A Canadian Mason Climbs Mont Blanc by Wallace McLeod, FPS (Reprinted by permission of The Philalethes - December 1988) In Montreal, Canada, on 26 July 1805, a child named John Auldjo was born into a Scottish family that had made its fortune in the fur- trade. His mother soon died, and his father took the two little boys back to Britain for their schooling. In 1822 John was admitted to Trinity College, Cambridge, but he dropped out of university without completing his degree. After some time in the south of France he returned to London for his brother's wedding, on 18 September 1826. Henceforth his mentor was his new sister-in-law's uncle, Simon McGillivray, another man with business dealings in Canada. And so, on 25 October 1826, John Auldjo was initiated into Masonry in the Lodge of Antiquity, No. 2, London, being recommended by Simon McGillivray. It looks as if Auldjo pondered taking up law as a profession, for on 7 May 1827 he was admitted a student at Lincoln's Inn. He didn't stay very long, but chose to go back to France instead. Early in June, while traveling in the Alps, he caught sight of Mont Blanc, the highest summit in Europe, and decided he would have to climb it. He did in fact make it to the top, and he wrote a book about it, dedicated to Simon McGillivray. We might look at the story he tells. At the time that Auldjo had conceived his great plan, it was too early in the year to go mountain-climbing, so he put it off until late July or early August. Everyone knew that the upper part of the ascent was subject to avalanches, and had claimed the life of more than one mountaineer. Fortunately, on 25 July of that very year, two young Englishmen had found a new and safer way up, and they told Auldjo, who happened to meet them in Geneva. "Having learnt the practicability of ascending, I determined to lose no time in repairing to Chamonix (the point of departure), and my preparations were soon made. Some warm clothing, a telescope, and thermometer, were the sole contents of my haversack...On the 5th of August, I arrived in the valley. For many weeks the weather had been most beautiful, during which period not a cloud had sullied the blue arch of heaven, nor a mist shrouded the bright horizon; but this day the clouds gathered thick and lowering, and rain fell in torrents, pouring down a deluge the whole of the afternoon and the ensuing night. Next morning the mountain I was about to climb was no longer visible, being closely wrapped in a veil of dark vapour..." "Early on Tuesday morning, Devouassoud and Coutet (the two chief guides) entered my chamber, and announced that the wind had changed, the weather become fine, and if it lasted the day, would most certainly continue so during the day following...With great joy did I hear them say that we should start the next morning." The rest of the day he spent getting provisions, and choosing those who would go with him; in due course he settled upon six guides, and two other young men of the locality. Early next morning, 8 August, he walked from Chamonix (3255 feet above sea level) to the village of Les Pelerins, where the expedition was to rendezvous. After some delay, while the guides bade a tearful farewell to their families, they set out at seven o'clock, Auldjo on muleback. They climbed through a thick pine wood, up a spur of the Aiguille du Midi ("the Southern Needle"), which is part of the Mont Blanc range. After an hour and a half they reached the Chalet de la Para, the highest house on the mountain. They continued up a steep path for another hour, to a landmark known as the Pierre Pointue; here the way became so rough that Auldjo had to abandon his mule. "Thence we proceeded by a narrow footway or ledge, in the face of a cliff, in some places perpendicular, and in others overhanging the abysses below. This track is partly natural, but in some places improved by the people of the valley; and a tolerable accurate idea of it may be formed, by imagining that against a precipice of some hundred feet in height, a wall of two feet thick was built about half way up, and the path consisted merely of the space on the top of the wall, which was frequently so narrow, that we were under the necessity of advancing sideways, with our faces towards the rock, because the ordinary breadth of a man's shoulders would have thrown the balance of his person over the edge of the precipice. The track was also slippery, and covered with loose stones...; so that this part of our journey, though less perilous than...the icy precipices of the glaciers, was yet sufficient to try the nerves of a novice." After traversing the cliff, they ascended the moraine, a loose and shifting mass of debris that had tumbled down from the upper slopes. Here the guides collected enough wood for their fires. When they once again found solid footing, they stopped for a late breakfast, beneath the Aiguille du Midi, in the shelter of a rock called Pierre Fontanet. "At this point there is also a remarkable powerful echo, to prove which Devouassoud (the guide) fired a pistol. We were almost deafened with the report: at first the loud reverberation produced a fine effect; then beating about from mountain to mountain, it died away in the softest sound." At twenty minutes to twelve they moved on, and soon came to the edge of the glacier. "An extended plain of snow now presented itself, here and there covered with masses of broken ice; sometimes a beautiful tower of that substance raised its blue form, and seemed to mock the lofty pointed rocks above it; sometimes an immense block, its perpendicular front broken into pinnacles, now bearing a mass of snow, now supporting long and clear icicles, looked like some castle, on whose dilapidated walls the ivy, hanging in clustering beauty, or lying in rich and dark luxuriance, was, by the wand of some fairy, changed into the bright matter which now composed it." Once on the