THE SECOND ATTEMPT
With the departure of the last of our companions on March 27, Crawford
and I found ourselves left behind in Darjeeling impatiently awaiting the
arrival of the oxygen equipment from Calcutta. A week elapsed before we
were able to set out for Kalimpong, where we picked up the oxygen stores
on April 4. On the evening of our second march out from Kalimpong,
suspicious rattlings were heard in the cases containing the oxygen
cylinders. On investigation, it transpired that they had been packed
metal to metal, and the continual chafing caused by the rough mule
transport had already resulted in considerable wear in the steel. This
dangerous state of affairs, which, if not speedily remedied, would
undoubtedly soon have led to the bursting of some of the cylinders, with
consequent demoralisation of our transport, let alone possible
casualties, called for immediate attention; so throughout the night of
April 5–6, Crawford and I, aided by our porters, worked steadily at
grommeting the cylinders with string and repacking them in such a manner
as would render impossible any recurrence of the trouble.
On April 8, in a snowstorm, we crossed the Jelep La; thence, proceeding
viâ the Chumbi Valley and Phari, we ultimately rejoined the main body of
the Expedition in Kampa Dzong on the 13th. The rest of our journey
across Tibet to the Base Camp has already been described elsewhere, but
perhaps I may be permitted to give a few of my own impressions of the
country and its inhabitants.
In recollection, the strange land of Tibet stretches itself out before
me in an endless succession of vast, dreary plains, broken by chains of
mountains that, in relation to the height of their surroundings, sink
into the insignificance of hills. Arid and stony desert wastes, almost
totally unblessed by the living green of vegetation; interminable tracts
of sand that shift unceasingly under the restless feet of an
ever-hurrying, pitilessly cruel wind; bleak, barren, and unbeautiful of
form, but fair and of indescribable appeal in the raiment of soft
glowing rainbow hues with which distance, as in compensation, clothes
all wide open spaces. Sunsets provided many a wondrous picture, while
towards the South a glistening array of white-capped excrescences marked
the main chain of the Himalaya. The honour of being the most poignant of
my memories of Tibet, however, remains with the wind. It blew
unceasingly, and its icy blasts invariably met one straight in the face.
The pre-monsoon wind is westerly; the post-monsoon wind blows from the
East. Our journey towards the Base Camp led us towards the West;
homeward bound, during the monsoon, we travelled East. Both going and
returning, therefore, we marched in the teeth of a wind, that gnawed
even at our weather-beaten, hardened skins, and was the most generous
contributor in the quota of discomforts that Tibet meted out to us.
And what of the dwellers in these inhospitable plains? Like all
humankind, the Tibetans have their bad as well as their good points. The
former are easily told. If one wishes to converse with a Tibetan, it is
always advisable to stand on his windward side. A noble Tibetan once
boasted that during his lifetime he had had two baths—one on the
occasion of his birth, the other on the day of his marriage. Those of us
honoured by his presence found the statement difficult to believe. Apart
from this rather penetrating drawback, the Tibetans are a most likeable
people; cheery, contented, good-natured, and hard-working; slow to give
a promise, but punctilious to a degree in carrying it out; truthful and
scrupulously honest. As testimony of this last-mentioned trait, be it
said that during the whole of our long wanderings through Tibet, when it
was quite impossible to keep a strong guard over our many stores, we
never lost so much as a single ration biscuit through theft. Old age is
seldom met with; it is exceptional to see a Tibetan whose years number
more than fifty-five or sixty. Presumably living in so severe a climate,
at an altitude of 14,000 feet or more above sea-level, proves too great
a strain upon the human heart. The priests, or “Lamas,” as they are
called in Tibet, constitute the governing class. They represent the
educated section of the community; the monasteries are the seats of
learning, and, as such, are well-nigh all-powerful. I regret to state
that I did not like the priests as much as the laity. The reason is not
far to seek. If you wish to hold converse with a Lama, it is advisable
not only to stand on his windward side, but also to take care that the
wind is exceptionally strong. The Lamas do not marry. As two-fifths of
the able-bodied population of Tibet lead a monastic life, it will be
readily understood that the odour of sanctity is all-pervading. In other
respects the monks proved as attractive as their simpler countrymen.
Inquisitive with the direct and pardonable inquisitiveness of children,
they are nevertheless men of a distinctly high order of intelligence.
Kindly, courteous, and appreciative of little attentions, they were
always ready to lend assistance and to give information concerning their
religion and the manners and customs of their country.
