On Accidents
Forethought should go with courage—A life saved by the use of a big knife—Dr. Jenner’s ride in a snowstorm—Death by lightning on the Drym—Mr. Justice Wills’ warning—The three great dangers of the Alps—Climbing accidents among British labourers—Our plans of prevention far behind our methods of cure—Value of collective investigation—Sure-footedness more important than speed—Pace not to be hurried.
As accidents will happen in so dangerous a sport as mountaineering, it is the duty of every climber to study the causes of these accidents, as far as possible to prevent them, and to remember that in danger “presence of mind,” as it is called, is generally due to careful thought beforehand, and to the rehearsal in imagination of every possible disaster.
It is curious that men should brave more danger when most they are in the enjoyment of life, and that loving life the most they should then fear the least to die. “For surely the love of living is stronger in an Alpine climber roping over a peril, or a hunter riding merrily at a stiff fence, than in a creature who lives upon a diet, and walks a measured distance every day in the interest of his constitution.”
Climbers must take care that the courage born of fresh air and fine training does not develop into foolhardiness. In my notice of the ascent of the Meije with a broken rib, this warning is conveyed.
In these pages various accidents have been mentioned without much effort to point the moral, though in every case an attempt has been made to suggest the cause of casualties, however slight.
In connection with the risk that a man runs who climbs alone without a companion, or who climbs over a serious place without his axe (thus Mr. Eyre lost his life), it is well worth giving an account of the narrow escape related to me by an old climber, who was once travelling over a mountainous path in the dusk. He wandered off the track, and not having even a pointed stick with him, he slipped over the edge of a dangerous slope, the turf and vegetation gave way at his clutches, so that he ceased struggling, and hung in a cold sweat over a dark abyss. Fortunately, at that moment he thought of his big knife which hung ready; he was just able to open it, dig it in, and anchor himself safely, until courage and strength saved his life, leaving a never-forgotten experience, which is recorded because in some such emergency a strong knife might prove again a good friend.
Frost-bites, and the losses of limb or life from cold, are not confined to Alpine snows. Phenomenal weather occurs even in England, and the account by so good an observer as Dr. Jenner, in his own words, of a snowstorm to which he was exposed, will interest many mountaineers.
The late Dr. Edward Jenner, of Gloucestershire, gives the following account of a ride through a snowstorm which he had to undertake in the above-named year.[2]
“January 3rd, 1786. I was under the necessity of going hence (Berkeley), to Kingscote. The air felt more intensely cold than I ever remember to have experienced it. The ground was deeply covered with snow, and it blew quite a hurricane, accompanied with continual snow. Being well clothed, I did not find the cold make much impression upon me till I ascended the hills, and then I began to feel myself benumbed. There was no possibility of keeping the snow from driving under my hat, so that half my face and my neck were for a long time wrapped in ice. There was no retreating, and I had still two miles to go—the greatest part of the way over the highest downs in the country. As the sense of external cold increased, the heat about the stomach seemed to increase. I had the same sensation as if I had drunk a considerable quantity of wine or brandy, and my spirits rose in proportion to this sensation. I felt as if it were like one intoxicated, and could not forbear singing, etc. My hands at last grew extremely painful, and this distressed my spirits in some degree. When I came to the house I was unable to dismount without assistance. I was almost senseless; but I had just recollection and power enough left to prevent the servants bringing me to a fire. I was carried to the stable first, and from thence was gradually introduced to a warmer atmosphere. I could bear no greater heat than that of the stable for some time. Rubbing my hands in snow took off the pain very quickly. The parts which had been most benumbed felt for some time afterwards as if they had been slightly burnt. My horse lost part of the cuticle and hair at the upper part of the neck, and also from his ears. I had not the least inclination to take wine or any kind of refreshment. One man perished a few miles from Kingscote at the same time and from the same cause.
“The correspondent who sent us the above extract from a letter of Edward Jenner, being a medical man, must feel, as we do, grateful that January, 1896, has not opened with the rigour of January, 1786. We print it because it paints a remarkably true and vivid picture of the alteration of sensation under the influence of extreme cold.”
The pain poor Jenner suffered, when occurring so immediately after exposure, should rather have cheered him, as a sure sign of recovery of frozen limbs; and he was indeed fortunate in retaining sufficient power to prevent the servants bringing him to a fire. The rubbing with snow and gradual introduction to warmth saved his hands, and Dr. Jenner lived to give the world his experiments on vaccination some years later.
In the height of summer, often in extremely hot weather, weather of the finest, there comes another risk, that of thunderstorms. A climber soaking wet, with his iron-shod boots, his steel-pointed axe, and metal framed goggles, makes as good a lightning conductor as could well be found without manufacturing a lighting-rod.
The ice-axe fizzling in the hand, and the spectacles upon the head, with hairs of the scalp set all bristling,—these are signs which at any moment may appal the stoutest heart that ever faced a storm.
