Authors: Maurice Herzog
Ichac briefly explained what was going on. Being blind was most
demoralizing
; I felt I was nothing but a chattel to be carted about. I knew my ophthalmia was less serious than that of the others and kept asking for the bandage to be taken off. But since I was nothing but a chattel I had no right to speak.
Although it had clouded over and had begun to sleet, the Sherpas went up again to Camp II with Schatz and Noyelle to fetch Lachenal. About 3 o’clock snow started to fall. Time dragged as I lay in my tent alone with my thoughts. The silence was broken only by the persistent sound of cracking ice, which rather alarmed me: where had they placed the tent? Suppose a crevasse suddenly opened? I was ashamed of these childish fears – surely a mountaineer of many years’ experience should know very well that a crevasse does not yawn open like that in a second!
Ichac, the only fit sahib, supervised the organization of Camp I. Towards the end of the afternoon, at about 5 o’clock, he saw, to his great surprise, Noyelle and Lachenal’s convoy emerge through the mist, covered in snow. This time the Sherpas had taken only an hour-and-three-quarters to come down – they had had a terrific day and were worn out. This resulted in some complaints: there was not enough food, and part of their equipment had remained up at Camp III and Camp IV! This last point especially bothered them, for on Himalayan expeditions the normal practice is for the Sherpas to keep their personal equipment as a perquisite. They bitterly regretted these clothes, which had to be considered as lost, and Angtharkay even declared his intention of going up to Camp III again.
I summoned Angtharkay and warned him that I expressly forbade anyone to return higher than Camp II to fetch anything whatsoever. But at the same time I told him of my very great satisfaction at the magnificent behaviour of the Sherpas under his orders, and assured him that they were not to worry about the clothes, for they would all receive generous compensation. Angtharkay went off to give the others the good news.
There was tremendous activity all over the camp, where Lachenal was being made as comfortable as possible. Tents seemed to have sprung up as if by magic, and what looked like a little village was formed at the foot of the great wall of ice.
The next day, after a fine start, the clouds collected again towards 11 o’clock, and it was not long before snow began to fall. Oudot
had
not yet come down from Camp II. I could hear the avalanches rumbling down in ever closer succession, making an appalling row which wore my nerves thin. Ichac tried to make a joke of it.
‘Here we are – that’s the 3.37 goods! Now for the 4 o’clock express!’ He succeeded in making me smile.
Through the telescope he saw, towards the end of the morning, the last tents of Camp II being taken down, and in the afternoon our M.O. arrived with his Sherpas, laden like donkeys. Before even putting down his sack he asked about the condition of his patients: any developments since yesterday?
There was marked improvement: Rébuffat could now walk and his ophthalmia was nearly cured. As for Lachenal, circulation had been restored to his feet, and warmth had returned, except to his toes, though the black patches on his heels would probably leave scars. Improvement was visible on my limbs, too, and Oudot was well pleased. He spoke with a frankness that touched me far more than he will ever know:
‘I think that the fingers of your left hand will have to be amputated, but I hope to be able to save the end joints of your right hand fingers. If all goes well, you’ll have passable hands. As for your feet, I’m afraid that all your toes will have to go, but that won’t prevent you from walking. Of course to begin with it’ll be difficult, but you’ll adapt yourself all right, you’ll see.’
I was aghast at the thought of what would have happened if Oudot had not given me the injections so promptly and efficiently. Perhaps they had not yet produced all their effect. More sessions would be necessary and I wondered whether I should be able to overcome the immense lassitude that came over me after all these painful ordeals. In any case I wanted to take every advantage of the respite, and celebrate our success with due ceremony. For the first time since our victory the whole Expedition was assembled together and the condition of the casualties was now such as to warrant a little festivity. We gathered round the one and only tin of chicken in aspic and we uncorked the one bottle of champagne. There were already a lot of us who wanted a drink of it but I was determined that the Sherpas should, somehow or other, join in the general rejoicing. I invited Angtharkay and we drank with him to our victory. Ichac put pur thoughts into words:
‘You’ve taken a lot of punishment, but our victory will remain.’
