The Ascent of Rum Doodle

by W E Bowman

  We moved off early. Our wet boots froze immediately; short of a rise in temperature, nothing but an amputation could have separated us from them. We fell all over the place and sometimes went to sleep where we lay. So Lo and Lo Too kept saving our lives; but at last they seemed to get tired of it, for they threw us on top of their loads and carried us for the rest of the day.

  At 27,000 feet we cast about once more for Camp 1, and again, in spite of radioed instructions, we failed to find it. In desperation we decided to make for Advanced Base. We reached it in the late afternoon as exhausted as two men could possibly be.

  Our first job was to thaw off our boots. This we did by putting our feet in a bucket of melted snow which we then boiled over a pressure stove. Luckily, spare boots were available. We then put a short call through to Camp 1 and went straight to bed, refusing food and drink.

  *

  Next day we were somewhat recovered. Under normal circumstances we should have taken a long rest, but since this would mean remaining at Pong’s mercy it was not to be thought of. During the night we had crept into the mess tent and snatched a little food. Fortified by this we were able to deny ourselves breakfast, and we set off for Camp 1 shortly after sunrise. We made no attempt this time to leave Pong behind. He had by now demoralized us completely; even to refuse a meal was an act requiring the combined moral courage of both of us.

  We had been somewhat cheered to learn that Shute, Jungle and Wish had already started for Camp 2. Burley, now alone at Camp 1, had unfortunately passed the peak of his acclimatization and had deteriorated during the previous day. He thought it advisable to stay behind and recuperate.

  The day’s climb was strenuous but uneventful. Neither Constant nor myself was fit for anything but a dogged trudge behind the porters. Ever since we had been above 20,000 feet I had been expecting the improvement in their disposition which Constant had promised. It never came. To the end they remained obedient and hard-working but completely independent and unapproachable. Constant said he could not understand this, but thought that perhaps they were not Yogistanis at all, but Rudistanis, who were a different kind of people altogether. He said he would look it up in his correspondence-course notes when he got back home.

  At 27,000 feet we made our usual search, with the usual result. To this day I am utterly unable to account for our repeated failure to locate Camp 1.

  Tired though we were, we had no alternative but to make for Camp 2. It was a pity to leave Burley alone at Camp 1, but I consoled myself with the thought that there would now be five of us to share the burden of Pong. Our combined wits might devise some method of circumventing him.

  So it was onwards and upwards again. Using the steps we had cut two days before we mounted quickly, and Camp 2 was reached without further incident.

  *

  Constant and I had been miserable for so long that it was almost with surprise that we found happy people at Camp 2. As we drew near, the strains of ‘Roll Out The Barrel’ charmed us like the Hosannas of the Blessed.

  We were welcomed with open arms and hearty back-slappings. We were punched and thumped. Our hair was ruffled. We were tripped and sat upon. Snow was put down our necks. Our bootlaces were tied together so that we fell flat on our faces.

  I had not seen my comrades so boisterous since the crevasse incident. I wondered what the cause might be.

  And then they saw Pong.

  I have never seen a mood change so suddenly. The heaviest depression descended upon us like a plague of Egypt. The three who, one short moment before, had been as gay as sandboys, shrank into melancholy like old men. They glowered at each other and snarled maledictions. They wrung their hands and shook their heads continually. They muttered. They slunk into their tents and cowered in the corners, biting their nails and drooling. They cried quietly when no one was looking.

  Coming on top of my long ordeal it was too much for me. I crept supperless into my sleeping-bag and sobbed myself to sleep.

  *

  I awoke next morning to find Constant sitting up in his sleeping-bag. His face was drawn.

  ‘They’ve gone!’ he said.

  ‘You mean?’ I gasped.

  He nodded.

  ‘Tell me,’ I pleaded.

  His whole frame quivered with a deep, searing sigh. His mouth opened and a long moan was forced through a tortured throat as he strained to tell the horror of it.

  ‘Betrayed!’ he groaned.

  ‘You mean?’ I said.

  He nodded.

  It was awful.

