THE LITERARY DIGEST 



(Title registered in the U. 1 



1 Foreign Countries) 



PUBLIC OPINION, new York. a„a CUHRENT OPINION. Jvf™ Yor\. combined with THE LITERARY DIGEST 



J/oLLXXXVII, 6 



New Yo rk, Novem ber 7, 1925 



Wliole Number 1855 



LOST ON A BLIZZARD-SWEPT 

 MOUNTAIN 

 " "\7'OU want to know how it feels to 

 be lost way np on top of Mount 

 Washington, for one, two, free days and 

 free nights, in one big hurricane, eh? 



"Well, I'll tell you true, my frien'. 

 It ain't much fun. " 



The speaker was Max Englehardt, sur- 

 vivor of a seventy-two-hour battle for life, 

 witliout food or shelter, "on the bald 

 summit of grim old Mount Washington 

 throughout the terrific 100-niile-an-hour 

 gale and snow-storm that reached the 

 climax of its fury there last week-end." 

 His narrative of that ordeal is transcribed 

 by John T. Brady, who tells us that Engle- 

 ha,rdt painfully raised himself on one 

 elbow' in his bed at the Glen Hoiise, as he 

 began his first detailed account since fully 

 regaining his senses, of wliat he suffered 

 during the terrible experience from which 

 nobody expected him to escape alive. The 

 writer describes him in the Boston Post as 

 a thin, but wiry, man, about 5 feel 7 inches 

 tall, weighing not more than I.jO pounds, 

 with the weather wizened face of one who 

 has spent most of his fifty-eight years in 

 the open. And we read on: 



As I pictured him in my mind's eye, 

 clinging to that lofty, snow-capped ridge- 

 pole of New England that I could see from 

 where I sat, and at the mercy of a huirieane 

 that tore up gi-eat boulders and sent them 

 hurtling and thundering down the mighty 

 slopes, he seemed but a wisp of straw. 



A native of New Brunswick, his high 



eieek-bones, black, beady eyes and 

 straight hair umnistakably reveal a strain 

 of Indian blood mixed -with the French, 

 and no doubt the instincts inherited from 

 his aboriginal ancestors played an im- 

 portant part in sa\-ing his life. 



His speech is the picturesque patois of 

 the French Canuck and, as it would rob 

 his dramatic story of much of its delightful 

 charm to dress it up in the King's English, 

 I shall try to give you his own expressions 

 in so far as they are lucid. 



"Yes, sir, my frien', I'm telling you, 

 that was no pleasant soiree, what I had 

 up there on top Mount Washington those 

 free, four days and nights," he continued. 



"When I was little boy I've been out 

 fishing with ray father to Newfoundland 

 banks and you see thiTc some tough 

 .storms. But you couldn't scare me with 

 broad ax then. One time in Montana I 

 was lying asleep in the path of a herd of 

 stampeding cattle, with my saddle for a 

 pillow, when my -pony kick me and wake 

 me up. You have to jump pretty quick 

 when cattle come rushing at you like that, 

 and there ain't no time to dress up. 



"I've been iu Rocky Mountains and up 

 in the woods north of Lake Superior 

 through some bad weather. I'm telUng 

 you, my frien', I've been in some tight 

 places, but by damn I never saw before 

 anything lil^e that wind up there on Mount 

 Washington last Saturday, Sunday and 

 Monday. 



"Believe me, boy, she blowlike hurricane 

 for sm-e, and bimeby she blow^ some more, 

 like what you call tornado. She came up 

 quick, too, so quick that I didn't have 

 half a show to run to the storehouse for 

 some more firewood. 



"The old stage office on top of the 

 mountain, where I was sent two, free 

 weeks ago to take good care of any people 

 coming up from the Glen House, is a 

 pretty good sized building, 'bout 24 feet 

 by 30, with free rooms down-stairs and 

 two in attic. 



