneva on 3rd September to a member of his family, he said, "We have ventured to try our luck higher up, as the weather is so warm and settled-as otherwise I should leave Switzerland without seeing a glacier." On what an apparent chance-a run of fine weather-do great issues depend!

The party shortly afterwards moved on to Chamonix, where many excursions were made, thanks to the beautiful weather which still continued. It had now become quite the fashion to go up Mont Blanc, so one is not surprised that Henry Arkwright, though no climber, decided to make the attempt. One of his sisters went with him as far as the hut at the Grands Mulets, and they were accompanied by the guide Michael Simond, and the porters Joseph and Fran?ois Tournier. Another party proposed also to go up. It consisted of two persons only, Sylvain Couttet and an employé of the Hotel Royal named Nicolas Winhart, whom Sylvain had promised to conduct to the top when he had time and opportunity. It was the 12th October when they left Chamonix, and all went well across the crevassed Glacier des Bossons, and they duly reached their night quarters.

While the climbers were absent next day, Miss Fanny Arkwright employed herself with writing and finishing a sketch for her brother.

Meanwhile the two parties, having set out at an early hour, advanced quickly up the snow-slopes. The days were short, and it was desirable to take the most direct route. For years the Ancien Passage had been abandoned, and the more circuitous way by the Corridor used instead. However, the snow was in good order, and as up to then no accidents had happened through falling ice, this danger was little dreaded, though it is sometimes a very real one in the Ancien Passage. So the guides advised that this should be the way chosen, and both parties directed their steps accordingly. Sylvain Couttet has left a remarkable description of the events which followed, and portions of this I now translate from his own words as they appeared in The Alpine Journal.

The two parties were together at the beginning of the steep snow-slope. Sylvain's narrative here commences:-"I said to the porter, Joseph Tournier, who had thus far been making the tracks, 'Let us pass on ahead; you have worked long enough. To each of us his share!' It was to this kindly thought for my comrade that, without the slightest doubt, Winhart and I owe our salvation! We had been walking for about ten minutes near some very threatening séracs when a crack was heard above us a little to the right. Without reasoning, I instinctively cried, 'Walk quickly!' and I rushed forwards, while someone behind me exclaimed, 'Not in that direction!'

"I heard nothing more; the wind of the avalanche caught me and carried me away in its furious descent. 'Lie down!' I called, and at the same moment I desperately drove my stick into the harder snow beneath, and crouched down on hands and knees, my head bent and turned towards the hurricane. I felt the blocks of ice passing over my back, particles of snow were swept against my face, and I was deafened by a terrible cracking sound like thunder.

"It was only after eight or ten minutes that the air began to clear, and then, always clinging to my axe, I perceived Winhart 6 feet below me, with the point of his stick firmly planted in the ice. The rope by which we were tied to each other was intact. I saw nothing beyond Winhart except the remains of the cloud of snow and a chaos of ice-blocks spread over an area of about 600 feet.

"I called out at the top of my voice-no answer-I became like a madman, I burst out crying, I began to call out again-always the same silence-the silence of death.

"I pulled out my axe, I untied the rope which joined us, and both of us, with what energy remained to us, with our brains on fire and our hearts oppressed with grief, commenced to explore in every direction the enormous mountain of shattered ice-blocks which lay below us. Finally, about 150 feet further down I saw a knapsack-then a man. It was Fran?ois Tournier, his face terribly mutilated, and his skull smashed in by a piece of ice. The cord had been broken between Tournier and the man next to him. We continued our search in the neighbourhood of his body, but after two hours' work could find nothing more. It was vain to make further efforts! Nothing was visible amongst the masses of débris, as big as houses, and we had no tools except my axe and Winhart's stick. We drew the body of poor Tournier after us as far as the Grand Plateau, and with what strength remained to us we descended as fast as we could towards the hut at the Grands Mulets, where a terrible ordeal awaited me-the announcement of the catastrophe to Miss Arkwright.

"The poor child was sitting quietly occupied with her sketching.

"'Well, Sylvain!' she cried on seeing me, 'All has gone well?'

"'Not altogether, Mademoiselle,' I replied, not knowing how to begin.

"Mademoiselle looked at me, noticed my bent head and my eyes full of tears-she rose, came towards me-'What is the matter? Tell me all!'

"I could only answer, 'Have courage, Mademoiselle.'

"She understood me. The brave young girl knelt down and prayed for a few moments, and then got up pale, calm, dry-eyed. 'Now you can tell me everything,' she said, 'I am ready.'

* * *

"She insisted on accompanying me at once to Chamonix, where she, in her turn, would have to break the sad tidings to her mother and sister.

"At the foot of the mountain the sister of Mademoiselle met us, happy and smiling.

"Do not ask me any more details of that awful day, I have not the strength to tell them to you."

Thirty-one years passed, when, in 1897, Colonel Arkwright, a brother of Henry Arkwright's, received the following telegram from the Mayor of Chamonix:

"Restes Henry Arkwright peri Mont Blanc 1866 retrouvés."

Once more the glacier had given up its dead, and during these thirty-one years the body of Henry Arkwright had descended 9000 feet in the ice and had been rendered back to his family at the foot of the glacier.

The remains of the Englishman were buried at Chamonix, and perhaps never has so pathetic a service been held there as that which consigned to the earth what was left of him who thirty-one years before had been snatched away in the mighty grip of the avalanche.

Many belongings of the lost one's came by degrees to light. A pocket-handkerchief was intact, and on it as well as on his shirt-front, Henry Arkwright's name and that of his regiment written in marking-ink were legible. Though the shirt was torn to pieces, yet two of the studs and the collar-stud were still in the button-holes and uninjured. The gold pencil-case (I have handled it), opened and shut as smoothly as it had ever done, and on the watch-chain there was not a scratch. A pair of gloves were tied together with a boot-lace which his sister remembered taking from her own boot so that he might have a spare one, and coins, a used cartridge, and various other odds and ends, were all recovered from the ice.

The remains of the guides had been found and brought down soon after the accident, but that of Henry Arkwright had been buried too deeply to be discovered.

In connection with the preservation of bodies in ice the following extract from The Daily Telegraph for 10th May 1902 is of great interest. It is headed:

MAMMOTH 8000 YEARS OLD

Reuter's representative has had an interview with Mr J. Talbot Clifton, who has lately returned from an expedition in Northern Siberia, undertaken for the purpose of discovering new species of animals.

Mr Clifton gives the following account of the Herz mammoth, which he saw on his arrival at Irkutsk. "It is," he said, "about the size of an elephant, which it resembles somewhat in form. It possesses a trunk, has five toes instead of four, and is a heavy beast. It is supposed to have lived about 8000 years ago. Its age was probably not more than twenty-six years-very young for a mammoth. Its flesh was quite complete, except for a few pieces which had been bitten at by wolves or bears. Most of the hair on the body had been scraped away by ice, but its mane and near foreleg were in perfect preservation and covered with long hair. The hair of the mane was from 4 in. to 5 in. long, and of a yellowish brown colour, while its left leg was covered with black hair. In its stomach was found a quantity of undigested food, and on its tongue was the herbage which it had been eating when it died. This was quite green."