It was impossible to stay in bed with such thoughts, and by the middle of the morning I was sitting in the sun to write home my dismal tale. A hint from one of the coolies interrupted my meditations; I looked round and now saw, to my great surprise and unfeigned delight, the approaching figure of Major Morshead. I had long been hoping that he might be free to join us; and he arrived at the due moment to cheer my present solitude, to strengthen the party, and to help us when help was greatly needed. Moreover, he brought from Wollaston for my use a medical dope; stimulated by the unusual act of drug-taking, or possibly by the drug itself, I began to entertain a hope for the morrow, a feeling incommunicably faint but distinguishably a hope.
Meanwhile Bullock, though he had not started early, had got off soon enough in the morning to pitch his tents if all went well some hours before dark, and in all probability at least so far up as to be within view of the glacier snout. As the night was closing in a coolie was observed running down the last steep sandy slope to our camp. He brought a chit from Bullock: “I can see up the glacier ahead of me and it ends in another high pass. I shall get to the pass to-morrow morning if I can, and ought to see our glacier over it. But it looks, after all, as though the most unlikely solution is the right one and the glacier goes out into the Rongbuk Valley.”
Into the Rongbuk Valley! We had discussed the possibility. The glacier coming in there from the East remained unexplored. But even if we left out of account all that was suggested by the East arête of Changtse and other features of this country, there remained the unanswerable difficulty about the stream, the little stream which we had but just failed to cross in the afternoon of our first expedition. How could so little water drain so large an area of ice as must exist on this supposition?
In any case we were checked again. The mystery deepened. And though the interest might increase, the prospect of finding a way to Chang La, with the necessary margin of time before the end of the month, was still receding, and, whether or no the unexpected should turn out to be the truth, the present situation suggested the unpleasant complication of moving our base once more somewhere away to the North.
On the following day with the gathering energy of returning health I set forth with Morshead: we walked in a leisurely fashion up the valley rejected by Bullock and had the surprising good fortune of a clear sky until noon. I soon decided that we were looking up the glacier where we had looked down on the 7th, as Bullock too had decided on the previous day: at the head of it was a high snow col and beyond that the tip of Changtse. What lay between them? If a combe existed there, as presumably it did, the bed of it must be high: there could hardly be room, I thought, for a very big drop on the far side of the col. Might not this, after all, be a sufficiently good approach, a more convenient way perhaps than to mount the glacier from its foot, wherever that might be? The near col, so far as I could judge, should easily be reached from this side. Why not get to the col and find out what lay beyond it? The time had come to abandon our object of finding the foot of a glacier in order to follow it up; for we could more easily come to the head of it and if necessary follow it down.
I was sanguine about this new plan, which seemed to have good prospects of success and might obviate the difficulties and inconvenience of shifting the base (possibly again to the Rongbuk side, which I had no desire to revisit) and, as I still felt far from fit, I was in some hopes now that two more days would bring us to the end of our present labours. Bullock very readily agreed to the proposal. He brought no positive information from the col which he had reached, though he inclined to the idea that the water crossed at Harlung on our journey to Kharta, a moderate stream, but perhaps too clear, might provide the solution of our problem. A fresh bone was now thrown into our stew. A letter arrived from Howard-Bury with an enclosure from Wheeler, a sketch map of what he had seen more particularly East of the Rongbuk Glacier, on which the Eastern branch, with its Western exit, was clearly marked where we now know it to be. It was, unfortunately, a very rough map, professedly nothing more, and was notably wrong in some respects about which we had accurate knowledge. We were not yet convinced that the head of the East Rongbuk Glacier was really situated under the slopes of Everest, and not perhaps under the Eastern arm of Changtse. Still, we had some more pickings to digest. Our business was to reach the nearer pass, and I felt sure that once we had looked over it to the other side whatever doubts remained could be cleared up in subsequent discussion with Wheeler. Meanwhile, I hoped, we should have discovered one way to Chang La, and a sufficiently good one.
