The Ascent of Rum Doodle

by W E Bowman

  I was both impressed by his fortitude and touched by his consideration. It may have been due to his kindness that I felt homesick that morning. I told Burley about my family and friends and showed him some photographs when we halted. The dear fellow was quite gruff – one might almost have said rude. He, too, was evidently feeling the pull of home and found it difficult to hide his feelings. I put a friendly hand on his shoulder, and he gave a little snort. That snort told me more than words could have expressed. I suspected that his decision to accompany me had been wrung out of him by a desire for my companionship, and that he wished to say something to me but could not find the words. So I said to him, kindly: ‘Is there anything you want to tell me, old chap?’ He said: ‘Don’t be a bloody fool!’ which, I thought, was eloquent of the dear fellow’s state of mind.

  The rest of the day was a trudge up steps already cut in the steep ice. Fixed ropes had been put in the more difficult places, and we had little to do but mount steadily, maintaining the rhythm which is so necessary to high-altitude climbing. In spite of their heavy loads the porters showed no tendency to fall behind; they were doing splendidly.

  In the late afternoon we strode up the last gentle slope to Advanced Base. There was no sign of life, but as we drew near the sound of loud snores from the four tents told us that our companions and their porters were recuperating after their strenuous efforts of the previous day.

  We lost no time in pitching our tents, and soon Pong was busy over the pressure stoves. How he came to be at Advanced Base I was unable to decide; certainly I had had no intention of bringing him with me. I wondered, in one moment of ungallant suspicion, whether Prone had pushed him on to the end of our procession. It would have been an unBritish thing to do; but the temptation would be great, and a sick man might well be forgiven for yielding to it. I must say, in fairness to Prone, that he repudiates any such action. His theory is that Pong came along of his own initiative, being furious at the thought of losing so many victims.

  Be that as it may, the others, when they emerged from their tents at the cry of ‘Come and get it!’ were, in their turn, furious when they recognized the familiar handiwork, and I am obliged to record that hard words were said. My plea of innocence was met by a counter-charge of incompetence, and dinner, besides being, as usual, the day’s worst ordeal, was also the occasion of acrimony.

  It was clear to me that we were not yet acclimatized; and this was confirmed by the others. They had, they said, been completely worn out by the hard pace set by the porters in their step-cutting. They advised great caution in the employment of porters for this purpose; their brute strength and endurance was to be reckoned as one of the natural hazards of mountaineering in Yogistan.

  This was a serious matter. There can be no doubt that the Yogistani is a natural mountaineer. When he becomes sufficiently civilized and educated to climb mountains voluntarily he may well be unapproachable. But so long as the initiative and the organizational responsibility rest with his Sahibs his undoubted powers must be kept under control. To reach the summit of Rum Doodle a partnership of brain and brawn was necessary; the brawn was indispensable, but it must be subordinated to the direction of the brain. We agreed that in future the porters should be restrained from endangering the health and safety of the party.

  *

  Before turning in that night I walked out to a small prominence above the camp to survey the view. The view was breathtaking. To the left North Doodle towered above the little camp, inhospitable and awe-inspiring. To the right the great shoulder of Rum Doodle itself soared above me, bleak and dreadful in the evening light. Below, on the glacier, Base Camp was a group of dots. The glacier wound away into the distance, losing itself among a chaos of snow-capped peaks and pinnacles. To the east a wilderness of desolation, extended, peak after mighty peak, as far as the eye could see. It was breathtaking. Spires and pinnacles soared skyward in profusion, taking one’s breath away.

  Breathless, I returned to my tent, to find Burley already in his sleeping-bag and occupying three-quarters of the floor space. I wriggled into the remaining quarter as best I could, grateful for being no bigger than I am. Burley and I were together at last; I hoped that we would continue the confidences of the afternoon.

