To Editor of the Times ¹

The Accident on the Col-Du-Géant.

Sir,—I am induced to lay before you the following remarks on the recent fatal occurrence on the Col-Du-Géant,² leaving it to you to decide whether they are of sufficient interest to render their publication desirable.

On the 18^th of August, while staying with a friend at Breuil, rumours of the disaster reached us; but the accounts at first were so contradictory as to inspire the hope that they might be altogether false. Clearer intelligence, however, soon arrived, and before I quitted Breuil it was perfectly certain that three Englishmen, named Fuller,³ Rochester,⁴ and Vavasour,⁵ with a guide named Tairraz⁶ had perished on the Col. On the 21^st I saw the brother of Tairraz at Aosta, and learned from him all he knew of the occurrence. The more I heard of it, however, the stronger became my desire to visit the scene of the catastrophe myself, and obtain through actual contact with the facts information more reliable than could possibly be conveyed to me by description. On the afternoon of the 22^nd I accordingly reached Courmayeur, and, being informed that M. Curie,⁷ the resident French pastor, had visited the place and made an accurate sketch of it, I at once called upon him. With the most obliging promptness he placed the sketches in my hands, furnished me with an account of the occurrence drawn up by himself, and volunteered to accompany me to the spot, so that we might inspect it together. I gladly accepted this offer, and early on the morning of Thursday, the 24^th of August, we reached the Pavilion,⁸ which it had been the aim of the travellers to reach on the day of their death. Wishing to make myself acquainted with every inch of the ground over which, from the commencement of their glissade,⁹ the unfortunate men had passed, I walked straight up from the Pavilion to the base of the rocky couloir along which they had been precipitated. This couloir was described as being so dangerous that a chamois hunter had declined ascending it some days before; but through the kindness of M. Curie I secured at Cormayeur the services of an intrepid man, named Baireux,¹⁰ who had once made the ascent, and whom it was now my intention to follow. We commenced our climb at the very bottom of the rocks, while the pastor made a détour and joined us on the spot where the body of the guide Tairraz had been found, and where some fragments of his skull—an extremely thick one—still furnished sad evidence of his fate. From this point upwards M. Curie shared the dangers of the ascent—strongly, I confess, against my will—until we reached the place where the rocks ended, and the fatal snow slope commenced. Here we parted company, he deeming it more prudent to resort to a strong arête to the right, than to trust himself upon the snow. I was urged by M. Curie to content myself with an inspection of the place, but no inspection, however close, could have given me the information I desired. I asked my guide whether he feared the slope, and, his reply being negative, we entered upon the snow, and ascended it along the course of the fatal glissade, the traces of which had not been entirely obliterated. Among the rocks below we had frequent and often melancholy occasion to assure ourselves that we were on the proper track, being guided by pieces of broken bottles, of wood, lucifer matches, fragments of leather, of crania, and other objects not necessary to mention. We also found a penknife and a small magnetic compass but the most important discovery was made upon the snow, being that of a fine new ice-axe, the property of one of the guides, who had relinquished it in his descent. This implement accompanied me yesterday across the channel,¹¹ and the discovery of it helps to throw a most needful light upon the disaster. Thus, then, from the beginning to the end of this fatal track I made myself acquainted with its true character, and as I stood upon the summit of the incline and scanned the ground over which I had passed a feeling of augmented sadness took possession of me. There was no sufficient reason for this terrible catastrophe. With ordinary precaution the glissade made,¹² in the first instance, have been avoided, and with average capacity to cope with such an accident the motion might, I am persuaded, have been arrested after it had been commenced.

Bounding the snow slope to the left, looking downwards, is a stony arête which forms the track by which travellers to Cormayeur usually descend. It is rough, but absolutely without danger. Any lady of ordinary walking powers might be conducted down it with perfect safety. But the men were tired when they reached this place, and to avoid the roughness of the arête they betook themselves to the snow. In connexion with their first entrance upon the snow a statement has been made which needs correction. On the morning of the fatal day a party, including two ladies, had actually descended the Col to Cormayeur, and M. Curie was one of this party. They also had trodden upon the snow, and it is alleged that their trace was followed by the party which attempted to descend in the evening. This is not true. M. Curie’s party kept close to the arête, whereas the others were several yards to the right of it. The traces of both parties were perfectly plain on the day of my visit. An instrument for measuring the inclination of the snow was not, I am sorry to say, in my possession, but I should estimate its upper portion as forming an angle of 30 degrees, or thereabouts, with the horizon. It steepened considerably lower down, but its steepest portion I should estimate at less than 45 degrees of inclination. At all events, practised mountaineers are accustomed to trust themselves on steeper slopes without fear, and many of them, I imagine, might be found who would offer themselves to be tossed from a carpet on the slope in question, with perfect reliance on their power to arrest their downwards motion.

