Mountain Tragedies of the Lake District.
A contribution appealing to climbers and non-climbers alike. Although the writer prefers to remain anonymous, he is a well-known mountaineer. In this article he gives an authoritative and most interesting account of the various climbing fatalities which have occurred in the English Lake District, pointing out exactly how each disaster occurred. Photographs by G. P. Abraham, Keswick.
In these days of hurry-scurry mountaineering, when the words of the wise are on every climber’s tongue and the intention to obey them in few men’s minds, a great deal is written concerning the perils of the mountains. The object of the greater part of these writings has been to elaborate in detail the various phases of mountaineering dangers and how to obviate them: in other words, how best to avoid accidents.
MICKLEDORE RIDGE AND THE BROAD STAND—THE CIRCLE MARKS THE SPOT FROM WHICH MR. HAARBLEICHER FELL AND THE CROSS THE POINT WHERE MR. PETTY LOST HIS BALANCE.
From a Photograph.
It is a somewhat singular fact that, beyond a few generalities and platitudes evolved by non-climbing reporters, no record has been written of the accidents themselves. And yet, in the case of the accidents that have occurred in the Lake District, much is to be learnt. Every disaster on the mountains, if properly understood, should teach a lesson, for the majority of them are only accidents in part, and have been directly due to the disregard or violation of some cardinal law governing the sport of mountaineering.
If a man who has never been on a mountain in his life before endeavours to scale a steep precipice and loses his life in the attempt, can such be truly called an accident? Surely it would be more of an accident if he succeeded in winning through without mishap; a fatal fall may under such circumstances be called a tragedy—a disaster, but surely not an accident.
And yet the circumstances of the so-called accident to Mr. Haarbleicher, a Manchester merchant, in 1892, were almost in accordance with the above instance.
He arrived at Wastdale Head Hotel with his sister, and, being “anxious to climb his first mountain,” ascended Scawfell.
SCAWFELL PINNACLE—PROFESSOR MARSHALL HAD JUST RETURNED FROM THIS CLIMB WHEN HE MET WITH HIS FATAL ACCIDENT.
From a Photograph.
In attempting to descend to Mickledore by way of the Broad Stand, at the bottom of which is a steep cliff, he jumped downward on to a scree-covered slab, his feet shot from under him, and he fell a distance of more than a hundred feet. As a result of his injuries he succumbed shortly after.
This lower cliff of the Broad Stand was responsible for another fall, which, however, did not prove fatal. A Mr. Petty was climbing Mickledore Chimney with a large party, amongst whom was his fiancée. The late J. W. Robinson was the leader. At the place where the Chimney is left and a step across to the Broad Stand effected, Mr. Petty took off the rope in order to let the leader throw the end of it down to the others of the party.
An agonized shout from Petty caused Mr. Robinson to turn sharply, and he saw his companion shooting head downwards with terrific velocity to the screes below. The distance, carefully measured afterwards, was a hundred and seven feet. Some of the party, still at the foot of the Chimney, were horrified to see Mr. Petty hurtling through the air towards them, and narrowly escaped being struck.
He fell face downward. The angle of his body conformed exactly to the slope of the screes, and his entire length struck the slope at once. It seems incredible that he could survive such a fall, and his friends never hoped to find him alive. His injuries was terrible, but nevertheless he still lived, and, by careful nursing, regained his full strength.
THE PILLAR ROCK—THIS IS THE CLIMB THE NOVICES WERE ATTEMPTING WHEN MR. WALKER WENT TO THEIR ASSISTANCE.
From a Photograph.
This is surely the most wonderful bit of luck that ever befell a climber. It transpired afterwards that he had grown impatient of waiting for the others to come up and had begun to fill in the time by a little desultory climbing on a steep slab directly above him. Off this he had just slipped when he shouted and drew the attention of Mr. Robinson and the others.
THE PILLAR ROCK AND SHAMROCK (NORTH SIDE)—THE CROSS SHOWS THE CLIFF MR. WALKER SLID OVER, NOW KNOWN AS “WALKER’S GULLY.”
From a Photograph.
Would that Professor Milnes Marshall, who was killed the following year on the opposite side of Scawfell, could have had such a providential escape! His fall could not have been one of more than twelve feet, and yet it proved too great.