  We lay in silence for a while, then I suggested that Burley might like to tell me about his fiancée. He said why? and I thought I detected a reticence. I said that talking about family and friends drew men closer together. He said that since I put it like that he didn’t mind telling me; but it was not an easy thing to talk about and I would understand that he was not in the habit of chattering about it to any busybody.

  I said, of course, I quite understood, and would value his confidence all the more on that account. He told me that he had found his fiancée one Saturday afternoon behind the sideboard in his father’s dining room. She was slight and small and had a club-foot and a hare-lip and, consequently, a limp and a lisp. She was near-sighted and carried an ear-trumpet, being too nervous to use electrical equipment to aid her deafness. She was either colour-blind or had a bad memory for names. She was not very good-looking, but, as Burley said, one can’t have everything. She had been studying the structure of the sideboard on behalf of the local antiquarian society, but had unfortunately got stuck and had been there a fortnight when Burley found her, being either too timid to call for help or too weak to make herself heard. Burley had rescued her single-handed, and this had been the turning-point of his life. He had, he said, realized at last his boyhood dream of rescuing a maiden in distress, and felt bound to fall in love with her. This he had done. She had, he said, many admirable qualities, which were none the less admirable for being hidden from the casual view. He himself was not sure what they were, which, besides giving him a sense of mystery and adventure, was proof of their delicacy. The finer qualities, he said, are never the obvious ones.

  I said that I heartily agreed with him. I said also that I was touched by his story, which revealed a refinement which the unthinking would not think to find in one of his physique. I was moved to confess my affection for him and to express the hope that he and his fiancée would visit me at home.

  His answer was a loud snore. Poor fellow, he must have been worn out. I made myself as comfortable as I could in my restricted space and occupied a sleepless night meditating on many things and looking forward to tomorrow’s escape from Pong. Notwithstanding my discomfort it was one of the happiest nights I have ever spent. The expedition was going well; we were a united and happy party; the porters were splendid; I was with my friends. What more could a man want?

  8

  Advanced Base to Camp 2

  THE FOLLOWING DAY we regrouped. Wish had found some interesting ice which he wanted to boil, and stayed behind at Advanced Base with Burley, who was quite exhausted after his effort on the previous day and in no condition to go on. Constant and I were to escort the redundant porters back to Base Camp, returning next day. Jungle was to attempt to establish Camp 1 at 27,000 feet. Shute would follow Jungle after taking films of our various departures.

  Shute had been up since dawn working on his apparatus, but it was still not operational when Jungle set off, nor an hour later when Jungle set off again, having gone round in a circle the first time. I noticed that neither of them passed any comment on the other’s progress, and hoped that this was not a sign of altitude lassitude. But Jungle, when passing Shute the second time, made some remark about ‘just swinging the compass’, while Shute turned his handle as though taking shots. I hoped this did not indicate that they were trying to deceive each other; but I was too busy with my own affairs at the time to pay much attention. After getting ready Constant and I delayed our departure as long as we could, wishing to provide Shute with suitable material, but we were forced at last to set off unfilmed.

  We reached Base Camp without incident and found Prone anaemic but cheerful. I spent the evening writing up my log and darning socks, while Constant confirmed with the porters the arrangements for moving
the camp and assured me that these were thoroughly understood. It was with light hearts that we turned in for the night. Prone, with his usual unselfishness, refused to let me share his tent; he said that Constant and I, who would climb together, ought not to be parted. Constant was quite willing to let me go for one night, but I knew that Prone was right; Constant and I must lose no opportunity to learn more about each other. As it turned out, the only thing I was able to learn about Constant was that he was a good sleeper, for he dropped off as soon as I had settled down in my sleeping-bag.

  We rose early, and I sent off the following despatch: ‘North Wall conquered and reconnaissance of Rum Doodle begun. All well and happy and eager to come to grips with the mighty mountain which towers above us, daring us to set foot on her treacherous slopes. The team spirit remains first-rate and the porters are splendid.’

