Survivor: The Autobiography (43 page)

In the normal course of events three more of us would have followed Lévi without further delay; only two men would be needed to attach the coffin to the cable and assist at its take-off when the moment arrived. As it was, however, we had other plans.

We had been categorically forbidden to do any more exploring, and were supposed to limit our activities to recovering Loubens’s body. From the very start we had considered these instructions as an unjustifiable abuse of authority; we had signed no undertaking, and it was therefore with an easy conscience that I decided upon my own responsibility to ignore them.

The finding of this pothole had been the climax of a search begun by E. A. Martel in 1908, and continued at intervals between 1925 and 1950 by the Groupe Spéléologique de la Pierre Saint-Martin led by Max Cosyns and myself. Lépineux had actually made the discovery; Loubens, another member of the group, had died here; and Dr Mairey had been the victim of what might easily have been a fatal accident. So Pierre Saint-Martin was in a very real sense ‘ours’, and to go home without trying to explore upstream would have been a miserable surrender of our rights. In any case, we could not have restrained the determination of fellows like Mairey, Mauer and Ballandraux. Besides, to finish the job was surely the noblest honour we could render to poor Loubens’s memory.

A party set out at 4 o’clock in the afternoon; it consisted of Mairey, Ballandraux and Mauer. I stayed behind with Delteil, one of whose hands had been badly lacerated.

I had no fears as I watched the other three disappear from sight. All were highly trained and well-tried speleologists.

Our companions had been gone an hour when I climbed that mass of cyclopean boulders in the Salle Lépineux which they had now left behind, and through which Mairey and I had begun our journey upstream (due south into Spanish territory) twelve months ago. My immediate purpose was to revisit a platform of rock where I knew there was a colony of diptera, a kind of mosquito. Lost in this immensity, they had for some unknown cause, taken up residence just here, where I soon found them. Isolated from one another, and quite motionless, they look so easy to catch, but as soon as you approach with a light, they scurry sideways over the rock – like crabs. When they become conscious of imminent danger, they take to flight and then you begin to appreciate their unwillingness to use their wings. They are poor flyers, with an uncertain, dipping movement; and they soon come to rest on the floor or on another rock, but always below their starting-point. Their clumsy flight is due, of course, to atrophy of the wings consequent upon their surroundings, and I have no doubt that in another few thousand years these strange mosquitoes of Pierre Saint-Martin will be wingless. The few that I caught were destined for the microscopes in the Musée de Paris.

During my stroll I came across a short strip of Scotch-light, a piece of cloth treated with reflecting material in the form of powdered catadioptric glass. It was a guide-mark left by Mairey and his companions. These objects, when strategically placed, enable one to go ahead without fear of losing one’s way on the return journey through the complicated maze of debris. I followed the trail of these guideposts until I heard the voices of my friends. They were looking for a road to the head-waters, but repeatedly found their passage blocked by boulders reaching to the ceiling. I felt certain, as they did, that once they had overcome these difficulties, and pierced some gap in the wall, they would find the chasm extended for some considerable distance.

I returned to the bivouac. Delteil was busy patching his overalls; they had suffered badly during his descent with the container and were actually in rags. We employ somewhat original tailoring methods at Pierre Saint-Martin; holes are made in the material with the point of a knife, and telephone-wire takes the place of thread. While Delteil was thus engaged I sat on the ground beside him and made a few entries in my notebook. Suddenly we heard a noise high up in the shaft, as of someone falling. It grew louder; and as we ducked, a body landed with a terrifying crash at a distance of 13 or 14 feet on the debris slope. From there it rolled out of sight. Horror-struck and trembling, we jumped up and hurried down to find the unhappy man who had just been killed before our very eyes. Delteil pulled up sharply and bent over a contorted mass. Then he stood erect with a shout of laughter. Thank God! The victim of that dreadful fall was only a large kitbag which had escaped from its owner at –699 and fallen 436 feet to the bottom. It had burst open, and we picked up a number of articles, including a camera (which as you may guess, was useless). We knew then that the bag belonged to Vergnes. Having recovered from the shock, we resumed our peaceful if trivial occupations.

