As they rested, George looked closely at his companion. Until then he had been aware of his movements – how he walked and climbed – but now he looked beyond the mechanics to the man himself. Geoffrey Bruce was spent. The realisation hit George hard: ‘It never occurred to me for a moment that we might not be able to reach our goal. We had made rapid and steady progress. The summit stood before us. Just a little further and we would be standing on the peak – atop the highest mountain in the world.’
The two men were standing on a narrow ledge beneath the ceiling of the world, as high as the cruising altitude of a commercial aircraft where the temperature hovered around minus 50 degrees. Above him George could see ‘the individual stones on a little patch of scree lying underneath the highest point’. In his mind, he could almost reach out and touch it. Beneath his feet to the west was the mighty summit of Cho Oyu which reared 26,900 feet. Mount Pumori, at 23,494 feet, was ‘an indistinguishable bump of ice’.
They could not give up, not yet anyway. He still had a camera in his pocket, the film inserted that morning, ready to capture the moment of their triumph. But now, with their lives in peril, was not the time for photographs. Bruce was on his feet and they began upwards again but it was clear within a few yards that he could go no further. He sat down as George looked up, the temptation that he might go on alone flashing across his mind. Then it was gone. He could not leave his companion whose eyes had filled with tears. ‘Turn back’, George called.
27.
‘MY UTTER BEST. IF ONLY …’
Shortly before 5.30pm on May 27, George Finch and Geoffrey Bruce walked arm-in-arm into Camp III at the foot of the North Col. George smiled for John Noel’s camera, his chin unshaven for a change, his boots untied to release the pressure on his freezing feet and his precious fur-collared coat grimy but otherwise intact.
Bruce stared vacantly ahead as if unaware of his surroundings, his hat still wrapped around the bottom of his face and his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his tweed suit – he was alive, but clearly distressed. He would later write to George: ‘I can never thank you enough for electing to take me with you on the climb, or for the perfectly astonishing way you pulled me through it all. It was wonderful.’
The pair had descended almost 6500 feet in just five hours, pausing occasionally to rest stiff and weary legs and stopping briefly at Camp IV to ensure Tejbir, who had been guided down by Noel and the sherpas, was safe and to slurp down tea and share a tin of Heinz spaghetti – their first food in almost two days. Now back in the relative comfort of the lower camp it was only hunger and a letter from Bubbles that kept George awake for the next few hours. He pored over her words of love and domestic chat while wolfing down four fried quail truffled in pâté de foie gras, and nine plump sausages, after which he insisted he was still hungry. He went to bed with the letter in his hand and a thermos of coffee and tin of toffees at his elbow and slept for fourteen hours.
The next day Arthur Wakefield physically assessed the men, including Tejbir, who had also descended safely. They had all come through the ordeal better than the Mallory party although neither had escaped unscathed. George had four small patches of frostbite on the soles of his feet where the cold had penetrated through his boots and three pairs of socks. Bruce was worse and could not walk. He would have to be dragged on a sled much of the way down the glacier until the terrain became too difficult and the sherpas were forced to take turns carrying him on their backs through the treacherous moraines while George shuffled painfully behind.
In contrast to their speedy descent down Everest, it took two days to reach the base camp where Mallory, Somervell, Norton and Morshead were still recovering. Their health had regressed in the first few days after returning, such was the impact of the ordeal on their bodies. Somervell was doing the best of them, while Mallory was nursing several badly frostbitten fingers. Norton, whose frostbitten ear would recover, could hardly walk, while Morshead, who would lose three fingers to frostbite, was so bad that Thomas Longstaff believed he should be evacuated as soon as possible.
Longstaff was worried not only about the men’s external injuries but the impact on their internal organs. Mallory and Norton were both showing signs of heart trouble, as was George, whose heart was beating erratically, and would later prove to have become dangerously enlarged. George would take a fortnight to recover; some of the others took several months. And so, the first attempt to climb Mount Everest appeared to be over.
Charles Bruce, under pressure from Arthur Hinks to provide frequent updates to satisfy media commitments, had already sent a telegram to The Times via Darjeeling with the bare details of the Finch–Bruce climb. It would reach London on June 15 and be published the next morning in an article which noted the ‘heroic failure’ of George Finch and Geoffrey Bruce, who had balanced, exhausted and battered by crosswinds, on a ledge 27,320 feet above sea level, higher than any humans before them.
The term ‘failure’, in whatever context it was written, was an abomination for a climb that Douglas Freshfield, a doyen of mountaineers and former president of both the Alpine Club and the Royal Geographical Society, would later describe as ‘one of the most surprising and bravest feats of mountaineering’.
George Finch and Geoffrey Bruce had climbed at almost three times the rate of Mallory, Norton and Somervell, even though they had carried forty-four pounds (twenty kilograms) on their backs. They had also climbed in much worse weather conditions, spent an extra night on the mountainside and gone without food. To compound matters, George Finch had been climbing with two novices because the others had gone ahead, not only at the suggestion of Colonel Strutt but with the encouragement of George Mallory and the approval of Charles Bruce.
