The Mammoth Book of Travel in Dangerous Places (19 page)

Meanwhile Evans and Bourdillon were climbing strongly and steadily up the south-east ridge – I had last seen them in a break in the clouds – some 300 feet above us, while we rested
near the Swiss tent. But those of us who were now gathering on the Col below could not know this, for the weather was by no means good; it was once again blowing hard and the whole of the upper
part of the mountain was obscured by cloud.

It might have been half an hour after Da Namgyal and I had got back – I was resting, I remember, in a tent and chatting with Tenzing – when George Lowe shoved his head in through the
narrow entrance. He was wildly excited – jubilant. “They’re-up!” he shouted. “By God, they’re up!” Everyone was overcome with excitement. The Sherpas,
believing the slender snow cone of the South Peak to be the summit itself, were even more thrilled than we ourselves. They thought Evans and Bourdillon had climbed the mountain. I remember Ang
Nyima, one of the trio forming Gregory’s support party for the second attempt saying to me in slang Hindi, “
Everest khatm ho gya, Sahib
,” which in equally slang English
might be translated, “Everest has had it.”

But we knew that we must await their return for definite news, for from that South Peak there remained a long stretch of ridge which had never before been seen close at hand; we had many times
wondered what Everest held in reserve on this final part of its defences. It was an anxious wait, with the lurking question ever in mind: could they come back safely? We could see nothing through
the mists swirling around the mountain, tortured by the rising wind.

Then about 3.30 there was a fleeting break at the lower end of it and there, framed in this gap were two little dots at the head of the gully, some 1300 feet above us. I heaved an immense sigh
of relief. At least they were safe. They moved slowly and were obviously very tired, but at last they were back among us, telling us of their wonderful first ascent of the South Peak of Everest
– 28,720 feet. That they did not continue along the final ridge to the highest point was exactly in accordance with my briefing, for I had been most anxious that they should not take risks
with their experimental oxygen equipment. It must have been a tantalizing situation to be up there at 1 p.m. that day, so near to the fulfilment of a life’s dream and yet knowing that they
had neither the time nor the oxygen to reach the summit along the formidable alpine ridge they now saw stretching before them. To continue would not have been in the interests of the expedition,
and in returning safely they not only made a fine mountaineering decision, but gave us all enormous confidence in final triumph.

The second assault: Hillary and Tenzing (Hillary’s narrative)

“By May 22 we had made the first great carry to the South Col and fourteen 30-lb loads of vital food, equipment and oxygen were awaiting our use. As we descended to Camp IV after making
this lift, we met Bourdillon, Evans and Hunt setting out up the Lhotse Face to make the first assault on the summit. During the next two days we rested and watched their tiny figures on the Lhotse
Face climbing steadily to Camp VII and then on to the South Col.

“It was now time for us to move. On May 25 Tenzing and I supported by Lowe and Gregory moved up to Camp VII. The following day we climbed the steep glacier above the camp and then began to
cross the great traverse towards the South Col. From here we got our first glimpse of Evans and Bourdillon on the south-east ridge, obviously moving strongly. Just before we reached the South Col,
through a gap in the clouds we saw two tiny specks moving on the South Summit. It was a tremendous moment for us.

“We reached the South Col in time to assist Hunt and Da Namgyal back to their tents after their strenuous efforts in carrying food and equipment to 27,350 feet. Much later in the
afternoon, two tired figures descended out of the clouds on the ridge and came slowly down the slope towards the Col. They were Evans and Bourdillon. They told us how they had reached the South
Summit, the problems they had been faced with and the difficulties they had had with their oxygen sets. They also reported that the ridge leading to the top appeared to be of considerable
difficulty.