In July last again, another country doctor, Mr. Reese, who lived at the village of Ystradgynlais, in the Swansea Valley, made his way to an urgent case of a poor child accidentally burnt, over a mountain called Drym.
When at the summit he apparently entered the focus of a severe storm, and a discharge of lightning took place through his body and that of his horse, killing them both instantaneously. A mountain-top is a most dangerous place in a thunderstorm; a cloud is attracted by the most elevated point, and any one crossing is extremely likely to be struck by lightning. The doctor was probably wet, and, being on a horse, had a good earth connection by means of the horse’s iron shoes, so that any discharge between the earth and the cloud would be very likely to traverse his body. If he could only have waited on the lower slopes he would have been safer, but his anxiety to reach the patient led him to his most honourable death.
Mr. Reese no doubt knew his risk perfectly well, and took his chances at the call of human need. In pointing out the warning to keep off prominent peaks and buttresses of a mountain in such a storm, I should be sorry to withdraw attention from this noble devotion to duty. To bear their silent testimony, three thousand friends attended the funeral of this brave man.
To avoid being a prominent object when on a mountain may be difficult, for self-effacement is not an easy thing. Moreover, on the plains a man may be killed, as offering the best conductor for the lightning, and determine the direction of the discharge, no tree or other high point being near.
The traveller should find a hollow place or hole as soon as possible, and stay there until the storm has abated. The sensitive aneroid may have given warning of the approaching clouds, a warning to take, as sailors say, “any port in a storm.”
The danger of standing under a tree is well known, but this applies rather to trees that offer a prominent mark. In large forests it appears that the lightning does not always single out the tallest trees, and the trees when struck are seldom set on fire, though foresters find the lightning a convenient excuse for their own carelessness.
In the huge forests of Russia and Norway, the pines, with their thousand masts and millions of pointed leaves, are said to act as protectors for themselves and to relieve tension for the whole district by their distribution.
Mr. Justice Wills sounds a true note of caution in the introduction to Mr. Dent’s Badminton book, when he says: “There are three things specially to be dreaded on the mountains as beyond human control and occasionally beyond human foresight: bad weather, falling stones, steep grass slopes, with herbage, either short or dry, or long and wet and frozen. I do not think it possible for any one who has not felt it to have any idea what very bad weather means in high places, even in places by no means of the highest; or to imagine the rapidity with which, under unsettled atmospheric conditions, the destructive forces of nature can be raised, and the worst assaults of the enemy delivered.
“Falling stones may come from the most unexpected places, and I have seen from my own Alpine home a whole flake of mountain side peel off without warning, and sweep with a cannonade of thirty hours’ duration a gully that I and mine have used for years as a highway to the upper world.
“Slopes of grass look so easy, and are so treacherous, that it is scarcely possible to secure for them the respect which they have a deadly fashion of enforcing. There are few other dangers which care and knowledge will not eliminate.”
It will be pardoned me, I trust, if, making a digression from the special to the general, I pass from Alpine accidents to consider others connected with climbing, which frequently occur to workmen. It was my sympathy with climbing which first drew my attention to the number of disabling accidents resulting to labourers from using only one hand in climbing ladders and carrying something, however slight, which hampers the other hand. There is no general understanding or training among workmen on this point. The weight could nearly always be so slung or balanced as to keep both hands free for climbing steps or ladders.
Scaffolders often run greater risks than bricklayers in attempting to climb ladders, using one hand instead of both. Under my care lately was a scaffolder who fell thirty feet, breaking his collar bone and several ribs, lacerating his right lung and the liver. From the latter injury, by an abdominal operation, I drained away several pints of bile and blood clots. He made a good recovery and returned to his wife and six children still able to earn a living for them. He tells me that never again will he carry a bundle of shavings under one arm when climbing a long ladder. On nearing the top, and in making the traverse to reach the platform, the slip occurred which was so nearly fatal. Both the balance and the grip were wanting at the critical point.
The slightest slip or want of balance when only one hand is at work may lead to a fall. When an Alpine climber comes to any hair-erecting place on rocks, he takes care to have both hands free, his ice-axe is slung round his arm or wrist, so that his grip is secure. There is no pretence that mountaineering is not a dangerous sport; but the dangers are reduced by forethought, and when accidents occur it is generally from the neglect of simple measures of precaution. Rules for avoiding dangers are made, and it would be quite unsportsmanlike to cross névé without a rope, or show other sign of inexperience in mountain craft.
It is significant that the members of the English Alpine Club—though the mortality is far too heavy—do not provide the most victims of accidents, and certainly this is not from any want of adventurous activity in the Alpine Club.
In 1893 I saw a guide who had both feet frost-bitten, all the toes were gangrenous, and Melchior Anderegg, kindest of nurses, was applying the dressings, muttering “schlecht, schlecht!” A climber with his two guides had been exposed during one night in snow. Of the three, this guide was the only one who suffered frost-bite. He wore new boots, which I inspected, and found the tongues not sewn to the upper leathers; also he used no gaiters or other appliance to keep the snow out of his boots. Neither did he put his feet in the rücksack as did the others. His boots were simply converted into bags of ice.
