MOUNT EVEREST
During my stay at the Base Camp my time was not really wasted. A
study of Everest and of its meteorological conditions, photography,
overhauling of equipment and experiments with oxygen kept me fully
occupied.
I wonder why it is that so many mountain travellers seem to lose all
sense of proportion when they behold for the first time hitherto
unknown ranges and peaks. Perhaps it is that they do not happen to
possess the critical faculty of abiding by facts, and tend to describe
what they expect rather than what they see. Whatever the reason, the
ugliest, sometimes even the most insignificant of sights, provided
it be but strange or novel, induces their pen to trail along in a
pæon of praise, and the new mountain vision is elevated to all that
is awe-inspiring, magnificent, beautiful, far excelling any mountain
hitherto known to man. Thus we find that earlier explorers of Mount
Everest have enhanced its wonders out of all proportion to the reality.
It is as if its quality of height, the mere fact that Mount Everest
is over 29,000 feet in altitude and the highest mountain in the
world, has prejudiced their judgment of its other qualities. A closer
analysis of this very question of height may prove edifying. A mountain
has two heights, absolute and relative. The former represents its
altitude above sea-level, the latter its height above the immediate
surroundings, and is really the only altitude with which the eye can
be concerned. It is only when mountains rise from the sea, as they do
in Corsica, that absolute and relative altitudes are one and the same
thing. 29,002 feet is the accepted absolute altitude of Mount Everest;
the relative altitude, that is, the actual height that presents itself
to the eye of the beholder, is arrived at by deducting some 16,500
to 17,000 feet. The suggestion frequently made to me that the sight
of Mount Everest must dwarf into insignificance anything I have ever
seen in the Alps, has invariably met with my decided denial. When seen
from the north--the only aspect of the mountain with which we of the
recent expedition are acquainted--Mount Everest appears as an uncouth,
well-nigh shapeless mass partially blocking the end of the Rongbuk
Valley, itself surely one of the most formless and ugly of mountain
valleys. The impression of the grand or the prodigious which the view
of a mountain makes upon one depends largely on the height to which the
summit rears itself above the lower limit of its glaciers or eternal
snows. Mont Blanc is nearly 16,000 feet high, and its glaciers descend
to within 4,000 feet of sea-level--a vertical zone of nearly 12,000
feet of perpetual ice and snow. On the north, Mount Everest rises to a
height of 12,500 feet above the Base Camp, which was situated a little
below the end of the Rongbuk Glacier--a vertical zone of 12,500 feet of
perpetual ice and snow. From the point of view of extent to which it
is glaciated, therefore, Mont Blanc suffers little when compared with
Everest. But the distance between the observer and the object observed
is a determining factor in the impression of size and grandeur which a
mountain picture leaves on the mind. Mont Blanc can be seen in all its
magnificence at a distance of some five to six miles. On its northern
side, Mount Everest can most advantageously be seen from the Base
Camp, eleven miles away. Thus, when no scale of absolute measurement
is present, Mont Blanc appears nearly twice as huge to the eye as
Mount Everest. So much for “prodigiousness” or “grandeur.” From the
point of view of beauty, there can be no comparison between the two
mountains. Mont Blanc, seen from the north, is a wonderful, glistening
mass of snowy domes, piled one against the other in ever-increasing
altitude to a beautifully-proportioned and well-balanced whole. No
beauty or symmetry of form can be read out of the ponderous, ungainly,
ill-proportioned lump whose horizontal stratification lines produce
an appearance of almost comical squatness and which carries, as if
by accident, on its western extremity a little carelessly truncated
cone to serve as a summit. For such is Mount Everest as seen from
the Base Camp. This infelicity of form is further forced upon the
eye by the fact that it is far from being shared by all the other
mountains surrounding the head of the Rongbuk Valley. One of these,
indeed, though only about 21,000 feet in height, presented its snowy
northern flank to the gaze of the observer at the Base Camp; and in
the delicately moulded flutings and folds of its tremendously abrupt
snow slopes was contained such beauty, such magnificence, and such
dainty grace of symmetry and poise as I have seldom, if ever, seen in a
mountain.
It goes without saying that the weather was a thing most anxiously
inquired into by all members of the expedition. During my fifteen
days at the Base, I lost no opportunity of studying its vagaries and
attempting to assign meanings to the different portents. During the
entire month of May, there were only two fine days, and those were
separated from each other by a wide interval of time. Both succeeded
heavy snowstorms which had whitened the rocks of Mount Everest. In
applying the term “fine weather” in the case of these mountain regions,
it is necessary to be somewhat more critical than one would ordinarily
be in the Alps, where cloudless sky almost invariably means favourable
weather. In the case of Mount Everest, it is essential not only that
the sky be more or less cloudless, but that the force of the wind be so
small as to be insufficient to blow up and tear away streamers of snow
dust from the ridges. These streamers betoken the presence of a wind of
such strength that it cannot but seriously handicap the climber.
On the last stage of the journey, from Shekar Dzong to the Base Camp,
the developing of the photographs I had taken _en route_ had fallen
into arrears, and I now endeavoured to make these good. In spite of
the simple methods adopted, developing was not always an easy matter.
During development of the films, the solutions contained in the tanks
had to be maintained at the proper temperature. Often the only way to
accomplish this was to retire into one’s sleeping-bag with the tin
or tins, as the case might be, as bed-fellows. The washing of the
fixed and developed films was a simple matter. The Rongbuk stream ran
close by. It is true that, in the biting winds which swept through
the valley, frequent dipping of the hands into ice-cold water was far
from pleasant. The most difficult part of the whole process of the
production of the negative was the drying of the washed films. This
had to be done at a temperature above the freezing-point of water,
owing to the fact that, if the films once froze, frost marks formed in
the emulsion. However, by the simple expedient of closing the tent as
hermetically as possible, and remaining inside it with two or three
candles burning during the drying process, the temperature could be
kept above freezing.
At last the day came when I was able to think of advancing. Time there
was none to lose. The weather outlook was by no means improving.
Indeed, there was every indication of the monsoon breaking sooner than
we had expected. Although there were no more climbers left at the
Base Camp, the whole climbing strength of the expedition, with the
exception of myself, being in the first party, my choice of climbing
companions was easy enough. First of all, there was Captain Geoffrey
Bruce. Tall, of athletic build, strong, endowed with a great fund
of mental energy--an invaluable asset on ventures of this kind--and
cheerful in any situation, he was, in spite of the fact that he had
never indulged in mountaineering, an ideal companion. Believing two to
be too weak a party to carry out the cut-and-dried plan of campaign
that I had already formulated at the back of my mind, a third member
was selected in the person of Lance-Corporal Tejbir, the most promising
of the Ghurka non-commissioned officers attached to the expedition. He
was a splendid specimen of humanity, standing fully six feet in his
stockings, broad-shouldered, deep-chested and altogether well-knit.
Above all things, the slightest provocation brought a wide grin to
Tejbir’s pleasant face, even in the depths of adversity. Like Geoffrey
Bruce, he had never climbed before; but I have noticed in the course of
my experience that the man who grins most, is usually the one who goes
farthest in the mountains--and perhaps also elsewhere. What porters we
could, Geoffrey Bruce and I selected at the Base Camp. The remainder of
those who were to assist in pitching and provisioning our highest camps
were selected later, on the way up to and at Camp III.