“We went to bed that night elated over the success of our companions but not particularly happy about our prospects for the summit. The next day the South Col wind at its worst was blowing
and no move upwards was possible. We assisted Bourdillon, Evans, Hunt and Da Namgyal to the top of the Geneva Spur and saw them start off on their long and weary descent to the relative comforts of
the lower camps. All night it blew fiercely and although we were ready to leave very early, no start was possible before 8.45 a.m. The high-altitude Sherpas chosen to carry our camp high up the
south-east ridge had all fallen ill except Ang Nyma, so there was nothing for it but to carry everything ourselves. Lowe, Gregory and Ang Nyma cut a stairway up the firm, steep snow of the couloir.
Tenzing and I followed in these tracks and were able to conserve our strength and make faster time. We caught them up on the south-east ridge near the remnants of the Swiss tent of the previous
spring. Despite our large loads we were all going very well. The ridge above, although steep, was generously supplied with foot and hand holds and although we moved slowly up it, we were able to
climb steadily and rhythmically, taking every care.

“At 27,350 feet we came to the dump left by Hunt several days previously and reluctantly tied this extra equipment on to our heavy loads. Ang Nyma had just over 40 lb but the rest of us
were carrying between 50 and 63 lb. Moving very slowly now, we hauled ourselves up the ridge, all of us breathing oxygen at the rate of 4 litres a minute. A possible camp site would appear
deceptively above us, only to vanish as we reached it. We were all very tired, and indeed a little desperate, when we finally reached a snowy ledge, which although uneven was sufficiently roomy to
pitch a tent.

“While Lowe, Gregory and Ang Nyma descended to the South Col, Tenzing and I made a very rough platform, tied our tent down as best we could and crawled in for the night. After a somewhat
uncomfortable night, I looked out of the tent very early and was greatly encouraged to see every sign of a fine day. We quickly organized ourselves and at 6.30 a.m. set off up the mountain. The
first 500 feet was covered very slowly but steadily. We were going well, and were able to overcome without difficulty any problems we met. But then we reached the great 400-foot face running up to
the South Summit, and this was a different proposition. Not only was it very steep but I felt the snow was in a dangerous condition. Laboriously beating a track up it, sometimes to our knees and
often deeper, we were always conscious of the tremendous drop to the Kangshung Glacier, 11,000 feet below. Half-way up the slope I asked Tenzing his opinion and he replied that he was rather
unhappy about it and thought it very dangerous. When I asked him whether he thought we should go on, he gave his familiar reply: ‘Just as you wish.’ I felt we had a fair chance so
decided to persevere. It was a tremendous relief, however, when, 100 feet from the South Summit, the snow became firm and we were able to kick and chip steps up the last steep slopes on to the
South Summit itself.

“We sat down and had a drink from our water bottle. We had been using oxygen at the rate of 3 litres a minute and I estimated that this would give us another four and a half hours on our
remaining bottle. The ridge ahead looked both difficult and dangerous, heavily corniced on the right, dropping off to enormous rock bluffs on the left. The only possibility was to keep along the
steep snow slope running between them. I cut a line of steps down to the saddle between the South Summit and the ridge and was overjoyed to find that the snow, far from being soft and powdery, was
firm and hard and that a couple of good blows with the ice-axe would make a step big enough for even our outsize high-altitude boots. We moved slowly and very carefully. I cut 40 feet of steps,
then forced my ice-axe into the snow and belayed Tenzing as he moved up to me. Then he in his turn thrust his ice-axe in and protected me as I cut another 40 feet of steps. Moving one at a time and
fully conscious that our margin of safety must inevitably be reduced at this great altitude, we forged slowly ahead.

“After an hour’s going the South Summit was dropping away beneath us, but I suddenly noticed that Tenzing, who had been going very well, was starting to drag. When he approached me I
saw he was panting and in some distress. I examined his oxygen set and, finding that the exhaust outlet from his mask was blocked with ice, was able to give him immediate relief. We moved on again
and soon reached the worst problem on the ridge – a great rock bluff which looked far too diflicult to tackle directly with our limited strength. There was one possibility: attached to the
right-hand side of the rock bluff was a cornice and the ice had peeled away leaving a gap running the full length of the bluff and just large enough to take the human frame. With Tenzing belaying
me I moved into the crack and cramponing on the ice behind and using every handhold on the rock in front I wriggled and jammed my way up and pulled myself panting on to the little ledge at the top.
I signalled to Tenzing and heaved on the rope until he in his turn struggled up and collapsed exhausted on our little ledge. I really felt now a fierce determination that we would succeed in
reaching the summit.