General Bruce was still questioning the success of the oxygen experiment when he wrote to Arthur Hinks on June 1, although he praised George Finch: ‘The whole oxygen apparatus was not altogether satisfactory and apparently if he had not bought in Darjeeling certain football bladders and he had not been an extraordinarily handy and accomplished person the oxygen apparatus would have come to complete grief. As it is, it has done yeoman service.’
Surely Finch’s efforts deserved better and wider recognition. His ability to adapt in the field verged on genius, and his achievement in getting so close to the summit under such fierce conditions was remarkable. Pulling out of the attempt in order to save his companion, rather than seek individual glory, was laudable and the mark of a true gentleman.
General Bruce added a surprise rider at the end of his letter: ‘I’ll just state that I shall be very relieved indeed when this last attempt is finished because to tell you frankly I am afraid of Everest under the present conditions with the monsoon only within days of us.’
Last attempt? Surely Longstaff’s concerns about the health of the men were enough to end the mission before a tragedy occurred: ‘Must put my foot down,’ Longstaff would write in his diary. ‘There is too little margin of safety. Strutt agrees.’
George Mallory had been contemplating a second attempt even before he had begun his first, but the thought that George Finch would outdo him had driven his desire to a new level. On May 26, while recovering at base camp, his frustration spilled out in a letter to Ruth:
We are waiting for news of Finch and Bruce who is with him. I think they will certainly break our record – they have had very good weather – but I don’t expect them to have reached the top at the first attempt. All depends on whether they succeed in dumping cylinders ahead of them. I shan’t feel in the least jealous of any success they may have. The whole venture of getting up with oxygen is so different from ours that the two hardly enter into competition.
His letter was disingenuous on several counts; he knew, for example, as he was writing from his tent, that Finch and Bruce were weathering a storm far worse than he had encountered. His declaration about a lack of envy was equally false, as he had shown on numerous occasions since leaving England. He didn’t like Finch and loathed his science lecture
s, and the notion that he would be bested, particularly knowing that the likes of Hinks and Younghusband depended on him, did not rest easily on his shoulders. In fact, the single word in the letter that best expressed his feelings was the last one – competition. George Mallory wanted to be the first to stand atop the roof of the world, particularly if it could be at the expense of the annoying Australian. And if it involved his using oxygen, then so be it.
As much as he despised the idea, George Finch had provided undeniable proof that oxygen was a significant aid in such extreme conditions and, given that they were all struggling physically, it made sense to make use of the spare tanks. He had already proved his point about human capacity by having reached almost 27,000 feet. A second attempt was a bonus.
Mallory conceded that Longstaff was probably right in his assessment that none of the men were fit to climb again, but he wanted a second opinion, convincing Arthur Wakefield, who had now returned to base camp, to re-examine the three most likely climbers – himself, Somervell and Finch – and give them the go-ahead to mount a third attempt. George Finch overheard Mallory’s scheming – ‘a pretty little plot concocted in the tent next to mine’, as he would note in his diary. ‘Wakefield examines Mallory & me & finds us both fit for another shot (yet M’s fingers are all frostbitten!).’
Charles Bruce fell for it, if somewhat reluctantly, on the condition that the main purpose of the attempt on the mountain would be to evacuate the camps and bring back the tents and any leftover supplies. If they reached Camp IV and the conditions were fine then they could make an attempt, as he wrote to Hinks: ‘At this moment we are actually sending off a third attempt but by way of prophecy I do not expect it to do better than the previous two. The flower of the men’s conditions must have gone, also the weather is distinctly getting rougher and when it is rough on Everest it is really rough.’
Mallory wrote again to his wife after General Bruce gave the go-ahead. He knew the climb would be a risk but dismissed doubts, quipping ‘the game is worth a finger’. His bigger fear was that George Finch would get on his nerves, and he launched into a scathing assessment of his rival’s climb:
I wonder what you think of Finch’s show with Geoffrey Bruce. They made a stout effort on the last day – but in some ways managed very badly. It was initially a mistake carrying up a fresh camp to 25,500 instead of moving the one we had already established; and they put it on the wrong side of the ridge, exposed to the wind. And then by some mismanagement – shortage of supplies both at the North Col and 25,500 feet I believe – coolies were sent up from the North Col at 4pm! They did well to get back at 11pm. But the idea of coolies wandering about up there in the dark with none of us to look after them fills me with horror. The story of the Gurkha officer is pretty bad too – the plan was to take him from 25,500 camp carrying six cylinders of oxygen for 1000 to 1500 feet by which time it was supposed he would be exhausted; he was then to be sent down by himself drinking oxygen from one cylinder! Finch seems to have an altogether different standard of caring for the coolies from mine. I’m determined he will run no risks with their lives during this next adventure.
The criticism smacked of the jealousy Mallory professed not to harbour, ignoring the fact that his own assault had stripped Finch of experienced climbers, porters and supplies. The sherpas, led by the stoic Tergio, had been sent up after the storm by John Noel, not Finch, and could not have stayed at the ridge camp because they had no tents. And George had watched to ensure that the Gurkha, Tejbir, was safely back at the tent before he and Bruce went on.