  We said a final farewell to Prone. It was a deep disappointment to him – as indeed to all of us – that he was unable to accompany us; and I wondered how his father would take the news of his incapacity. To his wife, no doubt, it would provide yet another means of tormenting the poor fellow. I did my best to cheer him up. I told him that the noble way in which he had borne his sufferings was a constant example and inspiration to us all, and especially to me, who knew his sad story. He patted me on the shoulder and said: ‘Yes, little man.’ He seemed quite pleased.

  We reached Advanced Base without incident. Constant fell into several crevasses, and myself into one or two, but we were hauled out by the porters, who were learning quickly how to use the rope. Their names were So Lo and Lo Too. They were short and sturdy. When not smoking stunk – which was seldom – they quarrelled, or so it appeared to me, and they took absolutely no notice of Constant and myself except when we gave them orders, which they carried out meticulously but without the least sign of interest. Constant said that since we were now above the 20,000-feet line their dispositions would improve rapidly. I watched carefully for any sign of this happening, for, to tell the truth, I was somewhat overawed by their independence and impenetrability. I knew that the East is inscrutable, but I had hardly expected it to be inscrutable to my face.

  We had reached a point some little distance up the first wall of ice, climbing by the steps we had used before, when Constant drew my attention to a small figure which was approaching us from the direction of Base Camp.

  There are occasions when life hits a man so hard that he feels incapable of controlling his own destiny; he is like an insect crushed beneath the foot of a giant.

  This was such an occasion for me, and I could see from Constant’s face that he was equally stricken.

  I dropped my eyes, hoping to forget what I had seen in his.

  ‘Can nothing be done?’ I whispered.

  He shook his head. ‘I’ll try; but it’s practically hopeless.’

  The small figure was climbing the steps. It was bowed almost double beneath an immense pile of kitchen utensils which clanked and rattled at every step. It ascended towards us like a figure from the nether regions, stopping finally a few yards below and turning towards us a flat nightmare of a face.

  Constant engaged it in a long and violent conversation, during which So Lo and Lo Too puffed away contentedly at their pipes, while I tried to regain control of my destiny by meditating on Totter’s Thoughts at High Altitudes.

  The wrangle came to an end at last, and Constant told me that he had been quite unable to persuade Pong to return; bribery, threats and deceit had all proved useless. Pong, he said, was evidently a man with a Purpose; short of throwing rocks at him, Constant could think of no possible way of turning him back. He had, however, told him that he should go no further than Advanced Base, where he would be needed to minister to anybody who might return from the mountain weak and helpless.

  I said that this was rather hard on the weak and helpless. Constant agreed, but said he saw no alternative.

  I thought for a while. The presence of Pong might endanger the whole expedition. Stomachs are delicate above 20,000 feet; specially attractive food had been incorporated in the high-altitude rations to tempt them. If Pong were to be let loose on the mountain health and hope might vanish. Was it not, perhaps, for Constant and myself to make the supreme sacrifice: to return to Base with Pong and suffer his ministrations in order to spare the rest of the team?

  It was a great deal to ask of oneself. In the end I decided against it. We were needed on the mountain; we could not leave the others unsupported.

  I slipped a dyspepsia tablet into my mouth and gave the word to advance.

  We reached Advanced Base safely. It was deserted. I buzzed the walkie-talkie and made contact with Wish. Everybody was at Camp 1. They would spend a day or two there to acclimatize before pushing on to Camp 2.

  This was satisfactory news. I told him to expect Constant and myself tomorrow and got him to describe the route. While he was speaking I distinctly heard the strains of ‘Oh, My Darling Clementine’ being sung in the background, and I wished myself with the happy party.

  I noticed afterwards that the medical supplies were missing and surmised that they had been taken to Camp 1. This puzzled me at the time. I gathered later that it had happened by mistake.