In the year 1894 I saw a case of frost-bitten fingers in the Dauphiné which was due to violation of every wise law. There, too, I came across an accident rather unusual in mountain experience. A guide was struck in the mouth while ascending an ice-slope by the iron-shod heel of the man above, who slipped from his step. Two caravans were together too closely, and the leading guide of the second party suffered in consequence. His tongue was badly torn, and I had to put in several stitches.
There is a quantity of good literature about Alpine accidents, and their causes and prevention. What is done in this way for the scaffolder? What training has he corresponding to that of the mountaineer? The fault did not lie in the least with my scaffolder’s employers, who are most careful of their people; but that there are no definite plans of prevention among the men themselves; no general rules of their craft such as obtain among climbers. Now, if a bricklayer, when he takes bricks up a ladder, uses the ancient hod which balances on the shoulder, it is not gripped by the hand, and takes nothing from the prehensile power of the man. If anything drops, it is the bricks, not the bricklayer; but his business nowadays is rather with small buildings, for the larger buildings, with scaffoldings, which are quite works of art, do not require the carrying of the hod, but take their weights up by pulleys to platforms above.
The way in which the Alpine Club have met the risks of the mountains is interesting as showing how intelligent men deal with danger, and should make us hopeful that in the future we shall deal with many of the risks which workmen incur in their less dangerous avocations.
As to accidents in general, we are too military altogether; in our attitude with regard to them, we seem to expect to give and take injuries. Ambulance lectures are organized all over the country which teach wise plans of first aid to the injured. This is very good and helpful, but if, with this teaching, were combined methods, thoughtfully planned and taught, of prevention of accidents, especially those common or peculiar to the occupations of the districts, these lectures might be made most valuable means of spreading useful knowledge.
Notification and collective investigation, as in infectious diseases, would soon put a check to many common accidents in our villages,[3] and we should reflect more on this subject because the progress of surgery saves so many lives formerly regarded as hopelessly lost. The individuals so saved are often mutilated, and no inquest being held on eyes or limbs, the value of a public inquiry as to the accident is lost. Many are the lives saved in our hospitals, many are the lives lost or maimed by our ignorance and carelessness, for our plans of prevention have by no means kept pace with our methods of cure.
The intelligent sportsman always leads the van, and invents new ways of protecting himself; for example, those men who, being short-sighted, have to shoot in spectacles, and wear shot-proof glasses, have rather gained an advantage over the keen-sighted by this useful protection against stray pellets.
It is obvious that forethought should extend to every sport and occupation, especially when attended by danger, and with regard to hunting a useful article has lately appeared on accidents in the hunting field in reference to prevention, by Mr. Noble Smith.[4] It would be well if this kind of formulated knowledge could extend and spread among British workmen, especially agricultural labourers, whose awakened intelligence has to deal with new machinery, making new accidents, into the causes of which no methodical inquiry is ever made.
Let every young climber read Dr. Claude Wilson’s chapter on the dangers of the mountains, as a thoughtful epitome on this important subject. Climbing will not be less enjoyed by men possessing knowledge of the dangers; and more successful expeditions are made by those who understand such matters best, and look on their knowledge as an essential part of the sport.
If, in spite of every care, an accident occurs of a minor kind, it will often happen that an antiseptic pad and bandage ready in the rücksack and skilfully applied will give confidence to the party, and prevent the expedition from being a failure. Every man of the caravan in climbing should have his little packet, there would thus be enough bandages altogether to steady a sprain or a dislocation, or to deal even with a broken limb.
A note should be kept of all casualties occurring in the cognizance of the climber, so that comparing records of minor accidents may prevent greater ones. The methodical yearly records of the Alpine Journal, summed up now and then by able and experienced climbers like Mr. C. E. Mathews, may prove of value, not only to mountaineers, but to mankind.
Twenty years ago Mr. Leslie Stephen wrote to the Alpine Journal, “I hold that we can best promote Alpine Climbing by enforcing with all our power a code of rules which will make it a reputable pursuit for sensible men.” The pursuit needs no defence now. One man may be born a lover of the mountains, another by climbing come to love them later; but as a baby, boy, or man, he is always a climbing animal.
After forty, a climber is in the old age of his youth, and must not be so reckless as to pace; his endurance and sure-footedness may be better, but his elasticity is less, though there may be nothing to remind him that “changeful time with hand severe” will make him soon those sports forego which he still pursues with the enthusiasm of his youth. In the most active party there is usually some one rather slower than the rest, to remind us of that famous jest of Calverley, when toiling up a slope with an eminent novelist,—“the labour we delight in physics Payn.” We can scarcely compute how much the toils add to the pleasures, only of this we may be assured, of what also is often found in life, that “to travel hopefully is a better thing than to arrive, and the true success is to labour.”