Against his better judgment and almost certainly convinced that the decision to use oxygen signalled a form of acceptance of him, George agreed to join Mallory and Somervell in a final attempt on Everest on Saturday June 3. He had only been back at the base camp for four days and knew, deep down, that it was not humanly possible to make another attempt so quickly. This probably explains why he made no mention of the plan when he wrote to Bubbles the night before they were due to leave:
My own darling beloved,
I fear I must have missed a post, or even two – I have been up for almost a fortnight, as my diary will tell you. An account of my doings will have appeared in The Times long before you get this. In addition to what that account contains I have little to remark beyond saying that in getting to 27,300 feet I had done my utter best and that that best would have been more if only I had had better backing – Bruce, splendid fellow though he is, being an absolute beginner was hardly the backing I ought to have had – and yet he was the only available man as all the others were hors de combat or in any case useless through their inability to put up with even 27,000 feet.
Now I have had four days solid rest & am quite my normal self again. But the weather is very indifferent – it looks as if the monsoon were upon us, so that further climbing should be out of the question. In any case Somervell & I are the only sound members of the party left. All the others are really out of it with more or less serious frostbite.
As far as I can make out we are all going to move to Kharta on the 11th June & will leave there for Darjeeling before the middle of July, so I should be home with you towards the end of August – It’s so good to think of that! In the meantime, darling wife, I have had three beautiful letters from you. Can you guess how much they mean to me out here! One reached me at Camp III at 21,000 feet, the other two I got on our return halfway between Camps II and I, where I was feeling like nothing on earth, so tired and footsore that I could hardly walk. As soon as I got them I sat down & spent two hours reading them on the E Rongbuk Glacier & then went on my way again feeling just ever so much fresher.
Today it looks very much as if the monsoons are arriving fast – the whole sky is overcast & now & then a few flakes of snow fall. Darling, darling mine I love you – Now at last I feel that the turning point in my travels has arrived & that now every moment is bringing me back nearer to you. I am very backward now with photos but am sending you on those that are ready – I took none above our 25,500-foot camp, being too busy & too cold! & now I deplore my lack of energy, if one can call it such!
You will see that I am still troubled with occasional bulging of films – I’d like to wring Kodak’s neck & shall certainly take it up with them when I get back. I am writing this in the quiet spell after lunch – it’s very cold but I’ve got my precious eiderdown suit & flying boots on so that I’m probably the warmest member in the camp. Dear darling beloved wife of mine when you get this letter you will know that I shall be on my way back to you – perhaps even in Darjeeling and then in three weeks I shall be with you. Oh how I long for that time to come! I love you, love you & may God bless you, my own darling. I love you.
Your husband Geof
The sky was grey and heavy the next morning when the men trudged out of camp and back toward the mountain, now hidden behind a dense mass of cloud. The optimism and purpose of the first two attempts had been replaced by a weary wariness, and it was obvious within an hour of leaving base camp that George had made a mistake. Longstaff had been right. The frostbite patches on the soles of his feet had not healed and he was forced to hobble behind the others as they made their way back to Camp I. Wakefield and Crawford, who were making the trip as support officers, had gone on ahead and by the time the three climbers arrived at 3.30pm George was exhausted.
To make matters worse it had begun to snow heavily. The five men sheltered uncomfortably in one of the stone huts, its deficiencies apparent as the snowfall invaded the tight space. By morning George had made the obvious decision and abandoned the attempt, opting instead to head back to base camp and join the party led by Longstaff that would convey the injured Morshead and Colonel Strutt (who was also struggling health-wise) back to Darjeeling as quickly as possible.
Before he left Camp I, George took Somervell once more through the oxygen drill that the men had so cavalierly dismissed on the way to Everest. Eventually satisfied that they could manage the equipment, he headed back to base camp, pausing t
o say goodbye to the sherpa Tergio who had climbed the slopes of Everest in a blizzard to rescue his sahib.
Mallory and his party would shelter for another day at Camp I, hemmed in by heavy snowfall that only abated on the morning of June 5. The men emerged from their hut to find the snow lying heavy and wet on the ground, warmed by the winds that promised the monsoon season was upon them. As they contemplated whether to go on or yield to the conditions, George Finch was on the back of a donkey, making his way back to Darjeeling – and Bubbles.
George Mallory’s reasoning was simple. If there was a chance, however small, of getting higher on Everest then they should keep going, even if there was an element of danger: ‘To retire now with the smallest chance remaining to us would be an unworthy end to the expedition.’
At first the going was easy, but the snow lay thick and was still falling as they approached Camp III. Grey skies had set in, Everest hidden in the clouds which only cast further gloom when they arrived to find the tents sagging under the weight of the fresh snowfall and their supplies buried. With boots already sodden with melted snow, the men spent the next few hours clearing the camp site and establishing some semblance of order.
That night they discussed abandoning the attempt. The snow outside lay 16 inches deep and the trek up to the North Col to reach Camp IV would be difficult, let alone the climb to the summit. They decided to sleep on it – as best they could, having cleared the tents of snow and ice – and wait to see if the weather had improved by morning, aware that the imminent monsoon meant conditions were still variable.
The Brilliant Outsider Page 25