I would like to place on record here that, whatever small measure of
success Geoffrey Bruce, Tejbir and I eventually achieved, was almost
entirely due to the loyal and gallant efforts with which these splendid
little men backed us up on every possible occasion. No praise can
be too great for the exemplary and cheerful devotion they displayed
towards us throughout. These porters came for the most part from
Nepal, the native state lying to the south of Mount Everest. Being of
Mongolian extraction, they have beardless faces. One of the greatest
honours that one can confer upon them is to call them by some endearing
nickname. One I called “Josephine-Anne-Marie,” another “Dorothy” and
yet another “Trudi”[16]; this last being suggested by his proper
name, Tergio. Several of these men, Trudi and Dorothy among them,
accomplished the extraordinary feat of climbing on three separate
occasions to the tremendous altitude of 25,500 feet.
On May 16, we left the Base for Camp I. Wakefield was accompanying us
as far as Camp III, in order to give us a clean bill of health from
there onwards. The way up to this camp was wholly delightful, and led
for the most part over the tremendous moraines flanking the right bank
of the Rongbuk Glacier. Everest was always before us, and the nearer we
approached the entrance of the East Rongbuk Valley, the more was our
view extended over the mountains to the west, nearly all of which are
far more satisfying to the eye than Mount Everest. The day was fine.
The only clouds were of the peculiar type, with sharp-cut edges, which
I had learnt to associate with more or less settled weather in this
part of the world. Camp I was pitched just inside the entrance to the
East Rongbuk Valley and quite close to the East Rongbuk Glacier. The
following day was spent in attending to matters of equipment and also
in ski-ing in the snow-filled bed of the East Rongbuk stream just below
the camp. The porters were intensely keen on this amusement and, in
spite of numerous tosses, were the aptest of pupils.
Thanks to the careful reconnaissance carried out by Strutt’s party, the
way towards Camp II was a simple matter. For the most part we marched
up over the stone-strewn surface of the East Rongbuk Glacier. Here and
there the glacier was much broken up, but, by keeping to the moraines
running down it, good headway was made. The views towards the peaks
in that great chain which runs down from the North Peak towards the
Base Camp were most striking. Point 22,580, in particular, is a most
graceful mountain with a delightfully cornice-crested, aspiring summit.
Clouds obscured Mount Everest, but for one brief spell they parted,
and we saw, peeping down at us, the lofty summit, now looking far
higher than it ever had before. Shortly before reaching Camp II, direct
progress was barred by an enormous ice wall. The obstacle, however, was
easily turned, and soon afterwards we arrived in camp.
The tents were pitched on a layer of stones lying upon the glacier, at
an altitude of about 19,500 feet above sea-level. It was well sheltered
from the wind, but unfortunately received very little sun; a great
disadvantage, because life in the shade was hardly bearable outside
one’s sleeping-bag. A large, frozen-over pond of glacier water lay
within a few yards of the camp, and beyond it, within easy reach, were
some magnificent ice slopes. The sight of these gave me the idea that
it would be a good plan to give Geoffrey Bruce, Tejbir and those of the
porters, whom we had selected to join our party, their first lessons in
the proper use of the ice-axe and climbing irons. A suitable slope was
soon found. At its foot lay the frozen-over pool. In a very short time
my enthusiastic pupils were hard at it, and within half an hour many
of them were so good that one might have thought they had been used to
this sort of work all their lives. Tejbir, however, on one occasion
chose to rely too much on his sure-footedness, with the result that
he slipped, slithered down the slope, broke through the frozen surface
of the water and got thoroughly ducked. With the instincts of the
born mountaineer, he retained a grasp upon his ice-axe. We hauled him
out at once, but as the external air temperature was well below zero,
Tejbir soon discovered that he was encased in armour plate. We hustled
him over to the camp and stripped him of his frozen clothing; and
for the next two hours all that was to be seen of Tejbir was a broad
grin surrounded by many blankets as he sat under shelter and thought
things over. The problem of drying his clothes, though it was far too
cold for the ice in them to melt, was quite a simple affair. At this
great altitude, the air is so dry and so rarefied that ice evaporates
at least as readily as water does at sea-level on a fine summer’s
day--a phenomenon to which may be attributed the diminutive size of
the mountain streams draining the extensive glaciers in this region of
the earth. These streams are almost entirely supplied by water caused
by the friction of the glaciers flowing over their rocky beds. Surface
water due to melting of surface ice, the main source of supply of
glacier streams in the Alps, does not exist on the northern slopes of
Everest at this time of the year. Thus to dry Tejbir’s frozen garments
one had only to apply a little logic and scientific training. Take, for
instance, his trousers. These were first of all hammered out flat and
then placed in a vertical position against a little wall of stones. The
moment they collapsed and fell to the ground, it was obvious that their
stiffening of ice had disappeared and they were, therefore, dry. Who,
after this brilliant example, would gainsay the uses of science?
[Illustration: “_A suitable slope was soon found._”
_Facing page 302._
]
The original intention had been to give my party at least one day’s
rest at Camp II, with the object of assisting, as far as possible,
the important process of acclimatisation. But on our march up to the
camp, everyone had felt so remarkably fit, and I myself had walked so
freely and easily, that, as Camp II was by no means too comfortable, we
thought it better to make for Camp III. At 8 a.m., therefore, on May 19
we set off. At first, by keeping to the moraine, we were able to avoid
having to seek a way through the broken up ice of the glacier. But all
too soon the stones came to an end, and we had to take to the icefall.
First appearances suggested the possibility of heavy step-cutting, but,
as a matter of fact, things turned out extraordinarily well, and it
was only very occasionally that we had to ply the axe. Here and there
a frozen-over pool of water lying at the foot of some crevasse had to
be circumvented. Although the ice was in most cases thick, it could
not be relied upon to bear one’s weight, as the water underneath had
often ebbed away and was no longer in contact with the ice. A ducking
could not be risked now; we were so far away from the comforts of a
camp that the consequences might have proved more than unpleasant. It
was sheer joy, this climbing up and down or walking along the troughs
of crevasses, circumventing and occasionally scaling huge séracs of
fantastic shapes and showing the most wonderful range of colours from
clear, deep blue, through green to a pure, opaque white which in
turn merged into a crystal-clear transparency. Unlike the séracs of
European glaciers, there was nothing to be feared from these great
giants. Séracs in Switzerland are formed by the flow of glaciers
over some marked step or irregularity in their beds; but here, north
of Mount Everest, other causes seemed to be at work. Perhaps side
pressure caused by tributary glaciers flowing into the main glacier,
perhaps wind currents and evaporation of ice are the deciding factors.
In any case, the séracs of the East Rongbuk Glacier stood proudly
upon firm, wide bases and showed no rottenness or decay to menace
those marching amongst them. Eventually we emerged from the broken up
part of the glacier and found ourselves on the still snow-free but
almost uncrevassed, gently-rising upper portion, over which progress
developed into little more than a rather wearisome trudge. The North
Peak was now to be seen at its best--a bold, heavily-built Colossus,
above the eastern ridge of which appeared the summit of Everest. The
mountains to the east were not attractive. We were now so close to them
that it was evident that they are for the most part little more than
glorified scree slopes rising from uninteresting-looking glaciers.