In company with the late Owen Glynne Jones and Joseph Collier, Professor Marshall had just previously climbed Scawfell Pinnacle by way of Steep Ghyll, returning down Deep Ghyll to the foot of the crags, where they had lunch together. Being anxious to obtain a photograph of the Ghyll, Professor Marshall scrambled up the fell side opposite to its entrance.
The nature of the ground was so easy and well broken up, although rocky and steep, that his companions never for a moment dreamt of disaster. Hearing a noise of falling stones they looked round and saw a cube of rock, about two feet in diameter, rolling down the mountain side. This was followed by the body of Professor Marshall. Both came to rest on the scree slope below the Lord’s Rake, where, to their great astonishment and horror, Messrs. Jones and Collier found the life of their companion quite extinct. Exactly how the accident happened will never be known, but it was surmised at the time that Mr. Marshall had stepped on the cube of rock and that it had given way with him. It has become proverbial that “it is on the easy places that accidents happen,” and no doubt it was the easy nature of the ground that caused a temporary carelessness on the part of a man who, in all mountaineering circles, was recognised as a most careful and cautious climber.
We may pass over briefly the death of the Rev. James Jackson, who fell on the Pillar and was killed in May, 1878. He was alone at the time, but his body was found at the foot of a steep cliff, near the summit of the mountain. In walking along the top of the cliff he had evidently slipped over, but what caused him to do so will never be known. The fact that the reverend gentleman had attained to the ripe age of eighty-two years may suggest a broad reason.
SCAWFELL PINNACLE AND DEEP GHYLL, SHOWING THE GHYLL AS IT APPEARED WHEN MR. GOODALL GLISSADED DOWN IT TO HIS DEATH.
From a Photograph.
At Easter, nearly five years later, a party of novices were trying to climb the Pillar Rock from the east side. For some time they were unsuccessful. Just then another party reached the top of the Pillar Mountain; one of them, a Whitehaven youth of the name of Walker, had climbed the rock some time before. Seeing the predicament of the novices, he set off down a snow-slope towards them, intending to direct their ascent. He had only gone a few feet when he slipped on to his back and shot off down the snow. Gathering terrific and uncontrollable impetus as he slid, he reached the Rock, which juts out of the side of the mountain, in a few moments and dashed into it. His body bounded off it and then fell into a gully on the right. This was filled with hard snow, which carried him swiftly downward until the crest of a sheer cliff was reached. Over this, for five hundred feet, he plunged, and far into the Ennerdale valley below, death, of course, being inevitable.
SCAWFELL AND MICKLEDORE—THE DOUBLE CROSSES INDICATE THE LEDGE FROM WHICH THE PARTY OF FOUR FELL; THE SINGLE CROSS DENOTES WHERE PROFESSOR MARSHALL SLIPPED; AND THE CIRCLE SHOWS WHERE ALL THE BODIES, INCLUDING THAT OF MR. GOODALL, WERE FOUND.
From a Photograph.
Of the witnesses of this accident two subsequently lost their reason, and the death of another shortly afterwards was attributed to the shock. And all for the want of a little caution and forethought on a snow-slope! Still, “out of evil comes good,” and no doubt the remembrance of this terrible tragedy and its contributory cause has ultimately saved many valuable lives. Only once since then has it been forgotten in the Lake District, and this led to the last tragedy that has happened. This was to poor Alexander Goodall, a Keswick youth, who deliberately set off glissading down the snow at the top of Deep Ghyll on Scawfell.
To those of us who know the frightful velocity that is attained in a few feet on steep snow, and the long years of practice necessary to control this speed, such an act would appear quite inexplicable. But to him, whose first day on snow it was, and in entire ignorance of its insidious dangers, that downward slide would present no terrors, until, with balance gone and ice-axe snatched out of his grasp by the snow in which he wildly dug it, his mistake flashed across his mind with terrible meaning. Alas! he learnt his lesson too late; he did not live to profit by it, for his body dashed downward, crashing into the rocks as it sped, until it came to rest on the scree-slope five hundred feet below, within a few feet of the place on which Professor Marshall fell.
A short three months before this same spot witnessed the most terrible of all the Lakeland tragedies, when a party of skilful climbers fell from the north face of Scawfell Pinnacle. Even the historical accident on the first ascent of the Matterhorn, when all of a large party were killed but Mr. Whymper and two guides, palls before this home disaster, for here four Englishmen in the prime of their youth were suddenly called away.
