by Mark Twain
CHAPTER XLV
A Catastrophe Which Cost Eleven Lives
On the 5th of September, 1870, a caravan of eleven persons departedfrom Chamonix to make the ascent of Mont Blanc. Three of the partywere tourists; Messrs. Randall and Bean, Americans, and Mr. GeorgeCorkindale, a Scotch gentleman; there were three guides and fiveporters. The cabin on the Grands Mulets was reached that day; the ascentwas resumed early the next morning, September 6th. The day was fineand clear, and the movements of the party were observed through thetelescopes of Chamonix; at two o'clock in the afternoon they were seento reach the summit. A few minutes later they were seen making the firststeps of the descent; then a cloud closed around them and hid them fromview.
Eight hours passed, the cloud still remained, night came, no one hadreturned to the Grands Mulets. Sylvain Couttet, keeper of the cabinthere, suspected a misfortune, and sent down to the valley for help. Adetachment of guides went up, but by the time they had made the tedioustrip and reached the cabin, a raging storm had set in. They had to wait;nothing could be attempted in such a tempest.
The wild storm lasted _more than a week_, without ceasing; but on the17th, Couttet, with several guides, left the cabin and succeeded inmaking the ascent. In the snowy wastes near the summit they came uponfive bodies, lying upon their sides in a reposeful attitude whichsuggested that possibly they had fallen asleep there, while exhaustedwith fatigue and hunger and benumbed with cold, and never knew whendeath stole upon them. Couttet moved a few steps further and discoveredfive more bodies. The eleventh corpse--that of a porter--was not found,although diligent search was made for it.
In the pocket of Mr. Bean, one of the Americans, was found a note-bookin which had been penciled some sentences which admit us, in flesh andspirit, as it were, to the presence of these men during their last hoursof life, and to the grisly horrors which their fading vision looked uponand their failing consciousness took cognizance of:
TUESDAY, SEPT. 6. I have made the ascent of Mont Blanc, with tenpersons--eight guides, and Mr. Corkindale and Mr. Randall. We reachedthe summit at half past 2. Immediately after quitting it, we wereenveloped in clouds of snow. We passed the night in a grotto hollowed inthe snow, which afforded us but poor shelter, and I was ill all night.
SEPT. 7--MORNING. The cold is excessive. The snow falls heavily andwithout interruption. The guides take no rest.
EVENING. My Dear Hessie, we have been two days on Mont Blanc, in themidst of a terrible hurricane of snow, we have lost our way, and arein a hole scooped in the snow, at an altitude of 15,000 feet. I have nolonger any hope of descending.
They had wandered around, and around, in the blinding snow-storm,hopelessly lost, in a space only a hundred yards square; and when coldand fatigue vanquished them at last, they scooped their cave and laydown there to die by inches, _unaware that five steps more would havebrought them into the true path._ They were so near to life and safetyas that, and did not suspect it. The thought of this gives the sharpestpang that the tragic story conveys.
The author of the _Histoire Du Mont Blanc_ introduced the closingsentences of Mr. Bean's pathetic record thus:
"Here the characters are large and unsteady; the hand which traces themis become chilled and torpid; but the spirit survives, and the faith andresignation of the dying man are expressed with a sublime simplicity."
Perhaps this note-book will be found and sent to you. We have nothing toeat, my feet are already frozen, and I am exhausted; I have strength towrite only a few words more. I have left means for C's education; I knowyou will employ them wisely. I die with faith in God, and with lovingthoughts of you. Farewell to all. We shall meet again, in Heaven. ... Ithink of you always.
It is the way of the Alps to deliver death to their victims with amerciful swiftness, but here the rule failed. These men sufferedthe bitterest death that has been recorded in the history of thosemountains, freighted as that history is with grisly tragedies.