The heat on this part of the day’s march was considerable. There was
little or no wind, but, contrary to the experiences related by many
Himalayan explorers, few of us were overcome by that form of heat
lassitude usually associated with such weather conditions in these high
altitudes. Indeed, most of us, including the porters, who carried loads
averaging some forty pounds each, plodded along at a good, steady pace,
which was certainly no slower than it would have been in the Alps, say,
on the Aletsch Glacier at noon under a summer sun. It may, perhaps, be
worthy of mention that since leaving the Base Camp, perspiration had
been unknown to us. No matter how hot the sun, how still the air, or
how great the exertion, any perspiration exuded by the skin was, owing
to the dryness and the reduced pressure of the atmosphere, evaporated
before one became aware of its presence.
[Illustration: _Amid the séracs of the East Rongbuk Glacier._]
[Illustration: _Crossing a trough on the East Rongbuk Glacier._
_Facing page 304._
]
At an altitude of about 20,500 feet, some crevasses intersected the now
no longer snow-free surface of the glacier, and we put on the rope.
Soon after midday we rounded the end of the east ridge of the North
Peak and hove in sight of Camp III (21,000 ft.). Like Camp II, it
was pitched on a layer of stones resting on the East Rongbuk Glacier.
We found Strutt in residence, and he gave us the news. That morning
Mallory, Morshead, Norton and Somervell had left for the North Col
prior to their attempt on Mount Everest. High up on a terrace above the
steep snow slopes immediately below the Col, we could see a cluster of
tiny black dots--the tents of the North Col Camp. On the skyline, in
the col itself, were seen more little black dots, but moving. Evidently
the first party were out taking a constitutional.
For the next few days Camp III was to serve as my party’s advance
base camp. Here it was that we overhauled our stores and equipment,
especially the oxygen outfit. With feelings akin to dismay, suspicions
that I had already formed at Camp I were confirmed; not one of the
ten oxygen apparatus was usable. They had suffered so severely in the
course of our travels across Tibet that most of the soldered metal
joints leaked; washers had become so dry that the other joints could no
longer be made gastight, and several of the gauges were out of action.
Then again, neither of the two types of masks with which we were
supplied could be used. The first of these, the so-called “economiser”
pattern, by means of an arrangement of valves, allowed oxygen flowing
from the apparatus to mix with the air on inhalation, but stored it
up and thus prevented waste on exhalation of the breath. It was found
that, owing to the resistance imposed by these valves upon breathing,
the mask could not be used, the strain thrown upon the lungs being too
great. The second type of mask had really been supplied for use in
the event of the “economiser” failing to give satisfactory service.
It was wasteful of oxygen because the gas supply was continuous, no
matter whether the climber were inhaling or exhaling; thus during
the periods of exhalation the oxygen issuing from the apparatus was
wholly wasted. However, we found that this mask suffered from, amongst
others, the same defect as the first; the resistance imposed upon
the free passage of the breath was too much for the lungs. It must
not be forgotten that the whole oxygen outfit--masks, apparatus,
containers--was more or less experimental; the conditions under
which it was to be utilised were practically unknown, and, in the
circumstances, the design was the best that science could produce.
[Illustration: _Mount Everest from Camp III._
_Facing page 306._
]
While waiting at Darjeeling for the arrival of the apparatus, I had
turned the question of masks over in my mind and had formed the germ
of an idea for another pattern which I intended to construct in the
event of the others proving unsatisfactory. The wherewithal to make
the new mask had been easily procured. A few toy football bladders and
glass “T” tubes were all I needed. With these materials and odd bits
of rubber tubing, I was able to construct a new mask, if indeed it
could be so termed, by means of which oxygen could be mixed with the
air inhaled by the climber without loss on exhalation and, at the same
time, without any appreciable extra work being thrown upon the lungs.
The new device, as so many useful devices are, was almost ridiculously
simple. A rubber tube connected the oxygen delivery orifice of the
apparatus with the mouth of the climber. Into this rubber tube was
let a glass “T” tube, the third opening of which was connected to a
football bladder. On inhaling, the oxygen flowed through the rubber
tube into the mouth of the climber, there mixing with the indrawn
air. On exhaling, the climber had to close the end of the tube in his
mouth by biting on it, and thus prevent the flow and consequent waste
of oxygen. During this latter operation the oxygen, which was still
flowing from the apparatus, was stored up in the expanding football
bladder. On re-inhaling, the climber simply released the pressure of
his teeth upon the tube, and the bladder, collapsing slowly, gently
forced the oxygen into his mouth where it mixed with the inhaled air.
The correct closing and opening of the rubber tube by alternately
biting and releasing the pressure of the teeth upon it became, after a
few minutes’ practice, a perfectly automatic, subconscious process. The
success of this simple mask pleased me greatly; without it, no really
effective use could have been made of our oxygen supplies. Oxygen would
have been misjudged as useless, and the solution of the problem of
climbing Mount Everest would have been as distant as ever.
Camp III soon became the scene of much activity. Examination of the
oxygen cylinders revealed that their contents were still intact; so
we thereupon set to work with hacksaws, pliers, soldering iron and so
forth to repair the damaged apparatus. Eventually two of these were
made to function satisfactorily and, later on, two more. Owing to lack
of accommodation, the work had to be carried out in the open, so that
our hours of labour were limited to those of sunshine; in the shade,
the cold was so intense that the handling of metal with bare hands
was impracticable. Once the work was interrupted by a snowstorm, and,
while waiting for the fresh snow covering up workshop, instruments,
apparatus and all to evaporate, Geoffrey Bruce and I put on skis and
pottered around on the glacier--quite an exhilarating pastime at these
altitudes. Curiously enough, it was only on snow lying in the sun that
good running could be had. I found that in the shade the snow was
so cold as to exert a sticky, dragging effect upon the skis, almost
similar to that which one might expect with sand. At nights the
temperature occasionally fell very low; 62° F. of frost were recorded.
[Illustration: SKETCH MAP OF MOUNT EVEREST.
Approximate scale, 1 inch to a mile. All heights in feet.]
In order to test thoroughly the repaired apparatus, we went for a
number of trial trips. One of these, over to the Rapiu la, a depression
at the foot of the north-east ridge of Everest, was of particular
interest to me. The valleys to the south of this pass were filled
with great, rolling banks of cloud which almost wholly concealed the
view. But the north-east ridge of Everest as far as the Shoulder was
quite clear, and to my amazement I at once saw that this ridge would
probably afford an excellent, perhaps even the best, line of approach
to the Shoulder. I remembered now that Mr. Harold Raeburn, the most
experienced climber of the 1921 expedition, had already pronounced upon
this ridge as affording a practicable route to the summit. We have only
to compare its advantages and disadvantages with those of the North Col
route up the north ridge to see how sound the judgment of this veteran
pioneer was. Take first of all the latter line of ascent. To the
observer from Camp III, it is obvious that the approach to the North
Col, if a line of ascent which is to be safe under any conditions is to
be taken, particularly after falls of fresh snow, must be a laborious
one, calling for an experienced ice-man with a wide knowledge of snow
conditions. On the north ridge as far as the Shoulder, it is equally
clear to the observer, both from the base and from Camp III, that the
climber must be continually exposed to the full blast of the prevailing
west wind--more appropriately, perhaps, termed gale--which, combined
with intense cold, must prove an even more formidable enemy than mere
altitude or rarefaction of the atmosphere. On the north-east ridge,
on the other hand, the way from the Rapiu la right up to the Shoulder
is perfectly straightforward, no matter what the conditions of the
snow may be. Immediately below the Shoulder are some prominent rocky
teeth. They look rather terrible, but from the Rapiu la, even had I not
already known that the stratification of the mountain dips towards the
north, I could see that they might be turned without serious difficulty
and the Shoulder gained. But the supreme advantage of this route lies
in the fact that it is practically always free from wind. Largely owing
to its direction, the wind on the north side of the mountain fails
to sweep over the north-east ridge as it does over the north, and,
furthermore, it is more or less balanced by the up-draught from the
south. In view of the facts, however, that the camp on the North Col
had already been established, and that the first party had, as far as
we knew, even established a camp much higher up on the north ridge, the
recognition of Raeburn’s great discovery had come too late.