In spite of the circumstances, the general atmosphere in the tent was remarkably cheerful. We wrote a telegram to be sent off to Devies by the next mail-runner:
FRENCH HIMALAYAN EXPEDITION I95O SUCCESSFUL STOP ANNAPURNA CLIMBED JUNE 3RD, 1950 – HERZOG
Directly the festivities were over there were more injections – those in my legs were finished fairly quickly. Then Oudot tackled my arms and I knew by experience that these would be the most painful. For an hour all attempts were unsuccessful: the afternoon wore on and Oudot became exasperated.
‘Don’t move about like that!’ he cried.
‘Take no notice of the noise I make … carry on … do what you have to.’
Terray had come close to me. I was writhing in pain, and he held me tight.
‘Stick it! Don’t move, don’t move, Maurice!’
‘It’s hopeless!’ shouted Oudot. ‘When I do succeed in finding the artery, the blood clots. We’ll never manage it!’
He sounded in despair, but his words belied him: he had not the slightest intention of giving up, and neither had I, in spite of the pain. The rest of them were appalled as they listened to the cries coming from the tent where Oudot was in action. The Sherpas were silent. Were they praying for their Bara Sahib? I sobbed so convulsively that I could not stop, and was shaken by continual spasms.
Then, after a short rest, late in the evening at about 10 o’clock, the injection was successfully accomplished. Ichac passed the syringes to Oudot in the dark. There was blood all over the tent. Ichac and Oudot went out, while Terray soothed me with infinite gentleness. Never had I felt so wretched. I was utterly worn out with suffering and fatigue, incapable of resistance. Terray still held me in his arms: ‘It’ll be all right, you’ll see, later on.’
‘Oh but, Lionel, everything’s over for me, and I simply can’t bear what they’re doing to me any longer.’
‘Life’s not over,’ he insisted, ‘you’ll see France again, and Chamonix.’
‘Yes, Chamonix perhaps, but I’ll never be able to climb again.’
It was out at last. I had told him, and I let myself go in despair:
‘I’ll never be able to climb again – I’ll never do the Eiger now, Lionel, and I wanted to so much.’
Sobs choked me. My head was against Terray’s and I felt his tears, for he was crying, too. He was the only one who could fully understand the tragedy that this represented for me, and I could see that to him, too, it appeared hopeless.
‘No, of course, not the Eiger, but I’m sure you’ll be able to go back to the mountains …’ and then, very hesitantly, he added: ‘Not the same sort of climbs as before, of course.’
‘It will never be the same again. But, Lionel, even if I can’t do the sort of climbs I used to, if I could still do easy things, that would be a great deal. The mountains meant everything to me – I spent the best days of my life among them – I don’t want to do spectacular climbs, or famous ones, but I want to be able to enjoy myself in the mountains, even if it’s only on the standard routes.’
‘You’ll go back all right, you’ll see,’ said Lionel. ‘I feel just the same way.’
‘But mountains aren’t the only thing; there are other things in life as well – what shall I do about all that?’
‘I am sure you’ll manage somehow.’
There was a silence; then: ‘You ought to lie down now.’
He settled me with such affectionate care that he accomplished the impossible and left me comforted and soothed; then, after a last look to see that I was cosy, he went slowly out. What a friend I had found in Terray!
Next morning Oudot took off my bandage: it was wonderful to be able to see everything. I noted that the weather was fine, and I asked the date: the last few days had been one long night.
‘Friday, June 9th,’ Ichac told me.
At the moment Lachenal was being made ready to go down to Base Camp. He would travel in a
cacolet
– an awkward and primitive contraption and I had never liked the look of it. Lachenal, on the contrary, who was accustomed to the thing and had himself carried many casualties down by this method, was perfectly ready to descend this way, though later on he was not quite so enthusiastic. Soon he started off with his Sherpas, escorted by Couzy and Noyelle: his legs dangled down most uncomfortably and made him groan. In the afternoon the Sherpas came up again followed by
Couzy
: the descent had taken two hours, and Rébuffat and Lachenal were none the worse for the journey.