These few of the more lasting of my impressions would be incomplete
without mention of Tibetan music. On the assumption that whatever is, is
beautiful, Tibetan music is beautiful—to the Tibetan. To the Western ear
it is elementary in the extreme, and, in point of view of sheer ugliness
of sound, competes with the jarring, clashing squeaks, bangs, and hoots
of the jazz-bands that were so fashionable at home at the time of our
departure for India.
On May 2, the day after our arrival at the Base Camp, Strutt, Norton,
and I were sent off by the General to reconnoitre for a suitable first
camping site near the exit of the East Rongbuk Valley. Gaining the
latter by the so-called terrace route which leads over the tremendous
moraines on the right bank of the main Rongbuk Glacier, we had no
difficulty in finding on the right bank of the East Rongbuk Stream, but
a few hundred yards West of the end of the East Rongbuk Glacier, a
favourable position for Camp No. I. We returned that afternoon,
descending down the snowed-over and frozen-up stream to the main Rongbuk
Glacier, making our way thence to the Base Camp through the trough
leading down between the glacier and the moraines. With this little
excursion my climbing activities ceased for the time being. Soon
afterwards I was beset by a troublesome stomach complaint, which had
already claimed as victims the majority of the other members of the
Expedition, and it was not until May 16 that I was sufficiently restored
from the wearing effects of my illness to resume climbing. In spite of
this, my time at the Base Camp was fully occupied. Frequent oxygen
drills were held, and all the oxygen stores overhauled and tested.
Various members of the Expedition were instructed in the use of Primus
stoves. There were many small repairs of different natures to be done,
and in my leisure moments I was kept busy with matters photographic. In
addition, Mount Everest and the weather conditions prevalent thereon
became objects of the keenest study and interest. The remark, “I suppose
Mont Blanc would be absolutely dwarfed into insignificance by Mount
Everest,” has frequently been made to me in one form or another, and, to
my questioners’ amazement, my answer has always been a decided “No.” As
a matter of fact, Mont Blanc, as seen from the Brévant or the Flégère,
excels in every way any view I have ever enjoyed of Mount Everest. It is
true that I have seen the latter only from a tableland which is itself
from 14,000 to 16,000 feet above sea-level, and that I know nothing of
the wonderful sight that Mount Everest probably presents to the observer
from the Southern (Nepalese) side. The grandeur of a mountain depends
very largely upon the extent to which it is glaciated. Mont Blanc is
nearly 16,000 feet high, and its glaciers descend to within 4,000 feet
of sea-level—a vertical zone of 12,000 feet of perpetual ice and snow.
Those glaciers of Mount Everest which flow North, and thus the only ones
with which we are concerned, descend to a point about 16,500 feet above
sea-level—a vertical zone of 12,500 feet of perpetual ice and snow. Thus
it is evident that, from the point of view of vertical extent of
glaciation, there is little difference between the monarch of the Alps
and the Northern side of the highest summit in the world. From the point
of view of beauty there can be no comparison. Seen from one quarter,
Mont Blanc rises in a series of snowy domes piled one against the other
in ever-increasing altitude to a massive yet beautifully proportioned
and well-balanced whole. From another side we see great converging
granite columns, breathing the essence of noble purpose, proudly
supporting and lifting aloft to the sun the gleaming, snowy-capped
splendour of the summit dome. Another view-point, though revealing
perhaps a less beautiful Mont Blanc, lacking much of the graceful
symmetry and strong, purposeful design of the other views, is redeemed
by the fact that the observer is forced in so close to the mountain that
the rattling din of stonefalls and the loud crash of the ice-avalanche
are always in his ears. Mont Blanc asserts her authority with no
uncertain voice. In the Mount Everest as we of this Expedition know it,
revealed in the full glare of the tropical sun, all this is lacking.
Symmetry and beauty cannot truthfully be read out of the ponderous,
ungainly, ill-proportioned lump which carries, as if by chance, on its
Western extremity a little carelessly truncated cone to serve as a
summit. Avalanches are neither seen nor heard. Falling stones there are
without doubt, but one is too far off to hear them. Yet Everest had her
moments. Diffused with the borrowed glory of sunrise or sunset, and clad
in a mantle of fresh snow, the harsh clumsiness of her form would be
somewhat softened and concealed; bathed in the yellow-blue light of
dawn, as yet unkissed by the sun, but whipped into wakefulness by a
driving westerly wind that tore from head and shoulders the snowy veil
which she had donned during the night, rending it into long, spun-out
living streamers, no beholder could gainsay her beauty.