  Gradually, I soothed him; and as the friendly sun mounted in the heavens, warming our little tent, he gathered courage. Once, when the shadow of the prowling Pong fell across the tent roof, he screamed; but soon manhood reasserted itself and he was telling me his story in a voice whose gentleness was infinitely poignant.

  Jungle and Wish had crept away before dawn and fled up the mountain. Shute had left soon afterwards on his way back to Camp 1.

  *

  For the whole of that day we lay in our sleeping-bags, each facing the crisis in his own way. Towards evening, Constant spoke. ‘Tomorrow,’ he said, ‘I go down to Camp 1.’

  I nodded. It was inevitable. I turned over and slept.

  Next morning I awoke to find him gone. I was not surprised. I was not disappointed. I was hardly even interested. This was the end: the end of high endeavour, the end of comradeship, the end of dreams, the end of life itself. I stood on the brink of an infinite nothingness. Without a sigh, without a backward glance, resignedly, even thankfully, I stepped over the threshold.

  *

  Somebody was slapping my face in a most unpleasant manner. An impatient voice was saying: ‘Wake up, Binder, you silly fool!’

  I woke, opened my eyes, and looked around me.

  I was lying on my back on the snow, in full and blinding daylight. Shute was bending over me.

  ‘Where am I?’ I said.

  ‘Where do you think you are?’ he asked.

  I considered this for a while.

  ‘I thought I might be in heaven,’ I said.

  He roared with laughter. ‘I say, chaps: Binder thinks he’s in heaven!’

  More laughter. I looked around. Wish was there, and Jungle; and, seated on a box beside me, looking very weary, Constant.

  And behind them, peering down at me, were several porters, including So Lo, Lo Too and Pong.

  Then I saw the tents and began to get my bearings. It was Camp 2. Constant and I had just arrived from Advanced Base for the second time, finding the others in possession. I must have fallen asleep. The rest had been a dream.

  10

  Higher than Everest

  AFTER A MEAL which is better left undescribed we crowded into one small tent to discuss future plans. The question was: what were we to do about Pong? Several suggestions were made, but none was both practical and humane. Wish summed up in his precise way, saying that we must accept Pong as one of the hazards of the mountain and make our plans accordingly.

  Constant said that he and I had had Pong for four days and it was somebody else’s turn. Wish said that, in principle, he was entirely in agreement with this, but we must see how it worked out in practice. We must, he said, assume that when we split up, Pong would attach himself to the larger party in order to do the maximum amount of damage. But he could be thwarted in this by a simple stratagem. We were now five. In the morning, two would move off together to establish Camp 3, leaving three at Camp 2. Pong would naturally stay with these three. But shortly afterwards one of the three would leave, either for Camp 3 or to return to Camp 1. Again, Pong would stay with the majority. Later on, the remaining two would split, so that Pong’s sphere of influence would be reduced to one.

  ‘Isn’t that rather hard on the last man?’ I asked.

  ‘It’s only for a short while,’ Wish assured me. ‘We can change round later to suit circumstances. Is it agreed, then?’

  Constant and I glanced at each other doubtfully. But Shute and Jungle
said that it was a perfect scheme, and congratulated Wish on his masterly command of strategy.

  ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Now, it’s obvious that Binder and Applecart are in no condition to go up to Camp 3.’

  ‘Agreed,’ said Shute and Jungle.

  ‘In fact,’ Wish continued, ‘it is essential that they take a day’s rest.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Shute and Jungle.

  ‘So they must stay here with Pong.’

  ‘Nothing else will do,’ said Shute and Jungle.

  ‘And now for the others,’ said Wish. ‘I take it that you two don’t want to go together?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ said Shute and Jungle. I wondered why.

  ‘So I shall go to Camp 3 with one of you. Which is it to be?’

  ‘Jungle,’ said Shute.

  ‘Shute,’ said Jungle.

  ‘You’d better toss for it,’ Wish suggested.

  ‘Heads,’ said Shute.

  ‘It’s tails,’ said Jungle.’

  ‘Congratulations, old boy,’ said Shute. ‘You’ll be the first to go higher than Everest.’

  ‘But I won,’ said Jungle.