Snow fell on the night of May 20-21, and ushered in one of the rare
windless days of that season. Towards sunset, while scanning the north
ridge of Everest for signs of the first climbing party, we made out
four dark specks descending the great, broad snow slopes of the lower
section of the north ridge. They were the four members of the first
climbing party making their way back to the North Col after their
attempt upon the mountain. It appeared to us that they were more or
less exhausted, so on the morning of the 22nd, acting on orders by
Colonel Strutt, who, as eldest man, had with utter unselfishness stood
down from the first party, Geoffrey Bruce, Wakefield, Tejbir and
I, together with eight porters, set out for the North Col with the
triple object of rendering assistance to the first climbing party, of
replenishing stores in the North Col Camp and of giving the oxygen
apparatus a final, thorough try-out. A longish tramp across the
gently-rising basin at the head of the East Rongbuk Glacier led to the
foot of the steep snow and ice slopes up which one must mount to gain
the col. The first climbing party were making their way down towards
us, and we eventually met them a short distance above the foot of the
final slopes. Most of them seemed practically at the end of their
tether and were hardly able to speak coherently. Norton, weather-beaten
and with obvious traces of having undergone immense strain, gave us a
brief account of their climb. On the night of the 20th they had camped
at a height of 25,000 feet, and next morning, Morshead having already
suffered too much from the effects of cold and altitude to be able to
go farther, Norton, Mallory and Somervell had climbed on until, at 2.30
p.m. on the 21st, they had reached the enormous altitude of 26,800 feet
above sea-level as then indicated by the aneroid they carried.[17]
There they had to confess themselves beaten, and return. Snow had
fallen on the night of the 20th, but they had been blessed with a calm
day for their climb. Retracing their steps, they had rejoined Morshead
in their high camp, and all four had continued the descent to the
North Col camp, where they had passed the night. Such, in brief, is
the history of the first attempt on Mount Everest. We gave them food
and drink, then, leaving Dr. Wakefield to see them safely down to Camp
III, Geoffrey Bruce, Tejbir and I, together with our porters, went on
towards the col. The slopes below the col were laden with fresh snow,
probably most of it wind-borne and drifted. Not liking the conditions,
and in order to make sure of running no risks of loosening snow-shields
or avalanches, I avoided zig-zagging across doubtful slopes by working
straight up, cutting steps where necessary. Thus we ascended in safety
as far as the foot of the last, almost vertical ice cliff above which
lay the camp. This cliff would hardly have yielded to a frontal attack,
but I found that a safe traverse across a steep snow slope on the left
could be made by keeping to the snow-buried, lower lip of a diminutive
crack in the ice. Shortly before the crack came to an end, and with
it the security against the risk of treading loose a snow-shield, it
became possible to strike directly up towards the camp; not, however,
without some slight indication of demur on the part of a few of the
porters, who could not understand why, instead of choosing an obviously
easy slope, I should deliberately choose a more difficult way up a
much steeper one. But they followed cheerfully enough, and I think
that some of them at least saw method in my madness. Three hours after
setting out from Camp III, we arrived at the North Col Camp. Of this
time forty-five minutes had fallen to halts, chiefly our meeting with
the first party. The difference in height between the two camps is
about 2,000 feet. We had, therefore, ascended at the rate of nearly one
thousand feet an hour, quite a good average rate of progression even
in the Alps. We had used oxygen. If such had been necessary, this were
testimony enough of its advantages.
Arrived at the North Col, we dumped a supply of oxygen cylinders,
food and other tackle and then sat down to look round and thoroughly
enjoy things. The porters were amazed at the pace which we had been
able to maintain, despite the fact that our loads were, on the whole,
far heavier than theirs; and for the first time they began to take a
lively interest in the oxygen apparatus. Geoffrey Bruce was called upon
to explain its workings. He told them that I could climb well in the
Alps because the “English air” about those mountains suited me. But
Himalayan air disagreed with me, and I had, therefore, brought out a
supply of the more vigorous air. Just to show them how strong “English
air” is, I turned a stream of oxygen from my apparatus on to the
glowing end of a cigarette, which thereupon flared up and spluttered
with a brilliant white light. A better audience for this perhaps most
beautiful of all laboratory experiments, carried out at 23,000 feet
above sea-level, could not have been desired.
The view from the col is magnificent. Everest shows up to far greater
advantage from this point than from the Base Camp. It still lacks
beauty, but, owing to its nearness, had gained enormously, almost
overwhelmingly, in size. We could trace out almost every inch of the
way we hoped soon to follow to the summit. As the North Col is the
depression on the ridge connecting Everest and the North Peak, we had
only to turn round to see the latter, less immense but of far more
pleasing appearance than its massive neighbour. The most remarkable
feature of the view, however, was the jumble of séracs and great ice
cliffs perched just above the camp. The untrained observer would,
doubtless, have thought these unstable and a menace to the existence of
the little tents; it need hardly be said that these would never have
been pitched upon a terrace exposed to the dangers of falling ice;
mountaineers are not quite so foolish and foolhardy as many people are
inclined to believe.
That afternoon we all returned to Camp III. On the journey home we
halted frequently, taking in all two dozen photographs. And yet,
in less than fifty minutes after leaving the col, we were back in
Camp III. All possible doubts as to the great advantages of oxygen,
even when administered by means of the rather experimental and bulky
apparatus with which we were supplied, were now at an end.
On arriving in camp, we found the four members of the first party much
restored in health. They had indeed performed a wonderful feat in
reaching an altitude of nearly two thousand five hundred feet above
the previous world’s record for high climbing, established by the
Duke of the Abruzzi in 1909. But they had not escaped unscathed; all
had suffered, to a greater or less extent, from frost-bite. Morshead’s
fingers and toes were in a woeful condition, blue-black and covered
with immense blisters. On the 23rd all four, together with Colonel
Strutt, left for the Base Camp, and succeeded in reaching their
destination that evening.
[Illustration: _The North Peak and the North Col Camp._
_Facing page 314._
]
In the meantime we completed our preparations, and on the 24th Geoffrey
Bruce, Tejbir and I, accompanied by ten porters, went up to the North
Col. With us was Captain Noel, whom we had rigged out with an oxygen
apparatus--a new convert to the true faith. Apart from the question of
altitude, the camp in the North Col was the most comfortable of all,
being well sheltered from the wind. As soon as the sun set, however,
the cold became intense, and after a somewhat early evening meal we
crawled into our sleeping-bags. In spite of the fact that the tents
were pitched on snow, we passed a fair night.