Presently Robert Vergnes himself came down and joined us. His arrival was far more sedate than that of his kitbag. Mairey, Mauer and Ballandraux returned soon afterwards, pleased with their reconnaissance and tremendously excited. They had managed with some difficulty to pass the danger zone, where rocks and ceiling met, and found, as I had predicted, that the gigantic wilderness of rock extended much farther.

Our commandos had done a fine job, and had turned back in order to make their report. I was thrilled, and determined to lead a party on the following day as far as it was possible to go.

Wednesday, 11 August
This was to be the day of days – if one may speak of ‘day’ in places where there is no dawn. It would provide an answer to that question we had left unanswered for a year: did the chasm reach into Spanish territory; and if so, how far?

Pierre Saint-Martin consists of a shaft, 1,135 feet deep, giving access to an enormous cavity through which flows a subterranean river. In 1953 we had travelled downstream for a distance of nearly two miles and to a depth of 2,388 feet in French territory. How far would we get today, through the chaos of its head-waters, into Spain?

The whole team, excepting Vergnes and Delteil, set off at 8 a.m. We expected to be absent for at least a day, perhaps two if all went well. On leaving the bivouac we had to climb in heavy kit up that mountain of boulders, which stands at the near end of the Salle Lépineux, and then descend the opposite face, guided by Scotch-lights which Mairey had laid yesterday. Presently the doctor pointed out one of these signposts lying on a rock which was not on our present track. It was of a pattern used last year, and I recognized it as marking the spot where he and I had forced our way into the heart of the wilderness.

Mairey smiled as we passed that Scotch-light which had so nearly marked the end of his career as a speleologist; and before long we reached the summit of a rise which we had to descend with the help of an electron ladder. This manoeuvre brought us out from the labyrinth into a colossal chamber, so vast and tortuous that we could make out neither its size nor its shape. It was perfectly stupendous, exceeding all conceivable dimensions, far transcending human architecture.

‘Since we are now in Spain,’ I said, ‘let us call this prodigious chamber “Salle de Navarre”; territorially the name is correct, and it will be a gesture towards our Spanish friends who had hoped to be with us on this occasion.’

I have travelled a good deal in Spain, especially in the mountainous province of Navarre, but I can safely say that I have never seen in the whole of the Peninsula so wild a stretch of country as that through which we now advanced by lamplight. Here Earth’s structure, which so fascinates Delteil, is set forth on the grandest scale. The journey became so arduous and complicated that we had to make alternate use of ropes and wire ladders in order to negotiate precipice-roads or steep cliffs.

Mauer was lagging behind when he suddenly called for help. We turned round and saw him kneeling, apparently in difficulties on the sloping ground. But there was nothing wrong; he was interested in something quite different from the recovery of his balance. Considering this fearful desert of rock, his eyesight was most remarkable, for he had noticed an insect – a superb
Aphaenops Loubensi
which Mairey recognized as a giant of the species. Taking from his entomologist’s pack a small wet paintbrush, he caught the beetle, and put it in a tube of alcohol. It was the fifth specimen to fall into our hands in two years. Animal life, of course, does not abound here; conditions are too severe to make existence anything but precarious.

We should really have been gaining height, since we were travelling upstream. In point of fact, however, we had spent most of our time going downhill. Ballandraux was walking ahead; or rather he was tumbling and jumping from rock to rock, for the ground seemed to consist mainly of pits, fissures and crevasses. He had just made a neat landing on top of a great tubular rock, when we realized with horror that the thing had begun to swing forwards. Then, as in a dream, we saw Ballandraux raised higher and higher into the air. Here was an example of those swaying boulders known as ‘Crazy Stones’.

Having recovered from his surprise, Ballandraux purposely renewed the see-saw movement, the effect of which was amplified by the height and mass of the rock. We called 1 ‘Roche Ballandraux’, and each enjoyed a spell of its majestic oscillation.

We might also have exercised the privilege of pioneers and named the huge gallery through which we now proceeded over jagged ground. Our attention, however, was riveted upon the difficulties of progress and of finding our direction, so that we had neither the leisure nor the freedom of imagination to assign names and titles to the places through which we passed.