While I rested the others made up the loads. The next day, before going off, Oudot examined me and his favourable impression was confirmed: the injections of acetylcholine, which had been abominably painful, had saved a part at least of my feet and hands. Ajeeba, Sarki, Phutharkay and Pandy the Chinee were going to take turns at carrying me in the
cacolet
. The route was well marked, there were no stones and the going was straightforward. But I was crushed up against the porter and horribly jolted at every step. I was afraid of falling and clung desperately to his neck with both arms though I tried to do all in my power not to hinder his movements. Whenever his step faltered I was perfectly aware of it. Several times both Ajeeba and Pandy slipped, and instinctively I tried to put my arm out, without realizing that it was useless. I was less anxious in the couloirs than on the steep rock slabs where the porter might fall, and I was afraid that my hands or my feet might knock against the rock.
‘Sarki …
Pay attention!
…
Pay attention!
…’ Again and again I repeated this cry; it became an entreaty. At the awkward pitches they helped each other: one placed the carrier’s feet in position, and another would push from behind to maintain his balance. After many difficulties we got over the rocky section and arrived in view of Base Camp.
It felt as if we had been all day on this journey, but in fact it was only two hours and a half, and there had not been the slightest hitch. It was now the turn of Base Camp to be the centre of an activity it had not hitherto known. Suddenly Ichac dashed into the tent where I had just been laid down and shouted:
‘The coolies! The coolies are here!’
17
In the Woods of Lete
THESE WILD-LOOKING
creatures, most of whom we recognized, arrived in small groups. By a miracle they had kept the rendezvous we had fixed with them a fortnight before, and Ichac was overjoyed. Soon he got the wireless going; it was just about time for the weather report. A bulletin, specially broadcast in English for us, warned us of the approach of the monsoon proper:
‘This is All India Radio, Delhi, calling on 60.48.
You will now hear a special weather bulletin for the French Expedition to Nepal:
Monsoon extending over all eastern Himalaya will be reaching your area by June 10th.
Q.F.F. Gorakhpur 980 millibars.
I repeat: you have just heard a special bulletin …’
So the storms of the last few days, which had added such hazards to our enterprise, were nothing but forerunners of this enormous disturbance which spreads over Asia at this season every year. The rains, which are torrential over the rest of India, become a solid deluge within a few hours of reaching the mountains. Tomorrow the skies would open and the floods would be upon us; but we heard the news calmly enough now that we were clear of the mountain.
A coolie handed a scrap of paper through the door of the tent: it was a note from Schatz, who had gone on ahead to discover an easier crossing of the Miristi Khola gorges than we had made on the way up, and who now wrote that the volume of water had doubled in a single afternoon. So it became urgent to get away from this valley, which might easily become a vast trap, and though we said nothing we were all thinking of what had happened on Nanda Devi.
As forecast, the weather was bad next morning and rain fell ceaselessly. The Sherpas broke camp with feverish haste. We had given them orders to distribute to the coolies, before leaving, all the
food
we were unable to take down with us. The porters pounced gleefully on the tins and tubes which Sarki and Angtharkay threw into the air by handfuls. Here was unlooked-for baksheesh! Oudot, on the contrary, was beginning to run short of essential medical supplies. Bad luck lent a hand, too, for the needles had been dropped, and the syringes broke as he struggled with my arteries, which were practically impossible to find.
The situation was serious; there were only two ampoules of acetylcholine left. Lachenal had had his two injections and my arms and right leg were done, and there we had to stop; but I was unmoved by this news, which so distressed the others. I lay there like a dying man, in a state of extreme nervous excitement, knowing that these sessions were a terrible strain on my general condition.
While the last loads were leaving the camp under Angtharkay’s supervision, Lachenal started down. After a few yards the coolies abandoned the stretcher and the sledge was tried, but with no success. Oudot sent for the
cacolet
.
‘We
must
get away at all costs,’ he said.
Before fixing him in it he gave Lachenal an injection of morphia. For me they found a wicker basket. The Sherpas hoisted me up and tucked my legs into a sleeping-bag covered by a
pied d’éléphant
. Everything was soaked. From the walls all round us came echoes of rumbling avalanches mingled with the continual noise of falling stones loosened by the rain. The porters’ naked feet sank into the soggy ground of the moraine on which they were walking, and we sent boulders flying down as we went. We were like the ragged remnant retreating in a disorderly rout from the scene of some catastrophe.