Next morning we were up betimes; but not too early for the porters,
who were as keen as ourselves on setting to work. At 8 a.m. they
had breakfasted, loaded up, and started off towards the Shoulder of
Everest. Knowing that with oxygen there would be no difficulty in
overhauling them, we waited in camp until 9.30 a.m., busying ourselves
the while in putting the finishing touches to our preparations and in
making the best of breakfast. Both this and the preceding evening meal
were rather meagre, the stock of provisions at the North Col being
one permitting neither of waste nor over-consumption. Before gaining
the long, broad snow ridge leading up towards the Shoulder, we had
to make our way across a series of large crevasses intersecting the
summit snows of the col. They gave no trouble, however, a number of
different routes being made possible by an abundance of good snow
bridges. The suggestion of dragging a wooden ladder all the way from
India up to this spot, in order to negotiate an impassable crevasse or
ice cliff, has been seriously advocated. Surely the adoption of such a
stratagem is justifiable only in the case of the novice, or one whose
mountaineering training has taught him to seek out difficulties in
the mountains, instead of circumventing them with a steady eye on the
ultimate goal. Also, in view of the fact that there are still doubts
as to the morality or otherwise of employing oxygen, it were better
that the use of artificial aids such as ladders, poles and what-not be
deprecated.
Just before gaining the foot of the snow ridge, we came upon one of
the porters sitting on the floor of a snowed-up crevasse. His strength
had failed him, but his comrades had divided up his load amongst
themselves, and he had now settled down to await their return. He was
quite comfortable and well sheltered from the wind. So with parting
injunctions not to move off before the return of his comrades, we left
him basking in the sun, and carried on. The lower section of the snow
ridge is not steep, and, furthermore, by keeping a little to the right
of the actual crest, we were able to make good headway over stones
where the rock of the mountain joins the snow of the ridge. We drew
level with the porters at an altitude of nearly 24,500 feet, but halted
only for a few brief moments while I took some photographs. Further
delay was inadvisable. One of those extraordinarily rapid changes in
the weather, for which Mount Everest is now so notorious, could be
seen approaching. With the porters following and doing their utmost to
keep pace, we climbed on steadily. Shortly before coming to the end
of the snow ridge, we had to cut steps up a steep snow slope. I made
them large and close together in order that the porters could not only
mount easily but also descend in perfect safety. As a matter of
fact, I might have contented myself with cutting the smallest of steps.
Every single man in our party, sahib and porter alike, was working
away as if he were a born mountaineer, showing splendid balance and
self-confidence.
[Illustration: _The North Peak from an altitude of nearly 24,500 feet
on Mount Everest._
_The arrows point to the North Col Camp._
_Facing page 316._
]
The weather had broken by the time the rocks above the snow ridge had
been gained. We were at an altitude of about 25,000 feet. The wind was
whirling snowflakes past us. We climbed on, however, because from Camp
III I had detected, at a height of about 26,500 feet, a suitable site
for our intended high camp. But by the time a height of 25,500 feet
had been reached, the storm had become so threatening that all idea of
further progress had, for the time being, to be renounced. To persist
in going on in the face of this break in the weather would have meant
running the porters, who had to make their way back to the North Col
that afternoon, most unjustifiably into danger. This was not to be
thought of; for I was responsible for the safety of these smiling,
willing men, who placed absolute confidence in the sahib whom they
served so well.
It was anything but a cheerful spot in which to pitch camp. But though
I climbed some two hundred feet higher, nothing more suitable was to
be found. The leeside of the ridge was bare of any possible camping
ground, and, as a wind is always felt more severely a little below
and on the windward side of a ridge than on the crest of the ridge
itself, I elected to camp right on the very backbone, on a little
ledge overlooking the tremendous precipices falling away to the East
Rongbuk and Rongbuk Glaciers, now over four thousand feet below. As
soon as we had sent the porters scurrying down towards the safety of
the North Col, Geoffrey Bruce, Tejbir and I looked to see that the
guy-ropes holding down the tent were quite secure, then gathered up
our sleeping-bags and provisions and crawled into the tent. After
taking off our boots, all the undressing that was practicable, we crept
into the sleeping-bags. It was bitterly cold, and, as the exposure to
wind and storm which we had already undergone had severely chilled
us, we huddled up together as closely as possible for the sake of the
preservation of mutual warmth. The storm without was now in full blast,
and it was snowing hard. Although we did our best to block up all
apertures in the tent walls, a thick, white pall of fine, powdery snow
soon covered us. Much of it insinuated its way into sleeping-bags and
through our clothing on to our skin, there causing acute discomfort.
Towards evening we set about preparing a meal. With the help of
solidified spirit, snow was melted and tea brewed. It was far from
being hot, for at this altitude water boils at such a low temperature
that one can immerse the hand in it without fear of scalding; but, such
as it was, the drink imparted some small measure of comfort to our
chilled bodies. After sunset, when we would fain have slept or at least
rested, the storm rose to a veritable hurricane and kept us occupied
for the next eighteen hours. During the whole of this period, we had to
remain alert and vigilant. To sit down and meditate quietly over what
our attempt on the mountain would bring forth was out of the question.
Terrific gusts tore at the tent, and occasionally the wind would force
its way underneath the sewn-in ground-sheet and lift it up at one side
or the other. When this happened, our combined efforts were needed to
hold the ground-sheet down, for we knew that, once the wind got a good
hold upon it, the tent would belly out like a sail, and nothing would
save it from stripping away from its moorings and being blown, with
us inside, over the precipice on to the East Rongbuk Glacier. By one
o’clock on the morning of the 26th, the gale was at its height. The
wild flapping of the canvas made a noise like that of machine-gun fire,
and, what with this and the shrieking and howling of the gale round our
tent, it was well-nigh impossible to converse with each other except
by shouting, mouth to ear. Later on came interludes of comparative
lull succeeded by outbursts even more furious than ever. Some of the
guy-ropes had broken or had worked loose, and we had to take it in
turns to go outside the tent and endeavour to straighten things up. To
work in the open for more than three or four minutes at a stretch was
impossible, so profound was the exhaustion induced by even this brief
exposure to the fierce and bitterly cold wind.
A cheerless dawn broke. The snow had ceased falling, but the wind
howled and hurried with unabated vigour. At eight o’clock, on the
morning of May 26, it showed signs of subsiding. It was but the rousing
of false hopes, for half an hour later it had returned with greater
energy than ever. With almost incredible fury it tore at our tent,
and once again we had to take it in turns to go outside and tighten
up guy-ropes. These little excursions showed, beyond all possible
doubt, that until the storm had diminished there could be no question
either of advance or retreat to the North Col Camp. No human being
could survive more than a few minutes’ exposure to a gale of such fury
coupled with so intense a cold. To add to our discomfort, a great hole
was cut in the windward panel of the tent by a stone, and the flaps
of the door were stripped of their fastenings. Fortunately, however,
everybody was remarkably cheerful.
At one o’clock in the afternoon of the 26th, just as we were beginning
to feel rather irritated at the rough treatment which Everest had
hitherto so generously doled out to us, respite came. The blustering
gale dropped to nothing more than a stiff breeze--the sort of thing
against which one can walk comfortably if one only leans sufficiently
far forward into it. This was our first opportunity to return to the
North Col; but we decided to stay where we were for the rest of the day
and the ensuing night, and on the following morning make an early start
and climb the mountain.
The one fly in the ointment was that our provisions were practically
at an end. Reasons for this shortage in food supplies are soon given.
For one thing, we had never intended to spend more than one night in
the high camp and had, therefore brought provisions for only one night,
and even these had been measured out on an extremely niggardly scale.