[Illustration:
MOUNT EVEREST FROM BASE CAMP.
]
Weather conditions naturally proved of the greatest interest. On
consulting my diary, I find that during the period from May 1 to June 5,
there were two days when the weather was fine and settled, and that
these two days succeeded snowstorms which had thickly powdered the
mountain with fresh snow. On both days the sky was cloudless, or nearly
so, and, judging from the absence of driven snow-dust about the summit,
Mount Everest appeared to be undisturbed by wind. Apart from these two
occasions, however, the weather was never absolutely fine. Cloudless
skies there were, but the great streamers of snow smoking away from the
highest ridges of the mountain testified to the existence of the fierce
and bitter wind against which a mountaineer would have to fight his way.
On four occasions there were periods of snowstorms lasting from but a
single night to three days and three nights.
On May 10, Mallory and Somervell set out for Camp III, to make ready for
a first attempt to climb Mount Everest. I had practically recovered from
my stomach trouble, and expected to be able to leave the Base in the
course of a day or two, in order to follow up the first attempt with a
second attack, in which oxygen was to be used. Norton was to be my
companion. Unfortunately, however, I suffered a relapse, and Strutt,
Norton, and Morshead left to join Mallory and Somervell, whereas I had
to resign myself to several more days at the Base. At length, on May 15,
I was ready and eager to think about doing something. My climbing
companions were Geoffrey Bruce and Lance-Corporal Tejbir, the most
promising of the Ghurkas. Wakefield was to accompany us as far as Camp
III, in order to give us a clean bill of health from there onwards.
Leaving the Base on the 16th, we proceeded to Camp I, where the
following day was spent attending to our oxygen apparatus and transport
arrangements. Soon after midday on the 18th, we arrived at Camp II,
where the greater part of the afternoon was devoted to giving Geoffrey
Bruce, Tejbir, and several of the porters, a lesson in the elements of
mountaineering and of ice-craft. On the 19th we reached Camp III, where
we learned from Colonel Strutt that Mallory, Norton, Somervell, and
Morshead had gone up to the North Col in the morning. Geoffrey Bruce and
I immediately set about overhauling our equipment, in particular our
oxygen stores, and as we worked we could see the first party making
their way through the séracs, and climbing the ice-cliffs of the lofty
depression of the North Col.
The cylinders containing our oxygen were found to be in good condition;
but the apparatus—through no fault of the makers, who had, indeed, done
their work admirably—leaked very badly, and to get them into
satisfactory working order, four days of hard toil with soldering-iron,
hacksaw, pliers, and all the other paraphernalia of a fitter’s shop were
necessary. Our workshop was in the open. The temperature played up and
down round about 0° F., but inclined more to the negative side of that
irrational scale. The masks from which the oxygen was to be breathed
proved useless, but by tackling the problem with a little thought and
much cheerfulness a satisfactory substitute was eventually evolved,
making it possible to use the oxygen apparatus in an efficient manner.
Without this new mask no real use could have been made of our oxygen
supplies; oxygen would have been misjudged as being useless, and the
solution of the problem of climbing Mount Everest would have been as
distant as ever.
Preparatory to embarking on the climb itself, we went for several trial
walks—one over to the Rapiu La, a pass 21,000 feet high, at the foot of
the North-east ridge of Everest, from which we hoped to obtain views of
the country to the south. But only part of the North-east ridge showed
hazily through drifting mists. Towards the north and looking down the
East Rongbuk Glacier, views were clearer, though partially obscured by
rolling banks of cloud. Colonel Strutt and Dr. Wakefield, unoxygenated,
accompanied us on this little expedition, and oxygen at once proved its
value, so easily did Bruce and I outpace them. On May 22, acting on
instructions from Colonel Strutt, Geoffrey Bruce, Wakefield, Tejbir, and
I, with a number of porters, set out for the North Col to meet and
afford any required assistance to the members of the first climbing
party who were on their way down from the mountain. It was also our
intention to bring stores up into the North Col as well as give the
oxygen apparatus a final severe try-out prior to embarking upon an
attack upon Mount Everest itself. We met the first climbing party just
above the foot of the final steep slopes leading up to the North Col.
