A TRAMP ABROAD By Mark Twain

had come and gone in a single moment, leaving no mark

of their passage. Time had gone on, in the one case;

it had stood still in the other. A man who has not seen

a friend for a generation, keeps him in mind always as he

saw him last, and is somehow surprised, and is also shocked,

to see the aging change the years have wrought when he

sees him again. Marie Couttet’s experience, in finding

his friend’s hand unaltered from the image of it which he

had carried in his memory for forty years, is an experience

which stands alone in the history of man, perhaps.

Couttet identified other relics:

“This hat belonged to Auguste Tairraz. He carried

the cage of pigeons which we proposed to set free upon

the summit. Here is the wing of one of those pigeons.

And here is the fragment of my broken baton; it was by

grace of that baton that my life was saved. Who could

have told me that I should one day have the satisfaction

to look again upon this bit of wood that supported me above

the grave that swallowed up my unfortunate companions!”

No portions of the body of Tairraz, other than a piece

of the skull, had been found. A diligent search was made,

but without result. However, another search was

instituted a year later, and this had better success.

Many fragments of clothing which had belonged to the lost

guides were discovered; also, part of a lantern, and a

green veil with blood-stains on it. But the interesting

feature was this:

One of the searchers came suddenly upon a sleeved arm

projecting from a crevice in the ice-wall, with the hand

outstretched as if offering greeting! “The nails of this white

hand were still rosy, and the pose of the extended fingers

seemed to express an eloquent welcome to the long-lost light of

day.”

The hand and arm were alone; there was no trunk.

After being removed from the ice the flesh-tints quickly

faded out and the rosy nails took on the alabaster

hue of death. This was the third RIGHT hand found;

therefore, all three of the lost men were accounted for,

beyond cavil or question.

Dr. Hamel was the Russian gentleman of the party which

made the ascent at the time of the famous disaster.

He left Chamonix as soon as he conveniently could after

the descent; and as he had shown a chilly indifference

about the calamity, and offered neither sympathy nor

assistance to the widows and orphans, he carried with

him the cordial execrations of the whole community.

Four months before the first remains were found,

a Chamonix guide named Balmat–a relative of one of

the lost men–was in London, and one day encountered

a hale old gentleman in the British Museum, who said:

“I overheard your name. Are you from Chamonix,

Monsieur Balmat?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Haven’t they found the bodies of my three guides,

yet? I am Dr. Hamel.”

“Alas, no, monsieur.”

“Well, you’ll find them, sooner or later.”

“Yes, it is the opinion of Dr. Forbes and Mr. Tyndall,

that the glacier will sooner or later restore to us the

remains of the unfortunate victims.”

“Without a doubt, without a doubt. And it will be a great

thing for Chamonix, in the matter of attracting tourists.

You can get up a museum with those remains that will draw!”

This savage idea has not improved the odor of Dr. Hamel’s

name in Chamonix by any means. But after all, the man

was sound on human nature. His idea was conveyed

to the public officials of Chamonix, and they gravely

discussed it around the official council-table. They

were only prevented from carrying it into execution by

the determined opposition of the friends and descendants

of the lost guides, who insisted on giving the remains

Christian burial, and succeeded in their purpose.

A close watch had to be kept upon all the poor remnants

and fragments, to prevent embezzlement. A few accessory

odds and ends were sold. Rags and scraps of the coarse

clothing were parted with at the rate equal to about

twenty dollars a yard; a piece of a lantern and one or