The majority of Himalayan experts had assured us time and again that it
would (1) be absolutely impossible for a human being to survive a night
spent at an altitude such as we had now attained (25,500 ft.), and
that (2) at such an altitude one would be totally unable to eat owing
to absolute lack of appetite. On the other hand, sound, scientific
opinion emanating from Professor Dreyer had not only not prophesied
either of these contingencies, but had, indeed, definitely warned me
that oxygen would increase the appetite, irrespective of altitude. I
was now bitterly to regret that Professor Dreyer’s warning had been
swamped from my memory by the flood of the other assurances set out
above. I well remember how, on that second night in our high camp, I
fervently wished that one or two of those who had voiced such heresies
had been available; we were ravenously hungry, even, I think, to the
point of cannibalism! However, thanks to the fact that there still
remained to us some cigarettes, the time passed well enough. Apart
from its comforting influence, cigarette smoking incidentally exerts a
most beneficial effect upon respiration at high altitudes. I noticed
in a very marked fashion that unless I kept my mind on the question of
breathing and made of it a voluntary process instead of the involuntary
one it normally is, I suffered from lack of air and consequent feeling
of suffocation. To recover from this feeling, it was necessary to
force the lungs to work more quickly than they would of their own
accord. There is a physiological explanation of this phenomenon. The
amount of carbon dioxide normally present in the blood is, at high
altitudes, largely removed from the system owing to the enormous volume
of air which it is necessary to inhale in order to obtain a sufficient
supply of atmospheric oxygen for the re-oxidation of the venous blood.
Carbon dioxide serves to stimulate the nerve centre controlling the
process of involuntary breathing. Lack of carbon dioxide results in
this nerve centre being no longer stimulated, and, if suffocation is
to be avoided, involuntary breathing has to be replaced by voluntary
breathing, a process which in time throws such strain upon the mind
and powers of concentration as to preclude all possibility of sleep.
Both Geoffrey Bruce and Tejbir had likewise observed the annoying
necessity of having to concentrate continuously on breathing. But after
the first few deep inhalations of cigarette smoke, we discovered that
it was possible to resort once more to normal involuntary breathing.
Evidently something in the smoke took the place of the carbon dioxide
in which the blood was deficient, and acted as a nerve stimulant. The
beneficial effect of a cigarette lasted for as much as three hours. As
luck would have it, we had with us a fair supply which lasted well into
the afternoon of the 26th.
We were quite a merry little party that afternoon as we gathered round
a scanty meal cooked with the last of our fuel, and then prepared to
settle down for another night. Towards 6 p.m. I heard voices outside
the tent, but thought I must be dreaming. When Geoffrey Bruce, however,
started up at the sounds, I knew that someone must be without. Six
porters, headed by that indomitable little fellow Tergio, clustered
round the door. They brought thermos flasks of warm tea provided by
the thoughtful Noel. These splendid men had, of their own accord, left
the North Col that afternoon as soon as the storm had abated, and
made the tremendous journey up to our camp just to assure themselves
of our well-being. This is but one example of the many acts of brave,
unselfish devotion performed by the porters of the 1922 expedition.
Tergio, whose light-hearted gaiety, ready laughter and merrily
twinkling eyes, whose high courage, boundless energy and perseverance
had especially endeared him to me, now lies buried in the cold snows of
the North Col. He will never be forgotten; I should like to climb with
him again. The porters expected us to return with them, and needed no
little persuasion before leaving us.
The second night in the high camp did not begin well. We were exhausted
from our previous experiences and lack of food. Provoked, perhaps,
by my labours outside the tent, a dead, numbing cold was creeping
up my limbs; a sensation that I had only once before felt, and to
the seriousness of which I was fully aware. Inquiry elicited the
information that my companions were undergoing the same unpleasant
experiences. Like a heaven-sent inspiration came the idea of trying the
effect of oxygen. Previously we had used oxygen only while actually
climbing, and, on arriving at our high camp, had dumped the apparatus
outside the tent. Now hauling in one apparatus together with a supply
of cylinders, we took doses all round, giving the action the air of
a joke. Tejbir took his medicine without much interest; but as he
inhaled, I saw with relief that his face brightened up. The effect of
the oxygen on Geoffrey Bruce was particularly visible in his rapid
change of expression; the hitherto drawn, anxious look on his face
gave place to a more normal one. The result on myself was no less
marvellous; almost at once I felt the painful, prickling, tingling
sensation, due to the returning circulation of the blood, as the lost
warmth slowly came back to my limbs. We connected up the apparatus so
that all could breathe a small quantity throughout the night. There is
no doubt whatsoever that oxygen saved our lives that night; without
it, in our well-nigh exhausted and famished condition, we would have
succumbed to the cold.
Before daybreak we were stirring. It was necessary to dress, that is,
put on our boots--a much lengthier operation than it sounds. By taking
mine to bed with me, I had contrived to keep them fairly soft and
supple, so that a quarter of an hour’s striving and tugging sufficed
to get them on. But the others had neglected to nurse theirs, with the
result that the uppers were hard-frozen and completely out of shape.
It took us an hour to soften and remould them by holding them over
lighted candles. Shortly after six o’clock, we assembled outside. No
time had been wasted over breakfast; there was none. The first rays of
the sun had just touched our tent when we shouldered our loads and set
off. What with oxygen apparatus, cameras and other necessary odds and
ends, Bruce and I each carried more than forty pounds. Tejbir, with two
extra cylinders of oxygen, shouldered a burden of about fifty pounds.
My scheme was that Tejbir should accompany us as far as the Shoulder,
where we would relieve him of his load and send him back. The weather
was clear, and the only clouds in the sky, though undoubtedly of the
wrong type, seemed too far off to presage evil. A fresh wind cut across
the ridge, and the cold was, as usual, intense. Keeping to the ridge,
and making straight for the Shoulder, we mounted rapidly. But very soon
the cold began to have its effect on Tejbir’s sturdy constitution,
already weakened by starvation and hardship. At an altitude of 26,000
feet above sea-level he collapsed. It took some little time to restore
him to his senses, only to see that he had given of his best and
could go no farther. We unburdened him, leaving him his apparatus and
sufficient oxygen to see him safely back to the high camp. The ground
over which we had just come was easy and, as the tent was in full view
below, there was no chance of losing the way; so, as soon as he was
sufficiently recovered,[18] we sent Tejbir back.
After seeing him well on his way, we shared Tejbir’s load between us.
In view of the straightforward nature of the climbing, I chose to
dispense with the rope in order to be able to progress more quickly.
Climbing by no means steep and quite easy rocks, and passing two almost
level places affording ample room for some future high camp, we arrived
at an altitude of 26,500 feet. By this time, the wind, which had been
steadily rising, had acquired such force that I realised that, were
we to remain fully exposed to it much longer, we would both succumb
to the cold as Tejbir had done. We were, however, not out to see how
far we could go, but bent on getting to the top of Everest. So we
changed tactics. Instead of gaining the summit by ridges exposed to
the full blast of the gale, we would have to follow a more sheltered
way. The only thing to do was to leave the ridge and strike out across
the vast north face of the mountain. This alternative route had its
disadvantages. The rocks up which we had come were wind-swept free
from snow, and foot- and handholds were good and plentiful, and, so
far as could be seen, this state of affairs continued for quite a long
way beyond the Shoulder. The moment we left the ridge, however, we
felt the disadvantages of the fact that the stratification of the rock
dips towards the north. The ground over which we now had to make a way
was slabby, with much new snow to hamper us. Caution was necessary
throughout. My companion was sure-footed, careful and unlikely to slip;
nevertheless, being responsible for his safety, I moderated my pace and
never allowed more than a few feet to separate us. Thus, keeping close
together, we worked away steadily, gaining but little in altitude,
but getting ever so much nearer to the summit. The climbing steadily
became more and more difficult. Sometimes the slabs gave place to snow;
treacherous, powdery stuff with a thin, wind-formed crust that gave a
false appearance of compactness. Little reliance could be placed upon
it. At length, when about half-way across the face and at an altitude
of about 27,000 feet, we decided once again to change our route and
strike straight upwards in the direction of the summit ridge.