At this point the torrent flows quite close to the surface, but is still hidden by great boulders beneath which you can hear it rumbling. We were already moving uphill; but the way before us involved an exhausting climb to the level of the ceiling, so we decided to call a halt and have some lunch. Nearby was a small cascade, issuing from the wall; it was a tributary of the main stream, but with a temperature of 7° Fahrenheit it was not much use for diluting the concentrated milk, of which Mairey had produced several tubes from his haversack. I proceeded to distribute pieces of sausage, which Ballandraux cut into rounds with the blade of a metal saw. Having no bread, we rounded off our meal with two packets of dry cake, and then moved on. Presently my companions led me into a narrow passage, on the ceiling of which there were numerous stalactites which did not greatly impress me. I told them so quite frankly; they were shocked, and put me down as blasé!

Yesterday’s journey had ended at this point. But the system extended farther in undiminished grandeur; the way continued rough and downhill. We now separated, and each took a different path in order to check up on and eliminate blind alleys. After several reconnaissances and a brief council of war at the rallying point, it was clear that Mauer had found the right track. We followed him over some very rough ground into a winding corridor where we found the river. We advanced first on one bank and then on the other, sometimes on natural bridges and perilous overhangs. It was a strenuous and exciting journey, and we longed to know where it would lead us. At every bend, at every barrier of rock, we quickened our pace to seek what might lie beyond, and to assure ourselves that yet more distant perspectives opened out beneath those mysterious vaults. So far, however, we had kept our heads. The obstacle which now met our gaze was enough to daunt the bravest of the brave.

We had been walking for some minutes on banks that narrowed steadily above foaming rapids. Suddenly the river became deep, and flowed between vertical walls of smooth rock. We could go no farther, except by swimming in that icy water at a temperature of about 20° F, sufficient to cool the most determined hot-head! We had no collapsible boat, not even a raft; but we managed to balance ourselves on an isthmus of rock, which enabled us to advance a few yards and ascertain that 40 or 50 feet beyond that point the stream made a right-angled bend; its far bank was a sheer wall of stone. Considering its enormous width elsewhere, this section of the gallery was relatively small – 16 or 20 feet wide by about 13 feet in height. The contraction set up a violent current of cold air, a regular hurricane, which pierced us to the bone, extinguished our lamps, and churned the surface of the water. This wind, blowing at gale force, proves that the cavern extends for a great distance upstream; but the depth of the river constitutes an impassable barrier unless one has means of navigation. We had come as far as would be possible this year.

We had already started to retrace our steps, when I caught sight of a corridor running upstream and parallel with the river. I hurried in, hoping against hope that it might by-pass the deep water; but after walking for about 55 yards, I found that the ceiling came down to meet the floor while the walls huddled closer together. ‘It’s a cul-de-sac! There’s no road here,’ I shouted back to my companions who were ferreting about in a maze of secondary passages.

‘Casteret! Come and look. Here are some wonderful stalactites.’

It was Mairey’s voice. Stalactites! Fancy thinking about stalactites when we had just been brought to a halt in the most incredible cavern I had ever seen! Sadly, I turned back, conquered by deep water on one side and by a cul-de-sac on the other. My three companions, on the other hand, seemed already to have forgotten their disappointment; they were talking excitedly and admiring their ‘wonderful stalactites’.

‘Casteret, do come here,’ Mairey insisted, ‘and tell us what you think of them.’ I rejoined them, feeling not a little sceptical. In fact, I was in no mood to share their enthusiasm. But on raising my eyes to the ceiling, I quickly changed my tune. ‘Good for you!’ I cried, ‘they’re magnificent, extraordinary.’ It is impossible to describe an outcrop of helictites; perfection is always indescribable. But as an expert crystallographer, who has visited more than one thousand caves, I unhesitatingly award the prize for rarity and delicacy to the stalactites of Pierre Saint-Martin.

It was growing late. We cast a final glance at the helictites, a final glance too at the deep water, and resumed our journey. At one stage Ballandraux, having unpacked his drawing pad, compasses and pencil, proceeded to map the chasm. Mairey and Mauer went ahead with the lamp upon which our surveyor based his readings. I stayed behind for the time being to give him light and a helping hand in awkward places. Between the four of us we worked out approximate distances and contours. Our reckoning was probably not far out, especially as sights were for the most part fairly short.