On September 21st, 1903, Messrs. Broadrick, Garrett, Jupp, and Ridsdale started from Wastdale Head for Scawfell, intent upon climbing the Pinnacle by the difficult route from Deep Ghyll. This they successfully accomplished, and afterwards redescended to the foot of the Pinnacle, where they had lunch with another climbing party, which was under Mr. W. E. Webb’s leadership.
After lunch Mr. Webb’s party bade them au revoir and went off to climb one of the cracks on the far end of the crags. After their climb they foregathered on Mickledore Ridge, and thence set off along the base of the cliff to regain their knapsacks, which had been left at the lunching-place.
As they neared the foot of the Pinnacle they heard a shout, but thought it came from the valley below. Leisurely they rounded a corner, and there, about fifty yards away, in the vicinity of the screes where they had lunched, saw four figures stretched out and lying quite still.
In a disconnected way they thought at first that these four figures were asleep, though it was a peculiar place to fall asleep in; then something unusual about their attitudes became apparent, and not till then did the awful reality flash upon them.
They tore across the rough intervening ground and made a dreadful discovery. Only Mr. Ridsdale was alive, and even he was obviously too terribly injured to recover. As they approached he raised his head. “I’ve been shouting for hours,” he murmured. “I’m afraid the others are all gone, but look after them and don’t mind me.” As he feared, they were past human aid, and death had evidently visited them with merciful swiftness, for their bodies were already cold.
It was now nearly six o’clock, and little could be done for poor Ridsdale, but Mr. Webb and another of his party stayed with him whilst the other ran down to Wastdale for help.
From that time until nearly ten o’clock they did all in their power to alleviate the sufferings of the survivor, who was in great pain. Darkness set in before seven o’clock, and their lonely vigil, with the wind sighing weirdly through the crags above their heads, their three erstwhile friends lying dead around them, and poor Ridsdale moaning and but half conscious most of the time, must have been an awful experience. The remembrance of Ridsdale’s heroic appeal to them to tend the others before him, and afterwards the manly efforts of Mr. Webb and his friend to help and sustain their dying comrade in such awful circumstances through those long, dark hours of waiting, must ever linger with pride in the hearts of all true Englishmen. We may be a degenerate race; but, if this Scawfell tragedy has done nothing else, it has proved that there are still men amongst us.
Little more remains to be told. The rescue party arrived through the darkness with a stretcher, and by the light of the lanterns, after strenuous labour and weary suspense, succeeded in conveying the survivor downward over the rough stones and shale, only to find, alas! that their effort was in vain, for their burden expired about an hour before they gained the shelter of the inn.
From what Mr. Ridsdale let fall in his delirium, and by an investigation of the face of the Pinnacle from which the party fell, it was not difficult to reconstruct their doings before the accident. After Mr. Webb’s party had left them they started up the north face of the Pinnacle, a climb that had not hitherto been accomplished, with Mr. Broadrick leading. He must subsequently have relinquished it, however, for their position on the rope when found showed that Mr. Garrett had taken over the lead. From a narrow ledge about two hundred feet up the sheer rock-face Mr. Garrett slipped, and the others, not being well placed to sustain a shock, were plucked one after another from their holds and dashed to the screes below.
Apart from Mr. Garrett’s slip, there were two prime contributory causes of the accident. The first was the perseverance of the party beyond where good anchorage (a place where the leader could be checked by the rope in case of a slip) was obtainable; and the second was in not turning back and abandoning the climb when Mr. Broadrick, by far the most experienced and careful man in the party, gave up the leadership.
It is easy to be wise after the event, but similar circumstances may arise some day on another climb. If the Scawfell Pinnacle disaster and its lesson are then recalled, it may be the means of working the salvation of future climbers, and the loss of four valuable men, plucked off in their prime, may not have been in vain.
Cupid and the Dentist.
By Dr. Paul S. Coleman.
The man who interferes in the love affairs of the passionate, hot-blooded people of Central America is likely to find he has stirred up a veritable hornets’ nest, and will be lucky if he escapes with his life. Such, at least, was Dr. Coleman’s experience in Salvador, but fortunately everything ended happily for all concerned.
Those readers of The Wide World who are familiar with my former narrative, entitled “Fallen Among Thieves,”[1] will remember that my object in going into Central America was for the purpose of practising dentistry.