It took us in the sequel not two but four days to reach the pass which was ultimately known as Lhakpa La (Windy Gap). The story may serve as a fair illustration of the sort of difficulty with which we had to contend. It was arranged on the 15th that we should meet Bullock's coolies at the divide in the valley; they were bringing down his camp and we could all go on together: but our messenger succeeded in collecting only half their number and much delay was caused in waiting for the others. From here we followed the Western stream, a stony and rather fatiguing walk of two hours or so (unladen) up to the end of the glacier, and then followed a moraine shelf on its left bank, I hoped we should find an easy way round to the obvious camping place we had previously observed from the Carpo-ri. But the shelf ended abruptly on steep stony slopes, clouds obscured our view, and after our misfortunes in the morning we were now short of time, so that it was necessary to stay where we were for the night. A thick layer of mist was still lying along the valley when we woke, and we could see nothing, but were resolved, nevertheless, to reach the col if possible. We went up, for the best chance of a view, to the crest of the hill above us, and followed it to the summit (6.30 a.m.). The view was splendid, and I took some good photographs; but the drop on the far side was more serious than our hopes had suggested. We tried to make the best of things by contouring and eventually halted for breakfast on the edge of the glacier a long way North of the direct line at 8.45 a.m. Before we went on we were again enveloped in mist, and after stumbling across the glacier in snow-shoes to the foot of an icefall, we turned back at 11 a.m. By that time we were a tired party and could not have reached the col; and even had we reached it, we should have seen nothing. Still we felt when we found our tents again that with all we had seen the day had not been lost, and we determined, before renewing our attempt on Lhakpa La, to push on the camp. There was still time to send a message down to the Sirdar so as to get up more coolies and supplies and move forward next day. From this higher camp we hoped that the col might be reached at an early hour, and in that case it would be possible for a party to cross it and descend the glacier on the other side.
The first coolies who came up in the morning brought a message from the Sirdar to the effect that supplies were short and he could send none up. The rations were calculated to last for another three days, but their distribution had been muddled. However, enough was subsequently sent up to carry us over into the next day, though it was necessary of course to abandon our project of a more distant reconnaissance. Our camp was happily established in the usual snowstorm. The weather, in fact, was not treating us kindly. Snow was falling in these days for about eight to ten hours on the average and we were relieved at last to see a fine morning.
On August 18, with the low moon near setting, the three of us with one coolie set forth on the most critical expedition of our whole reconnaissance. Failure on this day must involve us in a lamentable delay before the party could again be brought up for the attack; at the earliest we should be able to renew the attempt four days later, and if in the end the way were not established here the whole prospect of the assault in September would be in jeopardy. We scaled the little cliff on to the glacier that morning with the full consciousness that one way or another it was an imperative necessity to reach the col. The first few steps on the glacier showed us what to expect; we sank in to our knees. The remedy was, of course, to put on rackets—which indeed are no great encumbrance, but a growing burden on a long march and on steep slopes most difficult to manage. We wore them for the rest of the day whenever we were walking on snow. About dawn the light became difficult; a thin floating mist confused the snow surfaces; ascents and descents were equally indistinguishable, so that the errant foot might unexpectedly hit the slope too soon or equally plunge down with sudden violence to unexpected depths. Crevasses forced, or seemed to force, us away to the right and over to the rocks of the left bank. We were faced with one of those critical decisions which determine success or failure. It seemed best to climb the rocks and avoid complications in the icefall. There was an easy way through on our left which we afterwards used; but perhaps we did well; ours was a certain way though long, and we had enough trudging that day; the rocks, though covered with snow to a depth of several inches, were not difficult, and a long traverse brought us back to the glacier at about 8.30 a.m.
Our greatest enemy as we went on was not, after all, the deep powdery snow. The racket sank slightly below the surface and carried a little snow each step as one lifted it; the work was arduous for the first man. But at a slow pace it was possible to plod on without undue exhaustion. The heat was a different matter. In the glacier-furnace the thin mist became steam, it enveloped us with a clinging garment from which no escape was possible, and far from being protected by it from the sun's fierce heat, we seemed to be scorched all the more because of it. The atmosphere was enervating to the last degree; to halt even for a few minutes was to be almost overwhelmed by inertia, so difficult it seemed, once the machinery had stopped and lost momentum, to heave it into motion again. And yet we must go on in one direction or the other or else succumb to sheer lassitude and overpowering drowsiness. The final slopes, about 700 feet at a fairly steep angle, undoubtedly called for greater efforts than any hitherto required of us.