  ‘Well of course you did. The loser stays behind.’

  ‘But I thought it was the other way round.’

  ‘Why ever should it be?’ said Shute.

  ‘Well . . .’ said Jungle.

  ‘Of course,’ Shute went on, ‘if you think I’m trying to diddle you . . .’

  Jungle said nothing.

  ‘You don’t trust me.’

  Jungle hung his head.

  ‘After all I’ve done for you.’

  Jungle wriggled.

  ‘Very well,’ said Shute. ‘We’ll toss up again. Heads.’

  ‘Heads it is,’ said Jungle.

  ‘My choice,’ said Shute. ‘I didn’t like to mention it before, but I’m not feeling quite up to the mark. I daren’t risk letting the side down. I will go back to Camp 1.’

  Jungle looked a little bewildered. He withdrew from the conversation and sat for quite a long time with puckered brow, muttering to himself and counting off points on his fingers. From time to time he would open his mouth to speak, then think better of it. Finally, he gave a deep sigh and became quite still, staring at nothing like one who had given up all hope and was quietly waiting for death. I scented undercurrents, but I was too tired to investigate. Besides, I had other worries: how were Constant and I to endure another day at the mercy of Pong?

  I put the problem to Wish, and that master-strategist produced a workable plan. Someone must decoy Pong out of the cooking tent so that someone else could steal some food, which would be concealed in the sleeping-bags of Constant and myself. Tomorrow we would live on this store, telling Pong we required no meals. We would thus have a whole day to recover our digestion. Wish suggested that those travelling with Pong should take only the plainest food, upon which his black art would have the least effect.

  This was agreed upon. It was hard to forgo the dainties which we had looked forward to for so long, but it was better than having them reduced to the sickening messes which Constant and I had already endured.

  The raid on the larder was organized. Jungle was sent outside to hide behind a cliff; then Constant called Pong into our tent and engaged him in conversation. They had exchanged only a few gurgles when Pong moved his head as though listening to a faint sound. The next moment he rushed from the tent and we heard him bellowing as he ran towards his kitchen.

  We all hurried outside, to see Jungle flying down the mountain with Pong after him.

  Wish, quick-witted as ever, dashed into the kitchen and emerged with an armful of food of various kinds. He ran straight to our tent with it; and it was lucky he did so, for Pong abandoned the chase suddenly and hurried back to the kitchen, where he squatted in the doorway glowering at us.

  Jungle was now out of sight, and the general opinion was that we should never see him again. There was nothing else for it: a search-party must be organized. The porters were sent after him, while the rest of us stood by ready to defend him, with our lives if need be, against another attack.

  It was two hours before the search-party returned, Jungle being carried on the back of a small but sturdy porter. Pong made no move, and we went back to our tent in peace.

  Tired though I was I considered it my duty to acquaint myself with everything that had transpired since our last meeting at Advanced Base five days before. In his two days at Camp 1, Wish had melted thirteen hundredweight of ice and recalibrated his thermometers. Shute had run off two thousand feet of film and, had the lid not been accidentally knocked off his dark box, exposing the contents to daylight, some very fine sequences would have resulted. Jungle had swung his compasses higher than compasses had ever been swung before; those which survived were to be considered accurate within certain limits which he was unable to determine.

  We called Burley on the walkie-talkie and learned that he was still recuperating and did not consider it advisable to move from Camp 1 just yet.

  Finally, I asked if anybody had any unusual experiences to report. The response was most interesting. Both Wish and Shute had experienced high-altitude hallucinations. Wish had seen differential equations, test-tubes and Wimshurst machines, while Shute had been frightened by a vision of a camera obscura. Jungle had shown a tendency to wander when not roped to the others. He had also become convinced that he was being followed by a Prude. When asked what a Prude was he became confused. Wish said: ‘Nice going, Wanderer,’ as if Jungle were somehow responsible for the Prude, and they all burst out laughing. I must say the point, if any, of the joke escaped me; I daresay they were suffering from altitude hysteria.

  We turned in a happy and united party, and in spite of Pong’s supper I spent a reasonably comfortable night.