They were more or less in the last stage of exhaustion, as, indeed, men
who have done their best on such a mountain should be. After supplying
them with what liquid nourishment was available, and leaving Wakefield
and two porters to see them back to Camp III, we carried on up to the
North Col. In the afternoon we returned to Camp III. There had been a
considerable amount of step-cutting, for fresh snow had fallen,
compelling us to deviate from the usual route; but even so, oxygen had
made a brief Alpine ascent of what is otherwise a strenuous day’s work.
We took three hours up and fifty minutes down, with thirty-six
photographs taken _en route_.
[Illustration:
EAST RONGBUK GLACIER NEAR CAMP II.
]
On May 24, Captain Noel, Tejbir, Geoffrey Bruce, and I, all using
oxygen, went up to the North Col (23,000 feet). Bent on a determined
attack, we camped there for the night. Morning broke fine and clear
though somewhat windy, and at eight o’clock we sent off up the long
snow-slopes leading towards the North-east shoulder of Mount Everest,
twelve porters carrying oxygen cylinders, provisions for one day, and
camping gear. An hour and a half later, Bruce, Tejbir, and I followed,
and, in spite of the fact that each bore a load of over 30 lb., which
was much more than the average weight carried by the porters, we
overtook them at a height of about 24,500 feet. They greeted our arrival
with their usual cheery, broad grins. But no longer did they regard
oxygen as a foolish man’s whim; one and all appreciated the advantages
of what they naïvely chose to call “English air.” Leaving them to
follow, we went on, hoping to pitch our camp somewhere above 26,000
feet. But shortly after one o’clock the wind freshened up rather
offensively, and it began to snow. Our altitude was 25,500 feet, some
500 feet below where we had hoped to camp, but we looked round
immediately for a suitable camping site, as the porters had to return to
the North Col that day, and persistence in proceeding further would have
run them unjustifiably into danger. This I would under no circumstances
do, for I felt responsible for these cheerful, smiling, willing men, who
looked up to their leader and placed in him the complete trust of little
children. As it was, the margin of safety secured by pitching camp where
we did instead of at a higher elevation was none too wide; for before
the last porter had departed downwards the weather had become very
threatening. A cheerful spot in which to find space to pitch a tent it
was not; but though I climbed a couple of hundred feet or so further up
the ridge, nothing more suitable was to be found. Remembering that a
wind is felt more severely on the windward side of a ridge than on the
crest, a possible position to the West of the ridge was negatived in
favour of one on the very backbone. The leeside was bare of any possible
camping place within reasonable distance. Our porters arrived at 2 p.m.,
and at once all began to level off the little platform where the tent
was soon pitched, on the very edge of the tremendous precipices falling
away to the East Rongbuk and Main Rongbuk Glaciers, over 4,000 feet
below. Within twenty minutes the porters were scurrying back down the
broken, rocky ridge towards the snow-slopes leading to the North Col,
singing, as they went, snatches of their native hillside ditties. What
splendid men! Having seen the last man safely off, I looked to the
security of the guy-ropes holding down the tent, and then joined Bruce
and Tejbir inside. It was snowing hard. Tiny, minute spicules driven by
the wind penetrated everywhere. It was bitterly cold, so we crawled into
our sleeping-bags, and, gathering round us all available clothing,
huddled up together as snugly as was possible.
With the help of solidified spirit we melted snow and cooked a warm
meal, which imparted some small measure of comfort to our chilled
bodies. A really hot drink was not procurable, for the simple reason
that at such an altitude water boils at so low a temperature that one
can immerse the hand in it without fear of being scalded. Over a
_post-prandium_ cigarette, Bruce and I discussed our prospects of
success. Knowing that no man can put forward his best effort unless his
confidence is an established fact, the trend of my contribution to the
conversation was chiefly, “Of course, we shall get to the top.” After
sunset, the storm rose to a gale, a term I use deliberately. Terrific
gusts tore at our tent with such ferocity that the ground-sheet with its
human burden was frequently lifted up off the ground. On these occasions
our combined efforts were needed to keep the tent down and prevent its
being blown away. Although we had blocked up the few very small openings
in the tent to the best of our powers, long before midnight we were all
thickly covered in a fine frozen spindrift that somehow or other was
blown in upon us, insinuating its way into sleeping-bags and clothing,
there to cause acute discomfort. Sleep was out of the question. We dared
not relax our vigilance, for ever and again all our strength was needed
to hold the tent down and to keep the flaps of the door, stripped of
their fastenings by a gust that had caught us unawares, from being torn
open. We fought for our lives, realising that once the wind got our
little shelter into its ruthless grip, it must inevitably be hurled,
with us inside it, down on to the East Rongbuk Glacier, thousands of
feet below.