There are two other points which must be disposed of if we would have an unclouded view of this deplorable occurrence. It is alleged that when the party was approaching the summit of the Col on the Chamounix side, the guides proposed to return, but the Englishmen persisted in going forward. One condition of things alone could justify the proposition of the guides, namely, a fog as thick as to prevent them from reaching the summit of the Col at the proper point, and to render it necessary for them to return by the traces which they had already stamped in the snow. The only portion of the Col hitherto regarded as dangerous had been passed, and hence, unless in the case assumed, it would have been simply absurd to propose recrossing the really perilous portion of the glacier, instead of proceeding to Cormayeur. Such a fog, the guides affirm, did exist, but they, nevertheless, reached the summit of the Col, and the weather cleared after the summit had been attained. The subsequent portion of the journey must be discussed purely on its own merits, and whether the Englishmen refused to return or not upon the Montanvert side ought in no way to influence our judgment of what occurred on the Cormayeur side. Indeed, the alleged refusal seems to be justified by the facts; the guides acted upon it, the Col was surmounted, the descent at the other side was commenced, and here the weather, which prompted the proposal to go back, ceased to be blamable. The second point to which I would refer is this: —A statement is current which conveys the impression that the unfortunate men were carried down by an avalanche. In connexion with this point M. Curie writes to me thus: —“Il parait qu’à Chamounix on repand le bruit que c'est une avalanche qui a fait périr les voyageurs. C'est là une fausseté que le premier vous saurez démentir sur les lieux.”¹³ I have no hesitation is subscribing to this opinion of M. Curie, that a considerable quantity of snow was brought down during the glissade is exceedingly probable; but an avalanche, properly so called, there was not, and it simply leads to misconception to introduce the term avalanche at all.

We are now prepared to discuss the descent. The travellers, it is alleged, reached the summit of the Col in a state of great exhaustion; and this I can readily believe. It is also certain that such a condition would deprive them, to a great extent of that firmness of tread which is necessary in perilous places. But every guide and every experienced traveller is acquainted with this effect of fatigue, and this knowledge ought, one would think, to prevent them from entering upon the snow slope at all, when the rocky arête was at hand. Still I would excuse them here; for who would anticipate serious danger on a slope of 30 degrees? We are informed, however, that even on this slope the foot of one of the men repeatedly gave way, and that it was necessary continually to exhort him to fix his heels in the snow. Thus warned, why did the guides not quit the snow and resort to the arête? They must have had full confidence in their powers to arrest the glissade, which seemed so imminent, or else they were perfectly reckless of the lives committed to their charge. We must assume the former, though, unfortunately, when this confidence was put to the test it proved delusive. At some distance down the slope the heaviest of the three gentlemen slipped, and was shot downwards; he jerked his next neighbour off his feet, he again the next, until, finally, the whole of the men were in swift motion. What efforts were made to check this fearful descent we know not. At what point of the glissade the two guides relinquished the rope we are not accurately informed; which of them gave way first we do not know, though all this might be, and ought to be, known. All that we really know is, that the foremost and the hindmost guides did let go the rope, and escaped, while the three Englishmen and Tairraz went to destruction; and, like Englishmen, they met their doom without a word of exclamation.¹⁴ At the bottom of the slope a ridge of rocks rose slightly above the level of the snow, thus forming a little barrier of which practised men might possibly have availed themselves at the last moment; as it was, however, all four were tilted over this barrier, and immediately afterwards descended a precipice, at the base of which they were certainly placed beyond all feeling. I do not think a single second's suffering could have been endured. During the wild rush downwards the men were too bewildered to experience fear, and at the base of the precipice life and pain ended suddenly together. A steep slope of rocks connected the base of this first precipice with the brow of a second, but lower one, at the bottom of which the body of M^r Fuller was found. Another slope ran from this point to the summit of another ledge, where the body of M^r Rochester was arrested, while attached to the latter by a rope, and quite overhanging the ledge, was the body of M^r Vavasour. The body of the guide Tairraz was precipitated much further, and was correspondingly mutilated.