[1] See April, 1908, issue.—Ed.
While actively engaged in my profession in the Salvadorean city of Santa Ana, the following series of incidents occurred, which served to put a great deal of excitement into what might otherwise have been a somewhat humdrum existence.
Before going farther it is necessary that the reader should understand some of the characteristics of the Salvadoreans, who are descendants of the ancient Spanish adventurers, with an admixture of native blood.
The women, in my humble opinion, are for intelligence, character, and beauty the superiors of any other nation inhabiting the southern portion of the Western Hemisphere. As for the men, the Spanish blood seems to predominate in point of passion, for, besides being the most valiant soldier in time of war of any Central American race, the Salvadorean is also the most ardent lover and the most jealously-inclined towards his inamorata of any person upon the face of the earth. That also is my humble opinion, and that I have good grounds for my statement will presently appear.
There are just two things the foreigner in Salvador must not do: he must not poke his nose into political squabbles or try to interfere in a love affair. Ten times out of ten, if you do, it will be to your very great sorrow not counting the danger you run.
Now, when the wealthy coffee-planter or “hacienda” owner has need of the services of a doctor or dental surgeon he never thinks of leaving his plantation, but rounds up his mule-train, heads it with an excellent saddle animal, sends it off to the doctor, and invites the latter to pay him a visit. Experience has taught the practitioners that these invitations are very remunerative, and when the call comes business must certainly be very brisk to warrant a refusal. I, for one, have never found it advisable to decline, and so it happened that one Sunday afternoon I received a polite note requesting me to visit the Señor Don Eduardo Castillo, owner of the immense coffee plantation known as “Las Flores.” I should mention here that I have been compelled to use assumed names, for the family concerned is one of the most prominent in Salvador, and would not care for the notoriety which the publication of their name would give them.
Next morning found me with my entire dental paraphernalia packed upon the backs of a number of mules, and myself, under the escort of half-a-dozen servants, traversing the mountain trails leading around the base of the big volcano eight miles north of Santa Ana, upon the way to the “finca” of Las Flores. The journey was made without incident, though it was far into the night before we arrived, the distance traversed being something like forty-five miles.
Señor Eduardo met me at the door, and after partaking of a late dinner, being very much fatigued, I retired to my room, which was situated at the extreme end of the immense building. In point of furnishings and size the place constituted a small palace. Indeed, the manner in which the wealthy owners of these South American coffee plantations have managed to gather the comforts of life and many luxuries at so great a distance from a seaport or railroad is perfectly astounding. They have practically every modern convenience, and many others which you or I have never been used to.
It was late next morning when I awoke, very sore and stiff from my long ride. I found, however, that I was just in time for “coffee,” which is usually served at ten o’clock. Here I had the pleasure of meeting the members of the family, consisting of the mother, an aunt, one son, and two very charming daughters, both of whom spoke perfect English, having attended a school in the City of London for several years. I decided immediately that my four weeks’ visit was going to be very enjoyable, and I flattered myself that I had made a fairly good impression upon my hosts.
Life upon the “finca” was indeed delightful. Situated as it was at an altitude of over four thousand feet above sea-level, the days and nights were exhilaratingly cool and pleasant. I soon struck up a friendship—which still lasts—with the son of the house, and we enjoyed many pleasant hours in riding over the surrounding country. To the left, adjoining the plantation, was the immense cattle ranch owned by a young man named Gonzales, who, I found out later, was very much in love with the elder of Don Eduardo’s daughters, while three leagues farther on was another coffee plantation owned by an old man named Vasquez, whose son, I understood, had been paying much attention to the younger girl.
Two weeks passed very happily and speedily. Very early in my visit I became acquainted with how matters stood as regards the two courtships. The younger Vasquez, Roberto, had already proposed and had been accepted, while the other young man, Enrique, had been calling for several years—indeed, he often came two or three times a day—but as yet had never declared himself.
Being by this time well acquainted with Roberto and his betrothed, I laughingly suggested one afternoon to the two daughters and himself that it would be a good idea, as a means of finding out exactly what Enrique’s intentions were, for me to kiss the Señorita Hortensia one day when Enrique called, doing it in such a manner that the bashful lover could not fail to see, but so that his witnessing the act should appear an accident. The señorita, being full of girlish fun, had no objection, and so it came to pass that the very next afternoon, when we saw Enrique coming over, Miss Hortensia and I repaired to a very secluded spot upon the veranda, but one which was clearly visible from the road. There, in plain view of the approaching Enrique, I administered the salute—much to my satisfaction. If I could have foreseen its outcome, however, I should certainly have thought twice about my action.
