As a practical proof of their gratitude to Almer, I understand that these gentlemen gave him a cow.
CHAPTER V. FURTHER ANECDOTES OF GUIDES.
Endurance is absolutely necessary in a guide undertaking first-class ascents. It is simply astounding how much fatigue a guide will go through without any symptom of giving in. One one occasion, Alexander Burgener, having returned to Zermatt after fourteen hours’ climbing, left with me the same evening, and put in another forty-three hours’ exertion (relieved by one halt of two hours on an exposed ledge while waiting for the moon), almost “without turning a hair.” The porter, too, had participated in both ascents, and though certainly fatigued on our reaching Zermatt, was still far from prostrate.
I have known Martin Schocher go up Piz Bernina five times in one week, taking an “off day” on Piz Palü on the other two days; and amongst the long excursions which I have made with guides who, on their return, declared that they felt quite fresh, may be mentioned the Dent du Géant, twenty-three hours; Aiguille du Midi (winter), twenty hours; Col d’Argentine (winter), twenty hours; Finsteraarhorn, up and down by Agassiz-joch (following an ascent of the Schreckhorn the day before), twenty-three hours.
It is when a party encounters bad weather or is benighted in an exposed situation that the endurance of a guide is most put to the test. Some years ago a party consisting of Mr. Howard Knox and a German gentleman, with Peter Dangl of Sulden and Martin Schocher of Pontresina, were benighted on the arête of Piz Scerscen. The German was almost unconscious from cold and fatigue, and Mr. Knox, too, was worn-out from want of sleep. The guides during the entire night never ceased rubbing and attending to the German, and from time to time Schocher took Mr. Knox in his arms and allowed him three or four minutes’ sleep, which refreshed him much more than would be expected from the short time during which it was safe for him to indulge in it. At daybreak, Schocher led the party in magnificent style down an entirely new route to the Scerscen glacier, and brought them all safe and sound home to Pontresina the same afternoon. The final splendid piece of guiding of Jean-Antoine Carrel in 1890, when, after two days’ confinement by bad weather in the upper hut on the south side of the Matterhorn, he, after twenty hours’ fearful toil, got his party safely out of all their difficulties, and then laid down and died, is one of the most pathetic incidents in Alpine history.
Referring to this, Mr. Whymper wrote in the Alpine Journal, “It cannot be doubted that Carrel, enfeebled though he was, could have saved himself had he given his attention to self-preservation. He took a nobler course, and, accepting his responsibility, devoted his whole soul to the welfare of his comrades, until, utterly exhausted, he fell staggering on the snow. He was already dying; life was flickering, yet the brave spirit said, ‘It is nothing.’ They placed him in the rear to ease his work; he was no longer able even to support himself; he dropped to the ground, and in a few minutes expired.”
An extraordinary case of endurance came to my notice a short time ago, when turning over the leaves of some old numbers of the Alpine Journal. It is not connected with guides, and thus is perhaps out of place here. Still, as my object in this little work is rather to interest my readers than to aim at a careful classification of subjects, I shall quote the account for their benefit.