And what of my companions in the tent? To me, who had certainly passed
his novitiate in the hardships of mountaineering, the situation was more
than alarming. About Tejbir I had no concern; he placed complete
confidence in his sahibs, and the ready grin never left his face. But it
was Bruce’s first experience of mountaineering, and how the ordeal would
affect him I did not know. I might have spared myself all anxiety.
Throughout the whole adventure he bore himself in a manner that would
have done credit to the finest of veteran mountaineers, and returned my
confidence with a cheerfulness that rang too true to be counterfeit. By
one o’clock on the morning of the 26th the gale reached its maximum. The
wild flapping of the canvas made a noise like that of machine-gun fire.
So deafening was it that we could scarcely hear each other speak. Later,
there came interludes of comparative lull, succeeded by bursts of storm
more furious than ever. During such lulls we took it in turn to go
outside to tighten up slackened guy-ropes, and also succeeded in tying
down the tent more firmly with our Alpine rope. It was impossible to
work in the open for more than three or four minutes at a stretch, so
profound was the exhaustion induced by this brief exposure to the fierce
cold wind. But with the Alpine rope taking some of the strain, we
enjoyed a sense of security which, though probably only illusory,
allowed us all a few sorely needed moments of rest.
Dawn broke bleak and chill; the snow had ceased to fall, but the wind
continued with unabated violence. Once more we had to take it in turns
to venture without and tighten up the guy-ropes, and to try to build on
the windward side of the tent a small wall of stones as an additional
protection. The extreme exhaustion and the chill produced in the body as
a result of each of these little excursions were sufficient to indicate
that, until the gale had spent itself, there could be no hope of either
advance or retreat. As the weary morning hours dragged on, we believed
we could detect a slackening off in the storm. And I was thankful, for I
was beginning quietly to wonder how much longer human beings could stand
the strain. We prepared another meal. The dancing flames of the spirit
stove caused me anxiety bordering on anguish lest the tent, a frail
shelter between life and death, should catch fire. At noon the storm
once more regained its strength and rose to unsurpassed fury. A great
hole was cut by a stone in one side of the tent, and our situation thus
unexpectedly became more desperate than ever.
But we carried on, making the best of our predicament until, at one
o’clock, the wind dropped suddenly from a blustering gale to nothing
more than a stiff breeze. Now was the opportunity for retreat to the
safety of the North Col camp. But I wanted to hang on and try our climb
on the following day. Very cautiously and tentatively I broached my wish
to Bruce, fearful lest the trying experience of the last twenty-four
hours had undermined his keenness for further adventure. Once again
might I have spared myself all anxiety. He jumped at the idea, and when
our new plans were communicated to Tejbir, the only effect upon him was
to broaden his already expansive grin.
It was a merry little party that gathered round to a scanty evening meal
cooked with the last of our fuel. The meal was meagre for the simple
reason that we had catered for only one day’s short rations, and we were
now very much on starvation diet. We had hardly settled down for another
night when, about 6 p.m., voices were heard outside. Our unexpected
visitors were porters who, anxious as to our safety, had left the North
Col that afternoon when the storm subsided. With them they brought
thermos flasks of hot beef-tea and tea provided by the thoughtful Noel.
Having accepted these most gratefully, we sent the porters back without
loss of time.
[Illustration:
OXYGEN APPARATUS.
]
[Illustration:
CAPTAIN NOEL KINEMATOGRAPHING THE ASCENT OF MOUNT EVEREST FROM THE
CHANG LA.
]
That night began critically. We were exhausted by our previous
experiences and through lack of sufficient food. Tejbir’s grin had lost
some of its expanse. On the face of Geoffrey Bruce, courageously
cheerful as ever, was a strained, drawn expression that I did not like.