The question has been raised whether it was right under the circumstances to tie the men together. In my opinion, it was perfectly right, if only properly done. But the actual arrangement was this: —the three Englishmen were attached together by a rope which was tied firmly around the waist of each of them; one end of this rope was held in the hand of the guide who led the party, the other end was similarly held by the hindmost guide, while Tairraz laid hold of the rope near the middle. Against this mode of attachment I would enter my most solemn protest; in no case ought it to be permitted. In all probability it was this which led to the destruction of the unfortunate Russian gentleman on the Findelen glacier last year,¹⁵ and to it I believe is to be ascribed in a great measure the present fearful disaster. Whatever the attachment may be which is necessary for the tourist, that attachment the guide ought to share—their destinies ought to be inseparable. Let me now show cause for this emphatic protest, basing myself as I do so on the actual facts. At a little depth below the surface the snow upon the slope in question is firm and consolidated; but upon this firmer substratum a superficial layer partly fresh, and partly disintegrated by the weather, lay to a depth of eight or ten inches, or perhaps a foot, on the day of the disaster. By a proper action of the feet upon such snow its granules may be made to cement themselves together so as to afford a secure footing; but when the foot slips and the body is thrown prostrate on a slope covered with such snow the granules act like friction wheels, and the body shoots downwards almost without resistance. Suppose a smooth oilcloth to be placed upon a polished table, and the latter tilted up to form an angle of 45 degrees with the with the horizon; imagine a boy laid flat upon the oilcloth, the latter would slide over the wood, and the boy along with it, as the loose snow slid over the firm snow in the case before us. But suppose the boy to be furnished with a stick armed with a spike of iron at its end, what might he to do to check his descent? He ought to drive his spike with energy through the oilcloth, and seek to anchor it firmly in the wood underneath. And a precisely similar action ought to have been resorted to on the slope of the Col-du-Géant. Each man as he fell ought to have turned promptly on his face, pierced with his bâton the superficial layer of soft snow, and pressed with both arms the spike of his staff in to the consolidated mass underneath. A break would thus have been applied sufficient not only to bring a single man to rest, but if well done, sufficient, I believe to enable any single man to stop himself and another. I do not lightly express this opinion; it is founded on my own experience upon slopes at least as steep as that here under consideration.

Now, look at the bearing of the mode of attachment above described upon this mode of rescue. When the rope is fastened round the guide’s waist both his arms are free, and both are needed to drive the baton into the snow and hold it there by pressure. But, as it was, one arm of each guide was virtually powerless; on it the strain of the falling body in advance was thrown, and, instead of being free, it was fettered. But this is not all; when the attached arm perceives the jerk the guide instinctively grasps the rope with the second hand; but in doing so he relinquishes his bâton, and thus loses the sheet anchor of salvation. Such was the case of the foremost and of the hindmost guide on the fatal day now referred to. The one lost his bâton, the other lost his axe; thus they became powerless to render any effectual resistance to others, and probably had to make expert use of their legs and arms to save even themselves. Tairraz was in the midst of the party; whether it was in his power to rescue himself or not, whether he was caught in the coil of the rope or laid hold of by one of his companions, we can never know. Let us believe that he clung to them loyally, and went with them to death sooner than desert the post of duty. And such fidelity the guides of the Alps must be made to regard as their bounden duty, and that no member of their fraternity is fit for his vocation who is unwilling to share the fate of these whose lives are committed to his charge.

A catastrophe of this kind ought not to be suffered to be skimmed over by a mere judicial acquittal. What can an ordinary Government official know of the power or the duty of a guide under such circumstances? Cast such an official upon such a slope; he will infallibly go to smash, and he naturally concludes that all others must do so in similar circumstances. But little weight is to be attached to the opinion of any man unpractised in such matters, and who derives his information from the very persons whose conduct is the subject of investigation. Instead, therefore, of imagining that the question has been set at rest by the publication of a verdict¹⁶ whereby all concerned are so lightly relieved of blame, the guides of Chamouni ought to regard this terrible disaster as a stain upon their order which it will require years of service faithfully and wisely rendered to wipe away.

I am, Sir, your obedient servant, | (s[igne]d) John Tyndall. | Royal Institution, Albemarle-street, Sept. 7.

RI MS JT/6/5/1/9–17

‘The Accident on the Col-du-Geant’, The Times, (8 September 1860), p. 8.