glacier, they proceeded to rope themselves together in pairs (except for Auldjo, who was tied to two guides). "The benefit of being secured to each other by ropes is shown almost every instant, as not a minute passed without some one of the party slipping on the ice; and falling, had he not been linked to another, would have glided into some crevice, and inevitably have perished." They crossed bridges of ice, bridges of snow, and bridges improvised from their alpenstocks; they climbed cliffs of sheer ice, cutting footholds with their hatchets. Eventually they gained an icy slope between two crevasses. "As the space became wider I became less cautious, and while looking over the edge into the upper crevice, my feet slid from under me: I came down on my face, and glided rapidly towards the lower one: I cried out, but the guides who held the ropes attached to me did not stop me, though they stood firm. I had got to the extent of the rope, my feet hanging over the lower crevice, one hand grasping firmly the pole, and the other my hat. The guides called to me to be cool, hanging over an abyss, and in momentary expectation of falling into it!" The guides held fast and kept the ropes taut, while Auldjo managed to pull himself up. About four o'clock in the afternoon, they arrived at a rugged conical rock known as the Grand Mulet, at an elevation of 9900 feet. (The encyclopedia tells me that "there is an inn" at this spot, but there wasn't one in 1827). The clambered up until, two hundred feet above the glacier, they found a platform, five feet by twelve. "A fire was lighted, some wine was warmed and distributed, and a change of apparel, with which all indulged themselves, was found extremely refreshing." Auldjo went to the top of the spire and sat admiring the view, while one of the guides below cooked food for them. After dinner, they set up a low tent on the platform, leaning their poles against the cliff and spreading a sheet over them. Then the nine of them went to bed. "In a row alongside each other, (they) lay as close as they could. I soon fell asleep, though the thunder of the falling avalanches might well have kept me awake...None of the beauties, none of the dangers, have made a more lasting impression on me than the awful silence of that night, broken as it was only by the loud crash of falling ice, echoing and re-echoing with thrilling sound in the death-like stillness." At three in the morning they roused themselves, and continued up the river of ice by moonlight, again hacking out steps. The air was bitterly cold, but in due course they reached the Grand Plateau, the largest ice plain on the mountain. Here, at twenty after seven, on a sunken snowbridge over a chasm, they stopped for breakfast, which consisted of frozen chicken, cheese, and cold negus ("vinegar, wine, and water, boiled with spices and a great deal of sugar, a capital beverage for such an expedition"). The temperature was about 18 degrees Fahrenheit, but at least they were out of the wind. They started out again. This was where they left the familiar path, and headed off towards the left, along the new more sheltered way. At last, as the sun was beginning to warm them up, they climbed another snow cliff. "While engaged in passing this last difficulty, our attention was arrested by a loud noise, or hissing sound, which the guides knew to proceed from a vast body of ice and snow falling in avalanche. It lasted some moments, and finished by a report which must have been caused by the precipitation of some immense mass upon a rock or plain. In an instant the awful calm which had been disturbed resumed its reign." On, on they went, further up the grade. "It was here that I felt the first symptoms of the effect produced on the body by the rarity of the air; for, soon after I began to ascend, I was seized with an oppression of the chest, and a slight difficulty of breathing; a quickness of pulsation soon followed, with a great inclination to thirst, and a fullness in the veins of the head..." Finally about nine o'clock, they crossed the last of the Rochers Rouges ("Red Rocks"), and rejoined the old path. They looked down, and saw, far below and across the valley, a crowd of people watching them from Mount Brevent (height, 8310 feet). It was some five miles away, so Auldjo must have used his telescope. "Among them we recognized some female forms, a discovery which renewed our courage, and excited us to still greater efforts than before...We had to climb about one hour to get to the summit; but this part of the undertaking required a most extraordinary exertion, and severe labour it was. From the place where the rarity of the air was first felt, we had been able to proceed fifteen or twenty steps without halting to take breath; but now, after every third or fourth, the stoutest, strongest guide became exhausted." Some distance below the pinnacle, Auldjo found he could not go on, and he literally had to be dragged up by his two guides. Finally, at eleven o'clock in the morning, they reached the top of Mont Blanc, which they calculated to be 15,665 feet above sea-level - nearly 12,500 feet higher than their starting point. Auldjo at once collapsed on the snow behind a small mound, where he was somewhat sheltered from the wind, and slept for fifteen minutes. Then the guides produced some food, chicken and bread, but he found that he could not eat without feeling sick. "I had provided a bottle of Champagne, being desirous to see how this wine would be affected by the rarity of air. I also wished to drink to the prosperity of the inhabitants of the world below me; for I could believe that there were no human beings so elevated as we were at that moment. The wire being removed, and the string cut, the cork flew out to a great distance, but the noise could hardly be heard. The wine rolled out in the most luxuriant foam, frothing to the very last drop, and we