  Our meal that evening was hardly as unsavoury as I had feared it would be, being merely indigestible. But Constant said that this was probably because Pong was not yet used to high-altitude rations; in his opinion the worst was yet to come. As it was, we were both unable to sleep, and I took the opportunity to make a few kindly enquiries about Constant’s private life. I told him that it was not quite clear to me which of our party had fiancées and which had not, and I asked him if he had one. He said no. I asked him if his parents were still living. He said yes. I asked him if he had any brothers and sisters. He said yes. I told him I had three sisters. He said Oh.

  There was something wrong here; nobody with a sense of atmosphere could be unaware of it. I lay for a while wondering how I might make contact with him and thinking how lonely is the human spirit, especially in grief. I suspected that Constant’s taciturnity hid an aching heart.

  This is the sort of situation which a conscientious leader often meets and is possibly the one case when it is kinder to ignore the other’s feelings. Although it is difficult to speak of one’s troubles it is always a relief; it is generally a greater kindness to make a sufferer speak of his sufferings than to respect his superficial desire to suffer them in silence.

  The best way to invite a confidence is to give one. Guessing that Constant’s reluctance was associated with an unhappy love affair I related to him an experience of my own which, although it caused me pain at the time, was now over and done with. I hoped that this would encourage him with the hope that his pain, too, would pass.

  He made no comment on my story, so I remarked that such things happened to most of us.

  Again, there was no reply. But I became aware of a peculiar sound, and on looking at Constant I saw that he was curled up in his sleeping-bag, quivering.

  The poor fellow was sobbing!

  Deeply moved, I put my hand on his shoulder. The sobbing became more violent.

  ‘Tell me about it, old chap,’ I said.

  I thought he was going to lose control of himself altogether. But gradually the paroxysm passed. He turned over, and I saw that his cheeks were wet with tears.

  ‘Tell me,’ I said again.

  He hastily covered his face as a few last sobs were wrenched from him. Then he lay quite still.

  I could not help being aware that the atmosphere had changed, and I waited now in anticipation. I was not disappointed. He began to speak, slowly at first, hesitatingly; then with increasing fluency.

  As a boy Constant had been a circus addict, and his passion, though discouraged by his parents, had continued throughout his life, changing only to mature with increasing age. His happiest memories were all connected with the circus; its peculiar blending of personality, grandiloquence and fantasy appealed to some deeply rooted roma
ntic hunger. It was, he said, the same urge which dictated his choice of career. The people of the circus were to him more than ordinary people; they were at once his knights in armour, his fairies, his gnomes, his childhood princes and princesses. All his childish romances centred on the circus.

  And his first and only love had been a circus artiste.

  Her name was Stella. She performed with a troupe of seals. She was, said Constant, the loveliest creature in the world. Noblemen and princes worshipped her; but she was a simple girl at heart and would have none of them; she had vowed to marry a simple man and bear him simple children.

  They loved at first sight and were happy as only first lovers can be. He saw her every performance; she kissed her hand to him twice nightly with matinees on Wednesdays and Saturdays.

  There was but one flaw in the perfection of their private heaven. Travers, the chief male seal, took a dislike to Constant. Stella said it was jealousy. He barked whenever Constant approached her, and during performances he would come to the edge of the ring and pull faces at him, frightening the children. He began to refuse his food. The climax came when Stella walked on wearing Constant’s engagement ring for the first time. When he saw it Travers uttered a cry which tore the hearts of all present. He flung himself on the ground and buried his face in his flippers.

  Stella was heartbroken. She was greatly attached to her seals and felt their troubles as if they had been her children. She told Constant that she could not bear to hurt Travers any longer. She had, moreover, great faith in his judgment; his aversion to Constant might indicate some serious defect in character which was hidden to her. Unless he could make friends with the animal it must be all over between them.

  Constant vowed he would do it. It was an adventure after his own romantic heart. He sent to all corners of the sea for fishy delicacies and spent all his leisure at Travers’ tank, tempting him. But the poor animal remained unmoved. He would eat only from Stella’s hand, and little enough at that. He became as thin as an eel.