"She's chained to the mountain-top by 

 four big chains as thick as my arm, but 

 that wind last Saturday just pick her up 

 and slam her down, bang, bang. All 

 night she toss like httle ship in a stormy 

 sea and every minute I expect her t« weigh 

 anchor and go sailing out to Portland 

 harbor. 



"'Bout midnight I he me down to catch 

 a wink of sleep, but I woke up with one big 

 start when wind, she rip the storm-door off 

 the house, hinges and all. That door went 

 away quick, you bet, and didn't wait to 

 tell me where she was going. Some fisher- 

 man wiU probably find her next spring 

 floating on Lake Sebago. 



"I thought the other door was going 

 to blow in after that, so I broke up a 

 wooden bed that was in the shack and 

 braced it. My firewood was all gone so I 

 used the other pieces of the bed to build a 

 fire and cook my breakfast. 



"Sunday morning the wind was blowing 

 harder than ever and the chains on the 

 house creaked and groaned as tho giant 

 ghosts were shaldng them. The snow had 

 piled up in big drifts during the night and 

 the temperature had dropt way below zero. 



"Soon the bed, she was all burned up, 

 and I say to myself, 'Max, you must get 

 some firewood from the railroad shed or 

 freeze to death before you know it.' 



"So I started out and up the steps to 

 the woodshed 'bout fifty feet away. But 



when I got almost to the top of those 

 stairs, the wind, she hft me right up off my 

 feet and f row me down to the bottom." 



The breath was knocked out of him, he 

 related, and he had "one hard struggle" 

 to crawl on his hands and knees back to the 

 stage oifice. After whi<!h — 



"'This is no place for you, Max,' I said 

 to myself, when I get there and catch my 

 breath. 'Looks Uke the winter she has 

 come for good and plenty, and you're going 

 to die like rat in trap unless you make 

 tracks down moimtain pretty quick.' 



"The wind, she was still howling hke 

 a pack of 10,000 hungry wolves, and my 

 mind was soon made up to leave the shack 

 behind and try to make my way down 

 through Tuckerman Ravine, as the wind 

 would have been right in my face ou the 

 carriage road. 



"So I h'ft a note on the table in the 

 shack, saj iiig that I was leaving at noon, 

 and which waj' 1 was going. 



"Then a big blast of wind lifted the 

 stage office 'bout one, two feet off the 

 ground, as I was getting ready to light out, 

 and I got so soared that the whole 'she- 

 bang' was going to blow right off the moun- 

 tain-top, that I gi-abbed up a package ot 

 raisins to eat and a blaidvet to wrap around 

 iny head and started out. 



"The wind blew mo along double- 

 (luiok, but I had never been down tlu'ough 

 Tuckerman Ravine, and I couldn't find 

 the trail-markings in the blinding snow. 



"I was lost, but 1 kept ray head, and 

 when I came across some of my own 

 tracks in tlie snow I realized that I was 

 walking around in a circle. 



'"This will never do. Max,' I said to 

 myself. 'You'll only tire yourself out and 

 get nowhere. You better Icok for a shelter 

 for the night.' 



"But I don't think a bird could find a 

 feather or a twig to build a nest up there on 

 that barren peak, and 1 finally decided to 

 huiTow into a snowdrift on the lee side of a, 

 lug boulder. 



"Breaking through the liard crust of 

 I he drift I scooped out a hole 'bout six 

 feet deep with ray hands, and \vTa])pin!.; 

 myself in my l)lank(^t I crawled into it. 

 And I'm telling you, my frien', if jm\ 

 are ever caught on a mountain-top in a 

 snow-storm that's the only thing to do to 

 keep from freezing. -Just dig into a drift 

 like an Eskimo dog and the snow will keep 

 you warm. 



"With dry clothes, another blanket 

 and something to eat and drink. I could 

 have stayed there all winter like a bear. 

 I slept more that Jiight than I had for 

 two nights in the stage office. 