Provoked, perhaps, by my labours outside the tent, a dead, numbing cold
was creeping up my limbs—a thing I had only once before felt and to the
seriousness of which I was fully alive. Something had to be done. Like
an inspiration came the thought of trying the effect of oxygen. We
hauled an apparatus and cylinders into the tent, and, giving it the air
of a joke, we took doses all round. Tejbir took his medicine
reluctantly, but with relief I saw his face brighten up. The effect on
Bruce was visible in his rapid change of expression. A few minutes after
the first deep breath, I felt the tingling sensation of returning life
and warmth to my limbs. We connected up the apparatus in such a way that
we could breathe a small quantity of oxygen throughout the night. The
result was marvellous. We slept well and warmly. Whenever the tube
delivering the gas fell out of Bruce’s mouth as he slept, I could see
him stir uneasily in the uric, greenish light of the moon as it filtered
through the canvas. Then half unconsciously replacing the tube, he would
fall once more into a peaceful slumber. There is little doubt that it
was the use of oxygen which saved our lives during this second night in
our high camp.
Before daybreak we were up, and proceeded to make ready for our climb.
Putting on our boots was a struggle. Mine I had taken to bed with me,
and a quarter of an hour’s striving and tugging sufficed to get them on.
But Bruce’s and Tejbir’s were frozen solid, and it took them more than
an hour to mould them into shape by holding them over lighted candles.
Shortly after six we assembled outside. Some little delay was incurred
in arranging the rope and our loads, but at length at 6.30 a.m., soon
after the first rays of the sun struck the tent, we shouldered our
bundles and set off. What with cameras, thermos bottles, and oxygen
apparatus, Bruce and I each carried well over 40 lb.; Tejbir with two
extra cylinders of oxygen shouldered a burden of about 50 lb.
Our scheme of attack was to take Tejbir with us as far as the North-east
shoulder, there to relieve him of his load and send him back. The
weather was clear. The only clouds seemed so far off as to presage no
evil, and the breeze, though intensely cold, was bearable. But it soon
freshened up, and before we had gone more than a few hundred feet the
cold began to have its effect on Tejbir’s sturdy constitution, and he
showed signs of wavering. Bruce’s eloquent flow of Gurumuki, however,
managed to boost him up to an altitude of 26,000 feet. There he
collapsed entirely, sinking face downwards on to the rocks and crushing
beneath him the delicate instruments of his oxygen apparatus. I stormed
at him for thus maltreating it, while Bruce exhorted him for the honour
of his regiment to struggle on; but it was all in vain. Tejbir had done
his best; and he has every right to be proud of the fact that he has
climbed to a far greater height than any other native. We pulled him off
his apparatus and, relieving him of some cylinders, cheered him up
sufficiently to start him with enough oxygen on his way back to the high
camp, there to await our return. We had no compunction about letting him
go alone, for the ground was easy and he could not lose his way, the
tent being in full view below.
After seeing him safely off and making good progress, we loaded up
Tejbir’s cylinders, and, in view of the easy nature of the climbing,
mutually agreed to dispense with the rope, and thus enable ourselves to
proceed more rapidly. Climbing not very steep and quite easy rocks, and
passing two almost level places affording ample room for some future
high camp, we gained an altitude of 26,500 feet. By this time, however,
the wind, which had been steadily rising, had acquired such force that I
considered it necessary to leave the ridge and continue our ascent by
traversing out across the great northern face of Mount Everest, hoping
by so doing to find more shelter from the icy blasts. It was not easy to
come to this decision, because I saw that between us and the shoulder
the climbing was all plain sailing and presented no outstanding
difficulty. Leaving the ridge, we began to work out into the face. For
the first few yards the going was sufficiently straightforward, but
presently the general angle became much steeper, and our trials were
accentuated by the fact that the stratification of the rocks was such
that they shelved outward and downward, making the securing of adequate
footholds difficult. We did not rope, however. I knew that the longer we
remained unroped, the more time we should save—a consideration of vital
importance. But as I led out over these steeply sloping, evilly smooth
slabs, I carefully watched Bruce to see how he would tackle the
formidable task with which he was confronted on this his first
mountaineering expedition. He did his work splendidly and followed
steadily and confidently, as if he were quite an old hand at the game.
Sometimes the slabs gave place to snow—treacherous, powdery stuff, with
a thin, hard, deceptive crust that gave the appearance of compactness.
Little reliance could be placed upon it, and it had to be treated with
great care. And sometimes we found ourselves crossing steep slopes of
scree that yielded and shifted downwards with every tread. Very
occasionally in the midst of our exacting work we were forced to indulge
in a brief rest in order to replace an empty cylinder of oxygen by a
full one. The empty ones were thrown away, and as each bumped its way
over the precipice and the good steel clanged like a church bell at each
impact, we laughed aloud at the thought that “There goes another 5 lb.
off our backs.” Since leaving the ridge we had not made much height
although we seemed to be getting so near our goal. Now and then we
consulted the aneroid barometer, and its readings encouraged us on.