Enrique saw me kiss the señorita just as he was dismounting, and, with an almost imperceptible start, he remounted his horse and galloped away. Then things began to happen. Hortensia—girl-like—retired to her room and commenced to weep, while her sister Leonia became very distant and chilly in her manner towards me, impressing upon me that if anything unpleasant occurred it would be all my fault. The only ones with whom I seemed to be upon anything like decent terms were the son and the elder people, who knew nothing about the state of miniature warfare I had thoughtlessly provoked. Dinner that evening, in consequence, was a very formal affair.
As, somewhat disconsolately, I pondered over the matter that night before retiring, I resolved to hunt out Enrique early next day, explain things fully, and endeavour to bring about a reconciliation. Having settled the affair satisfactorily in my own mind, I climbed into bed for the night, and, after reading a short while, dropped off to sleep, leaving a lamp burning at my bedside.
How long I slept I do not know, but suddenly something woke me, and I opened my eyes to behold, standing at the foot of the bed, calmly surveying my person, a disreputable-looking Indian! In his right hand he held a “machete,” or huge cane knife, about four feet long, and as I watched him he ran his finger along the edge, seemingly to ascertain whether or not it was sharp enough for the business he intended it for. Grabbing my pillow, I sprang to my feet on the bed and backed against the wall—just in time to catch a heavy blow from the machete upon the pillow, which I held in front of me as a shield. For the moment I had forgotten all about the revolver which I usually kept under my head, and which now lay exposed in the lamplight. As I reached for it the would-be assassin’s nerve failed him, and with a rush he fled out of the door. A moment later I heard him mount a horse and make off at a gallop down the road.
There was, of course, no more sleep for me until daylight. I had no doubt that Enrique, maddened by jealousy, was the prime mover in the performance, which, needless to say, upset me very badly. Nevertheless, I had resolved to see Enrique that day, and now I was more than ever anxious to clear up the unfortunate misunderstanding that had arisen. So, saddling early, I proceeded towards the cattle ranch, taking with me the boy servant who had been kindly assigned to me by Don Eduardo. When we were about a mile from the ranch the boy, to my amazement, suddenly doubled up and began to howl. Springing from my horse and running to him, I found a bullet-hole through the fleshy part of his thigh, from which the blood flowed freely. The wound had undoubtedly been caused by a high-power rifle bullet, fired at such a distance that it was impossible to hear the report. Dressing the wound as best I could, I took the lad up behind me and made for Las Flores, where I put him to bed and redressed the wound. Things were getting a good bit too lively for my liking, and I would much rather have been in Santa Ana just then than where I was. If I had not been afraid of assassination on the road I would certainly have made my departure immediately.
This second adventure, of course, caused considerable excitement in the family, as I had already mentioned my night’s alarm, and I was the object of much sympathy from the young ladies, who now began to take my part. I sent several notes over to Enrique’s place, and Don Eduardo also went across to look him up, but he was not to be found.
“ENRIQUE SAW ME KISS THE SEÑORITA JUST AS HE WAS DISMOUNTING.”
About this time another misfortune befell me. Roberto came over and found me holding a very earnest conversation with his betrothed. Knowing nothing of previous happenings, this fiery-tempered young man became violently enraged, and, without asking any explanation, immediately attacked me with a heavy riding-whip. We had a smart struggle, but I succeeded in wresting it from him and knocking him down with a blow from my fist. Springing to his feet with a snarl, he made off as fast as his legs would carry him, leaving his horse tied to the gate. The señorita promptly swooned, and the last glimpse Roberto got of us showed me carrying the young lady in my arms into the house. I have a faint recollection of seeing him shake his fist at me and grind his gleaming white teeth.
Well, now I was “up against it” properly, with two heart-broken girls on my hands and two lovers vowing to have my life. I discussed the matter at length with Don Eduardo, explaining to him that, while I liked the young ladies very much indeed and valued their friendship greatly, I was not in love with them and had done nothing to warrant anyone in thinking I was, the “kiss incident” notwithstanding. It seemed very hard lines that I should go in peril of my life and get into general hot water through trying, by means of a harmless joke, to bring a bashful or undecided lover “up to the scratch.”
