Chapter XX: Mount Everest (2)

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.

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._]

_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.

_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.).