“The ridge stretched on in a never-ending succession of corniced bumps and as I continued cutting the trail round the back of them I wondered just how long we would have to go on. We were
starting to tire. I had been cutting steps continuously for almost two hours and wondered rather dully whether we would have enough strength left to get through. I cut around the back of another
hump and saw that the ridge ahead dropped away and that we could see far into Tibet. I looked up and there above us was a rounded snow cone. A few whacks of the ice-axe, a few cautious steps and
Tenzing and I were on top. The time was 11.30 a.m.

We stayed fifteen minutes, removing our masks and so conserving oxygen. After an hour we were back on the South Summit; moving gingerly down the great snow slope, we were able to shrug off the
sense of fear that had been with us all day. At 2 p.m. we were at Camp IX, where we brewed some lemonade before setting off on the long trek down to the ridge. We were both very tired, but not too
tired to make the last effort of cutting steps down the couloir where yesterday’s tracks had already been blotted out. On the Col we were greeted by Lowe and Noyce; the latter had come up
that day in support with Passang Phutar, both making their second trip to the Col.”
(End of Hillary’s narrative.)

We waited at Advance Base in vain for news all through May 29. Gregory had come down with the two remaining Sherpas of his support team and had raised our hopes by telling us
that he had seen Hillary and Tenzing at 9 o’clock that morning, just as he had watched Evans and Bourdillon on the 26th, approaching the South Peak and going well. This, the early hour that
he had seen them, and the glorious weather, apparently with little wind even higher up, had given us great confidence that they might have made it. But by evening we were in the dark about the
outcome. I had asked Noyce, who with three Sherpas had gone up a second time after Evans, Bourdillon and I had come down, either to reinforce or rescue the second assault party, to lay up sleeping
bags on a certain snow slope just below the Col visible to us below – “T” would mean success: two bags laid parallel would mean they had reached the South Peak; only one would
mean failure. But as evening approached, mists drifted across the Lhotse Face, and we stared in vain at the blanket of vapour behind which Noyce and Passang Phutar had, in fact, placed the
signal.

Next morning part of our anxiety was removed when we counted five specks high on the Face coming down. They were all there and all were moving independently – they were safe and well. Soon
after 2 p.m. they appeared again, much closer this time, only a few hundred yards up the glacier above our Camp. Most of us, unable to bear the suspense, went up to greet them and hear their news.
As they came towards us the returning summit party made no sign, just plodded on dejectedly, obviously very tired. My heart sank – this must be failure; I tried to focus my thoughts on that
third effort which we had kept in reserve. Then, when they were quite close, George Lowe, who was leading the little group, started gesticulating, making unmistakable jabs with his ice-axe towards
the top of Everest, frowning down above us.

ESCAPE FROM RIYADH

William Gifford Palgrave

(1826–88)

A scholar and a soldier, a Jesuit and a Jew, a French spy and a British ambassador – Palgrave was a man of contradictions, all of them highly
compromising when in 1862–3, fortified by Pius IX’s blessing and Napoleon III’s cash, he attempted the first west–east crossing of the Arabian peninsula. To steely nerves
and a genius for disguise he owed his eventual success; but not before both were sorely tested when, as a Syrian doctor, he became the first European to enter Riyadh. The desert capital of the
fanatical Wahabis, dangerous for an infidel at the best of times, was then doubly so as the sons of the ageing King Feisal intrigued for power.

W
e now prepared to start eastwards, but the day of our departure from Nejed was yet to fix, when a sudden explosion of royal ill-will put an end to
our indecision, and necessitated more promptitude than we had hitherto intended for our movements.

In one of my medical cases, the nature of the malady had led me to try that powerful though dangerous therapeutic agent strychnia; and its employment had been followed by prompt and unequivocal
amelioration. Not that the amendment was, I should think, of a permanent character, but of this point the Nejdeans, who saw no farther than the present effect, were and could be no judges, while
the high rank of the patient himself, an old town chief, drew special attention to the fact. Everybody talked about it, and the news reached the palace.