We had climbed some three hundred feet higher, and I had just reached
a ledge at the top of a steep slab about thirty feet in height, when
I heard Geoffrey Bruce give a startled cry: “I’m getting no oxygen!”
Turning round immediately, I saw him struggling ineffectually to
climb up towards me. Quickly descending the few intervening feet, I
was just in time to grasp his right shoulder with my left hand as he
was on the point of falling backwards over the precipice. I dragged
him face forwards against the rock, and, after a supreme effort on
the part of both, we gained the ledge where I swung him round into a
sitting position against the slope above. Thus placed, with the weight
of his apparatus taken off his back, he again told me, this time in a
gasp, that he was no longer receiving oxygen. I gave him my tube and,
still standing, with the full weight of my own apparatus and other
impedimenta on my back, endeavoured to locate the fault. Systematically
I traced the connections from the cylinder in use down to the pressure
gauge and flow-meter and found both in action, the latter recording a
flow of 2·4 litres per minute. By this time, however, what with the
weight of my load and being deprived of oxygen, I was not feeling
any too well, and, believing the defect to lie in a breakage of the
flow-meter exit tube (an apparatus had previously failed through
developing this flaw which was consistent with the results of the
present hasty examination), in my desperation I tried to prize off the
flow-meter with my ice-axe in order to be able to connect the rubber
tube leading to Geoffrey Bruce on to the exit tube of the reducing
valve. (The emergency by-pass valve was useless in dealing with this
type of breakdown.) Before I had proceeded far with my efforts,
however, I found it necessary to recover my tube from Geoffrey and take
a series of deep gulps of oxygen, turning on the gas to a maximum rate
of delivery and, in addition, increasing its flow by making use of the
by-pass valve on my own apparatus. This restored me, and, so that both
could breathe oxygen simultaneously from my apparatus, I connected a
reserve “T” piece and rubber tubing, which I had fortunately brought
with me, on to the delivery tube. Resuming the diagnosis, I this time
traced connections back from the mouthpiece and at once discovered that
a glass connecting piece, which had been used in the construction of
the improvised mask, was broken. The thick rubber which had originally
covered the tubing had been partially dragged off, and the glass, thus
unprotected, had probably been fractured against rock while climbing.
As I had a spare glass connection in my possession, the repair was
speedily effected, and Geoffrey Bruce was once more inhaling oxygen
from his own apparatus.[19]
We rested for a few minutes before going on. Those few minutes decided
the issue of the day. So far, I had not had the leisure to consider my
companion’s condition. His climbing was all I had had eyes for. How
was he getting on? Was he all right without the rope? Was he keeping
up? But now I saw that Geoffrey Bruce, like Tejbir, had driven his
body almost to the uttermost. A little more would spell breakdown. The
realisation came like a blow. My emotions are eternally my own, and I
will not put on paper a cold-blooded, psychological analysis of the
cataclysmic change they underwent, but will merely indicate the initial
and final mental positions. Reasoned determination, confidence, faith
in the possibility of achievement, hope--all had acquired cumulative
force as we made our way higher and higher; the two nights’ struggle at
our high camp had not dimmed our enthusiasm, nor had the collapse of
Tejbir, rude shock and source of grave anxiety though it undoubtedly
was. Never for a moment did I think we would fail; progress was steady,
the summit was there before us; a little longer, and we should be on
the top. And then--suddenly, unexpectedly, the vision was gone.... I
thought quickly. I could have gone on, the time having long passed
since I possessed no confidence in my own factor of safety or needed a
rope. But to have done so would have been unfair to Geoffrey Bruce who
with his fewer years was not so inured to hardship as I was. We did,
however, proceed for a few yards. This made my only possible course of
action even more obvious.[20] As evidence of my companion’s indomitable
spirit I would add that, when my decision to return was announced, he
clearly voiced his chagrin.
According to the aneroid barometer I carried, we had reached an
altitude of at least 27,300 feet.[21] The point we had gained
may be easily recognised. We were standing inside the bend of a
conspicuous inverted “V” of snow, immediately below the great belt of
reddish-yellow granite which cleaves almost horizontally through the
greenish, grey-black rock of which the summit and north face of Mount
Everest are composed. With the exception of the summit of Everest,
nowhere could we see a single mountain-top as high as our own lofty
perch. The highest mountain visible was Cho Uyo, which is just short
of 27,000 feet. We were well above it, and could look across it into
the dense clouds beyond. The great West Peak of Everest, one of the
most beautiful objects to be seen from down in the Rongbuk Valley, was
hidden, but we knew that our standpoint was nearly two thousand feet
above it. We could look across into clouds which lay at some undefined
distance behind the Shoulder, a clear indication that we were only a
little, if anything, below its level. Pumori, an imposing, ice-bound
pyramid, some 23,000 feet high, I sought at first in vain. So far were
we above it that it had sunk into an insignificant little ice-hump
by the side of the Rongbuk Glacier. Most of the other landmarks were
blotted out by masses of ominous, yellow-hued clouds, swept from the
west in the wake of an angry storm-wind. Though 1,700 feet below, we
were well within half a mile of the summit, so close, indeed, that we
could distinguish individual stones on a little patch of scree lying
just below the highest point.
But it was useless to think of continuing. It was too plain that, if we
were to persist in climbing on, even if only for another five hundred
feet, we should not both get back alive. The decision to retreat
once taken, no time was lost, and, fearing lest another accidental
interruption in the oxygen supply might lead to a slip on the part of
either of us, we roped together. It was midday. At first we returned in
our tracks, but later aimed at striking the ridge between the Shoulder
and the North Col, at a point above where we had left it in the
morning. This enabled us to find level going where the order of advance
was of little importance, and I could go ahead, keeping my companion on
a short, taut rope. The clear weather was gone. Once back on the ridge,
we plunged down the easy, broken rocks through thick mists, driven
past us from the west by a violent wind. For one small mercy we were
thankful--no snow fell.
On regaining our high camp, we looked inside the tent and found Tejbir
snugly wrapped up in all three sleeping-bags, sleeping the deep sleep
of exhaustion. Hearing the voices of porters on their way up to meet
us, we woke him up, telling him to await their arrival and to go down
with them. Bruce and I then proceeded on our way, met the ascending
porters and passed on, greatly cheered by their bright welcomes and
encouraging smiles. But the long descent, coming as it did on the top
of a hard day’s work, soon began to find out our weakness. We were
deplorably tired and could no longer move ahead with our accustomed
vigour. Knees did not always bend and unbend as required. At times
they gave way altogether and forced us, staggering, to sit down. But
eventually we reached the broken snows of the North Col, and at 4 p.m.
arrived in the camp, where we found Crawford and Wakefield who, with
very natural curiosity, had come up to have a look at the col and spend
the night there. Noel had already been three days up here on rather
short rations, and the fuel and food supplies were consequently much
depleted. In the circumstances, though we would fain have passed the
night in the North Col Camp, as did the four climbers after the first
attempt, we were compelled to face a further descent that afternoon
to Camp III. A craving for food and rest, to the lack of which
our weakness was mainly due, was all that animated us; and, before
continuing the descent, this craving had to be satisfied, even if only
to a small extent. A cup of hot tea and a small tin of spaghetti were
forthcoming, and even this little nourishment so refreshed and renewed
our strength that three-quarters of an hour later we were ready to set
off for Camp III.