Needless to say, I was very much worried by the turn things were taking, and for several days I got very little sleep. One night, while tossing wakefully upon my bed, I seemed to feel some danger in the air, so much so that I got up and lit the lamp to get rid of the feeling of depression which seemed to overwhelm me. Lying down again, I fell into a light slumber. Presently I was awakened by something touching me upon the shoulder. Opening my eyes, I saw right above me, with his head and one shoulder through the window, the same old Indian who had previously visited me. He was trying to slip a noose over my head by means of a long stick, but the instant I opened my eyes he disappeared. A moment later the noose slipped over the bed-post, dragging the entire end out bodily and jerking it against the wall. There followed a snort and a grunt outside, and the sound of a horse dashing off.
Next morning revealed a broken saddle to which the rope had been tied, it evidently being the intention to jerk me through the window—which stood eleven feet from the ground—thus breaking my neck most effectually.
In spite of this little interlude, the night’s adventures were not yet over by any means, and I had scarcely got over this first shock when a bundle was flung through the window, landing upon the mattress by my side. Shoving it hurriedly off on to the floor, I found it contained a hissing and squirming mass of snakes, and soon the room was filled with a score or so of the vipers usually known in the medical world as “corals”—the only really deadly reptiles in that part of the country, their bite being often known to kill in thirty minutes.
As I slept some distance from anyone else I did not care to arouse the household in the middle of the night, so I spent the remaining hours perched upon a bookcase, out of reach of harm. It is needless to say that before the slaying of the reptiles was over next morning the commotion upon the “finca” was at fever-heat and no work was done at all, the labourers being dispatched in different directions in a vain effort to find either of the two revengeful youths.
At night, when no trace had been found of either of them, Señor Eduardo, greatly perturbed, dispatched a note to the nearest Alcalde for police protection. This, however, could not arrive until the second day, and in the meanwhile I also took a trip over to the two plantations in an effort to locate the belligerents and explain matters.
That night nothing out of the ordinary happened, but I took pains to fasten my room securely, and obtained a good night’s rest. Next day I again endeavoured to locate Messrs. Roberto and Enrique, but without success. The following evening I happened to be strolling up and down the long front veranda with the Señorita Hortensia, who had now become somewhat reconciled to the new state of affairs. We had stopped to look at the reflection of the moon upon a lake a mile or so down the valley, when, without the slightest warning, a figure rose silently from the shadow of a bush and hurled an immense knife directly at the young lady. The father and son, who were sitting upon the steps, saw the movement, and leapt to their feet with yells of alarm. As in the other cases, however, Providence seemed to be with us, and the dagger merely pierced the señorita’s dress, though it missed her body only by a couple of inches.
Seeing that no harm had occurred, we three men sprang forward and captured the would-be assassin just as he was in the act of flinging another of his murderous missiles at the fainting girl. It proved to be Enrique, and he put up a nasty fight before he was finally landed by the heels. At this stage Hortensia, having recovered from the shock, took the lead in the affair and immediately appropriated the prisoner to herself. When we finally got through explaining things to him, he came round completely and apologized most generously for all that he had done. That night there was much rejoicing at Las Flores, and the announcement was made that Enrique and Hortensia were to be married very shortly.
Everyone seemed to have temporarily forgotten about the Señorita Leonia and her troubles, but Enrique suddenly remembered them and volunteered to go immediately and fetch Roberto. An hour later the two young men returned together, and another reconciliation took place. Don Eduardo, all smiles now, settled things for the lovers, and the billing and cooing was quite affecting. Next night a grand “biallie,” or dance, was held at the “finca,” and the whole countryside was invited. Soon after the banns were posted for a double wedding, at which, several weeks later, the girls’ brother and myself acted as “best men.” There is now a little Enrique and a little Roberto, to say nothing of a young Pablo, named in my honour, and of whom I am the proud godfather. Master Pablo little knows, however, what a time his worthy godparent had of it when he foolishly tried to adjust the love affairs of the aforesaid Master Pablo’s parents.
“SHOVING IT HURRIEDLY OFF ON TO THE FLOOR, I FOUND IT CONTAINED A HISSING AND SQUIRMING MASS OF SNAKES.”