27,000 feet; then we gave up traversing and began to climb diagonally
upwards towards a point on the lofty North-east ridge, midway between
the shoulder and the summit. Soon afterwards an accident put Bruce’s
oxygen apparatus out of action. He was some 20 feet below me, but
struggled gallantly upwards as I went to meet him, and, after connecting
him on to my apparatus and so renewing his supply of oxygen, we soon
traced the trouble and effected a satisfactory repair. The barometer
here recorded a height 27,300 feet. The highest mountain visible was Chö
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 sights to be seen from down in the
Rongbuk Valley, was hidden, but we knew that our standpoint was nearly
2,000 feet above it. Everest itself was the only mountain top which we
could see without turning our gaze downwards. We could look across into
clouds which lay at some undefined distance behind the North-east
shoulder, a clear indication that we were only a little, if any, below
its level. Pumori, an imposing ice-bound pyramid, 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. The point we reached is unmistakable even from afar. We were
standing on a little rocky ledge, just inside an inverted V of snow,
immediately below the great belt of reddish-yellow rock which cleaves
its way almost horizontally through the otherwise greenish-black slabs
of the mountain. 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 underneath the
highest point. Ours were truly the tortures of Tantalus; for, weak from
hunger and exhausted by that nightmare struggle for life in our high
camp, we were in no fit condition to proceed. Indeed, I knew that if we
were to persist in climbing on, even if only for another 500 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
found better going by aiming to strike the ridge between the North-east
shoulder and the North Col at a point above where we had left it in the
morning. Progress was more rapid, though great caution was still
necessary. Shortly after 2 p.m., we struck the ridge and there reduced
our burdens to a minimum by dumping four oxygen cylinders. The place
will be easily recognised by future explorers; those four cylinders are
perched against a rock at the head of the one and only large snow-filled
couloir running right up from the head of the East Rongbuk Glacier to
the ridge. The clear weather was gone. 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. We reached our
high camp in barely half an hour, and such are the vagaries of Everest’s
moods that in this short time the wind had practically dropped. Tejbir
lay snugly wrapped up in all three sleeping-bags, sleeping the deep
sleep of exhaustion. Hearing the voices of the porters on their way up
to bring down our kit, 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 arrived
in camp there at 4 p.m. A craving for food, to the lack of which our
weakness was mainly due, was all that animated us. Hot tea and a tin of
spaghetti were soon forthcoming, and even this little nourishment
refreshed us and renewed our strength to such an extent that
three-quarters of an hour later we were ready to set off for Camp III.
An invaluable addition to our little party was Captain Noel, the
indefatigable photographer of the Expedition, who had already spent four
days and three nights on the North Col. He formed our rearguard and
nursed us safely down the steep snow and ice slopes on to the almost
level basin of the glacier below. Before 5.30 p.m., only forty minutes
after leaving the col, we reached Camp III. Since midday, from our
highest point we had descended over 6,000 feet; but we were quite
finished.
[Illustration:
THE BRITISH MEMBERS OF THE SECOND CLIMBING PARTY.
]
That evening we dined well. Four whole quails truffled in _pâté-de-foie
gras_, followed by nine sausages, left me asking for more. The last I
remember of that long day was going to sleep, warm in the depths of our
wonderful sleeping-bag, with the remains of a tin of toffee tucked away
in the crook of my elbow.
Next morning showed that Bruce’s feet were sorely frostbitten. I had
practically escaped; but the cold had penetrated the half-inch-thick
soles of my boots and three pairs of heavy woollen socks, and four small
patches of frostbite hampered me at first in my efforts to walk. Bruce
was piled on to a sledge, and I journeyed with him as his
fellow-passenger. Willing porters dragged us down until the surface of
the glacier became so rough as to impose too great a strain on our
slender conveyance with its double burden.
Our attack upon Mount Everest had failed. The great mountain with its
formidable array of defensive weapons had won; but if the body had
suffered, the spirit was still whole. Reaching a point whence we
obtained our last close view of the great unconquered Goddess Mother of
the Snows, Geoffrey Bruce bade his somewhat irreverent adieux with “Just
you wait, old thing, you’ll be for it soon!”—words that still are
expressive of my own sentiments.
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