all drank of it with zest...A very small quantity was sufficient to satisfy our thirst, for nine of us were perfectly satisfied with the contents of one bottle." By now the temperature had risen to 32 degrees, but the clouds were beginning to gather, and a storm was clearly brewing. Auldjo took time to survey the vast panorama. "The more I gazed on the stupendous scene around me, the more I was delighted and astonished, my most sanguine expectations having been much exceeded; and now, just as I had become capable of marking and appreciating its beauties and wonders, the signal for departure tore me from the enjoyment...At twelve precisely we left the summit. Every one who has climbed a rock, a steep mountain, or any very elevated point, knows how much more difficult the descent is than the ascent; and of this I had painful experience in my progress downwards, for I found the descent of the first declivity by no means so easy a task as I had expected. It was tedious and fatiguing, from the exertion every moment applied to keep myself from slipping: or, having missed my footing, to set myself right again." By this time the heat of the sun, added to the heat generated by their exertion, was almost unbearable. On the glacier above the Grand Plateau, Auldjo found a new way to travel. "I was desired to sit behind Devouassoud, as close as possible to him, and to put my legs round his body, my feet over his thighs, and my hands over his shoulders. Thus placed, I kept fast hold of him, and away both glided with immense velocity; he making use of his baton as a kind of rudder to guide our course, and with his feet ready to moderate the rapidity of our progress, by plunging them into the snow..." When they came to the Grand Plateau, the guides all turned pale; they discovered that the avalanche they had heard the day before had run its course here; had they gone up the usual way, they would have been swept away. By the time they got back to their breakfast station, Auldjo was so tired and overheated that they had to rub his temples with snow before he could go on. the sky grew darker and more threatening. They continued glissading down the snowy slopes, but before they could gain the shelter of the Grand Mulet (where they had slept last night), the storm broke in all its fury: first sleet, then hail, with heavy winds, thunder and lightning. Auldjo was now totally incapacitated, and had gone completely numb. He could only proceed by walking between two poles that were held by the guides in front and behind. At half past six they left the glacier, and somehow managed to slither down the moraine to the Pierre Pointue. A bit further brought them to the Chalet de la Para, the first house. "There we found a damsel ready with a large caldron of boiling milk, which she had prepared for us, and dealt out in large basins, inviting us, by her smiles and he good humour, to partake of it, until it was all disposed of." Then down the path through the pine woods to the village of Les Pelerins, where a mule was waiting. Auldjo mounted and rode back to Chamonix, reaching his hotel at about 8:30, after an absence of slightly more than 37 hours. He stayed a few days in town. "I procured the certificate which is given to those who have attained the summit by the Sardinian government." (The region did not pass into French hands until 1860). so much for the book. Auldjo does not write particularly well. His story is dramatic, but his style is sometimes clumsy, and his descriptions contrived and overblown. Even so, it is not bad for a young man just turned twenty-two, and it found a ready audience. Here was adventure, excitement, and danger that few had a chance to meet on their own. It went through four editions (1828, 1830, 1856, 1867). Auldjo does not come off terribly well in it. He appears as a rich and pampered young man, not much of an athlete, who needs six guides to drag him to the top of the mountain and carry him down again. He rides a mule for as long as he can, while his guides go on foot. They are the porters; they bear the food, the cooking utensils, the firewood, the sheet for a tent. He carries a bit of clothing, a telescope, a thermometer, and a bottle of champagne. Still, not everybody has the ambition to even try a mountain, and he could hardly be expected to do it alone. This was not Auldjo's only adventure, or his only claim to fame. Mind you, he was not particularly active in the Craft. In the spring of 1837 he was planning to visit Canada (where he still held property), and his sponsor Simon McGillivray, the Provincial Grand Master, gave him a warrant as his Deputy. Not much came of it. McGillivray died in 1840, and Auldjo ceased all his Masonic activities by 1842. But after climbing the mountain he lived on for another sixty years, a gentleman of leisure, a cultured dilettante, a collector of works of art, a Mediterranean tourist, a writer of travel books, a Fellow of several learned societies, the unpaid British consul in Geneva, a friend of the great and the near great, admired and respected by all who knew him. He accompanied Bro. Sir Walter Scott during his last visit to Naples, and kept up a life-long correspondence with the novelist Bro. Lord Lytton. He died 6 May 1886 in Geneva. Nearly half a century ago one student said that John Auldjo was the first "Englishman" to reach the summit of Mont Blanc - and in a fit of carelessness a few years back I repeated the statement. Actually auldjo's book gives a full listing, and shows he was the tenth "Englishman" to make it. The certificate he got from the authorities in Chamonix calls him a "Scottish gentleman." Englishman? Scottish gentleman? He was born in Montreal, the son of a man who had been elected to the parliament of Lower Canada. In my books, that makes him Canadian. He deserves to be remembered as the first Canadian who got to the top of Mont Blanc. And he was a Mason.