The wild storm lasted more than A week, without ceasing; but on the 17th, Couttet, with several guides, left the cabin and succeeded in making the ascent.  In the snowy wastes near the summit they came upon five bodies, lying upon their sides in a reposeful attitude which suggested that possibly they had fallen asleep there, while exhausted with fatigue and hunger and benumbed with cold, and never knew when death stole upon them.  Couttet moved a few steps further and discovered five more bodies.  The eleventh corpse—­that of a porter—­was not found, although diligent search was made for it.

In the pocket of Mr. Bean, one of the Americans, was found a note-book in which had been penciled some sentences which admit us, in flesh and spirit, as it were, to the presence of these men during their last hours of life, and to the grisly horrors which their fading vision looked upon and their failing consciousness took cognizance of: 

Tuesday, Sept. 6.  I have made the ascent of Mont Blanc, with ten persons—­eight guides, and Mr. Corkindale and Mr. Randall.  We reached the summit at half past 2.  Immediately after quitting it, we were enveloped in clouds of snow.  We passed the night in a grotto hollowed in the snow, which afforded us but poor shelter, and I was ill all night.

Sept. 7—­Morning.  The cold is excessive.  The snow falls heavily and without interruption.  The guides take no rest.

Evening.  My Dear Hessie, we have been two days on Mont Blanc, in the midst of a terrible hurricane of snow, we have lost our way, and are in a hole scooped in the snow, at an altitude of 15,000 feet.  I have no longer any hope of descending.

They had wandered around, and around, in the blinding snow-storm, hopelessly lost, in a space only a hundred yards square; and when cold and fatigue vanquished them at last, they scooped their cave and lay down there to die by inches, unaware that five steps more would have brought them into the truth path.  They were so near to life and safety as that, and did not suspect it.  The thought of this gives the sharpest pang that the tragic story conveys.

The author of the HISTOIRE du Mont Blanc introduced the closing sentences of Mr. Bean’s pathetic record thus: 

“Here the characters are large and unsteady; the hand which traces them is become chilled and torpid; but the spirit survives, and the faith and resignation of the dying man are expressed with a sublime simplicity.”

Perhaps this note-book will be found and sent to you.  We have nothing to eat, my feet are already frozen, and I am exhausted; I have strength to write only a few words more.  I have left means for C’s education; I know you will employ them wisely.  I die with faith in God, and with loving thoughts of you.  Farewell to all.  We shall meet again, in Heaven. ...  I think of you always.