[Illustration: _Mount Everest from the North Col, showing route._
1. _Site of first party’s camp._ 2. _Site of our camp._ 3. _Point
gained by Norton, Mallory and Somervell._ 4. _Point gained by Geoffrey
Bruce and Finch._ 5. _The Summit._]
[Illustration: _Monsoon clouds._
_Facing page 330._
]
From the North Col to Camp III, we had in Captain Noel an invaluable
addition to our party. He formed our rear-guard and nursed us safely
down the steep snow and ice slopes on to the almost level basin of the
glacier below. Within forty minutes after leaving the Col, we arrived
in Camp III. Since midday, from our highest point we had descended over
six thousand feet, but we were quite finished. The brightest memory
that remains with me of that night is dinner. Four quails truffled in
_pâté de foie gras_, followed by nine sausages, only left me asking for
more. With the remains of a tin of toffee tucked away in the crook of
my elbow, I fell asleep in the depths of my warm sleeping-bag.
Next morning an inspection by Somervell, who had returned to Camp III
during our attempt on Everest, showed that Geoffrey Bruce’s feet were
sorely frost-bitten. I had well-nigh escaped, though four small patches
of frost-bite, due to the cold which had penetrated the half-inch
thick soles of my boots and three pairs of woollen socks, made walking
unpleasant. I was also weak. The result was that both of us were piled
on to a sledge and dragged by willing porters down over the glacier
until its surface became too rough. I then discovered that I could walk
quite well; presumably I had been lazy in the morning. But Geoffrey
Bruce fared less well, and had to be assisted back to Camp II. And so
from camp to camp the weary return journey dragged on. The sense of
failure was with us. We had set out with one resolve--to get to the
summit. The realisation that we had at least established the record for
high climbing had not yet dawned upon us, and when it did, it afforded
but scant consolation. With fine weather and but one night at our high
camp, with Geoffrey Bruce, whose stout-heartedness made good to a great
extent his inexperience of mountaineering and consequent uneconomic
use of his strength, Mount Everest would in all probability have been
climbed. I shall always be grateful to Geoffrey Bruce, not only for
the confidence he placed in me, but also for the backing he gave me
throughout our climb--and afterwards.
The descent from Camp I to the Base was perhaps the roughest and most
trying march of all. Great was the rivalry amongst the porters as to
who should have the honour of carrying Geoffrey Bruce, the condition
of whose feet would not permit of his walking down those almost
interminable moraines with their harassing stones. Even the worst
journey must come to an end, however, and at last, on the afternoon of
May 29, we were being accorded the warmest of welcomes by the General
and the other members of the expedition at the Base Camp.
The next few days were spent in resting. But I underwent the same
experience as the members of the first climbing party; instead of
recovering strength rapidly during the first three or four days, if
anything, a further decline took place. However, as the immediate
weather prospects seemed good, although it was obvious that the monsoon
must shortly break, it was decided to make a third attempt upon the
mountain.
Somervell was, by now, undoubtedly the fittest of the climbing members
of the expedition, with Mallory a good second. Both had enjoyed some
ten days’ rest since their first assault upon Mount Everest and had,
therefore, had some chance of recovering from the abnormal strain to
which they had been subjected. Medical opinion as to my condition after
so brief a respite of only four days was somewhat divided; but in the
end I was allowed to join in the third attempt.
[Illustration: _On the return journey to the Base Camp._
_Facing page 332._
]
On June 3, we left the Base Camp. The party consisted of Wakefield as
medical officer, Crawford and, later, Morris as transport officers,
with Mallory, Somervell and myself as climbers. Oxygen was to be used,
and I was placed in command. It was a great struggle for me to get
to Camp I, and I had to realise that the few days’ rest at the Base
Camp had been quite inadequate to allow of my recuperation, and that
no useful object would be served by my proceeding farther. Snow fell
during the night. Next morning, after giving Somervell final detailed
instructions regarding the oxygen apparatus, I returned once more to
the Base Camp. As Strutt and Longstaff were leaving on the following
day to escort the badly frost-bitten Morshead to Darjeeling, I was
given, and availed myself of, the opportunity of accompanying them.
The next news I heard of the third attempt upon Mount Everest was
gleaned from the columns of a Sunday newspaper, shortly after landing
in Dover some six weeks later. I read that an avalanche had destroyed
seven of our gallant mountain comrades, the Nepalese porters. This
disastrous accident had terminated the third attempt on Mount Everest
before even the North Col had been gained.
Mount Everest, the Goddess Mother of the Snows, with all her formidable
array of natural defences, had conquered. But the value of reasoned
determination, unwavering confidence, really warm and wind-proof
clothing and, last but not least, the proven worth of oxygen--weapons
to break down the innermost defences of even the highest mountain in
the world--are now, perhaps, better understood.
FOOTNOTES:
[16] Swiss abbreviation for “Gertrude.”
[17] By means of theodolite observations made from a single point near
the Base Camp, this height has worked out at 26,985 feet. According to
Col. S. G. Burrard and H. H. Hayden, _A Sketch of the Geography and
Geology of the Himalaya Mountains and Tibet_, Calcutta, 1907-1909, this
height is exceeded by only eight mountain summits, all of which are in
the Himalayas.
[18] My action in sending Tejbir back alone has, I believe, been
criticised. There is no need to labour the point. I was the responsible
person and the sole judge of circumstances, and I acted for what then
appeared to me, and subsequently proved to be, the best.
[19] In my previous accounts of the climb, I practically ignored this
incident. Recently, however, Dr. Longstaff published in the _Alpine
Journal_ an article in which he describes the happening at some length.
I believe that the story was related to him by Captain Geoffrey Bruce.
[20] To those who attribute our retreat to the fear of a possible
second failure of the oxygen apparatus, I say that such a prospect
cost me not one moment of apprehension; I knew I was equal to such
an emergency. Neither were our actions influenced by discouragement
or indifference--we cared terribly about reaching our goal. The fact
that we took cameras, but omitted to use them, has been construed as
evidence of forgetfulness and change in mental attitude induced by
the height. Before leaving our high camp, Geoffrey Bruce and I had
carefully made our plans. We realised that we would have little time to
spare, and that the cold would be too intense to permit of reloading
the cameras. Therefore, in camp, we had loaded each of the cameras with
one spool and jealously saved all the exposures for the summit views.
Neither the summit nor the pictures materialised for us.
[21] By means of theodolite observations made from a single point
near the Base Camp, this height has worked out at 27,235 feet. This
latter height is calculated on the assumption that the altitude of
Mount Everest is 29,002 feet. It may be of interest to note, however,
that the mean of numerous observations made by the Survey of India
from twelve different stations places the height of Everest at 29,141
feet. This figure has not yet been finally corrected for deviation of
gravity. When due allowance for this has been made the height of Mount
Everest will probably be found to be about 29,200 feet. In the same way
the point reached by Geoffrey Bruce and myself works out at (27,235 +
198) = 27,433 feet; a height that is exceeded, as far as I know, by
four mountains, all in the Himalayas; namely, Mount Everest, K2 (28,250
ft.), Kanchenjunga (28,150 ft.) and Makalu (27,790 ft.).