  *

  Next morning we were astir early. Jungle and Wish went off without breakfast, intending to stop for a meal as soon as they were out of sight of Pong. They took with them all the tasty food, leaving us only lentils and pemmican, which were considered to be the most Pong-proof of our supplies, being naturally unappetizing. Shute departed shortly afterwards with his one porter, leaving Constant and me with So Lo, Lo Too and Pong. We went back to our sleeping-bags, where we stayed all day, feeding ourselves on cold food and hiding the debris. In the early evening we had a call from Shute, who was safely back at Camp 1 with Burley. Burley, he said, had fully recuperated and considered himself reclimatized. He had, however, contracted sleeping-bag lassitude and did not feel justified in setting out just yet.

  Wish called shortly afterwards. He and Jungle had had a hard day, but they had reached the point where the ridge on which we were climbing merged with the face of the mountain, and had established Camp 3 at 31,000 feet. Fixed ropes had been left in the difficult places. He had seen some more differential equations and two filter funnels and heard three retorts. Jungle had shown a tendency to walk backwards.

  *

  We rose betimes the following morning. Our private store of food had given out and we were forced to breakfast on lentils and pemmican prepared by Pong. Constant took one mouthful and turned pale. ‘I’m sorry, old boy,’ he said. ‘I just can’t face it. I must go down to Camp 1.’

  This was sad news, but hardly surprising. We parted regretfully; we had been through much together. I told Constant that the manly way in which he had borne his sufferings had been a continual inspiration to me, and that I would treasure the memory of the six days we had spent together. Constant said that he, too, would not forget in a hurry.

  Constant took Lo Too, leaving me So Lo and Pong. I let So Lo take the lead, wishing to conserve my mental energies. I was on the look-out for altitude hallucinations and warples. Several times I thought I saw a warple, but it turned out to be a hallucination. Several times I thought I saw a hallucination, but it turned out to be a spot on my goggles. Once I thought I saw a spot on my goggles, but it turned out to be a warple which turned out to be a hallucination. To keep my st
omach-ache under control I had taken little breakfast, and was weak with hunger. I fed myself with dyspepsia tablets, which gave me a headache. I found by accident that licking the glacier-cream off my face gave my stomach some relief. Unfortunately, this resulted in both sunburn and a frozen tongue, and when I put my tongue back in my mouth to thaw it gave me toothache. I was also worried because most of my dream had come true. My four companions had dispersed exactly as they had done in the dream, which seemed sinister.

  All this interfered with the rhythm which is so essential to climbing at high altitudes. I decided to forget everything else and concentrate on the rhythm. I devised a little rhyme to keep step with my feet:

  Organ grinders, kings and queens

  Call for Binder’s Butter Beans.

  Three times daily, knave and noodle

  Eat them gaily on Rum Doodle.1

  This went round and round in my brain all day, and made such a nuisance of itself that it only added to my worries. I began to fear that I was about to lose control of my destiny.

  Luckily, we reached Camp 3 before this happened. Still in control of my destiny, I greeted Wish and Jungle, who were having a rest day. In anticipation of meeting Pong again they had already dined, and they managed to keep their stores out of his reach. I dined alone on lentils and pemmican.

  I was tired out, but happy in the thought that I should soon be relieved of Pong. But somehow it turned out quite differently. Using the anti-Pong strategy which, Wish said, had worked so well at Camp 2, Wish decided that one of us must go off alone in the morning, leaving Pong with the majority of two. Later, one of these would go, leaving Pong with the last man. Since I needed a rest, I must be that last man.

  Wish was very nice about it. He said I had his deepest sympathy. He said that, if anything, he was more upset about it than I was. He said that only the strictest sense of duty restrained him from insisting on taking Pong himself, whatever I might say. He said that he had never felt so acutely the conflict between personal desire and the welfare of the expedition. He said that I would understand.

  I said I did indeed, and felt his distress as deeply as he did himself. I begged him to put a brave face on it and let duty be its own reward. He thanked me and said that he would not forget my words. It was with a sense of deep humility that I wished him good-night and went to my lonely tent.