Survivor: The Autobiography (21 page)

I came down to the nose of ice which I myself had cut away with my axe on the ascent. I felt about with my legs – it was all hard. There was no snow beneath. I was not yet down. In panic I called up to the Sherpas:

‘Quick . . . Aila . . . Sarki . . . !’

They let my rope out more quickly and the friction on the fixed rope increased.

My hands were in a ghastly state. It felt as though all the flesh was being torn off. At last I was aware of something beneath my feet – the ledge. I had made it! I had to go along it now, always held by the rope; only three yards, but they were the trickiest of all. It was over. I collapsed, up to the waist in snow, and no longer conscious of time.

When I half-opened my eyes Rébuffat and the Sherpas were beside me, and I could distinctly see black dots moving about near the tents of Camp II. Sarki spoke to me, and pointed out two Sherpas coming up to meet us. They were still a long way off, but all the same it cheered me up.

I had to rouse myself; things were getting worse and worse. The frostbite seemed to be gaining ground – up to my calves and my elbows. Sarki put my glasses on for me again, although the weather had turned grey. He put one glove on as best he could; but my left hand was in such a frightful state that it made him sick to look at it, and he tried to hide it in my red scarf.

The fantastic descent continued and I was sure that every step would be my last. Through the swirling mist I sometimes caught glimpses of the two Sherpas coming up. They had already reached the base of the avalanche cone, and when, from the little platform I had just reached, I saw them stop there, it sapped all my courage.

Snow began to fall, and we now had to make a long traverse over very unsafe ground where it was difficult to safeguard anyone: then, fifty yards farther, we came to the avalanche cone. I recognised Phutharkay and Angdawa mounting rapidly towards us. Evidently they expected bad news, and Angdawa must have been thinking of his two brothers, Aila and Pansy. The former was with us all right – he could see him in the flesh – but what about Pansy? Even at this distance they started up a conversation, and by the time we reached them they knew everything. I heaved a deep sigh of relief. I felt now as if I had laid down a burden so heavy that I had nearly given way beneath it. Phutharkay was beside me, smiling affectionately. How can anyone call such people ‘primitive’, or say that the rigours of their existence take away all sense of pity? The Sherpas rushed towards me, put down their sacks, uncorked their flasks. Ah, just to drink a few mouthfuls! Nothing more. It had all been such a long time . . .

Phutharkay lowered his eyes to my hands and lifted them again, almost with embarrassment. With infinite sorrow, he whispered: ‘Poor Bara Sahib – Ah . . .’

These reinforcements gave me a fresh access of courage, and Camp II was near. Phutharkay supported me, and Angdawa safeguarded us both. Phutharkay was smaller than I, and I hung on round his neck and leant on his shoulders, gripping him close. This contact comforted me and his warmth gave me strength. I staggered down with little jerky steps, leaning more and more on Phutharkay. Would I ever have the strength to make it even with his help? Summoning what seemed my very last ounce of energy, I begged Phutharkay to give me yet more help. He took my glasses off and I could see better then. Just a few more steps – the very last . . .

My friends all rallied round – they took off my gloves and my cagoule and settled me into a tent already prepared to receive us. I found this simplification intensely comforting: I appreciated my new existence which, though it would be short-lived, was for the moment so easy and pleasant. In spite of the threatening weather the others were not long in arriving: Rébuffat was the first – his toes were frostbitten, which made it difficult for him to walk and he looked ghastly, with a trickle of blood from his lips, and signs of suffering writ large on his face. They undressed him, and put him in a tent to await treatment.

Lachenal was still a long way off. Blind, exhausted, with his frostbitten feet, how could he manage to follow such a rough and dangerous track? In fact, he got over the little crevasse by letting himself slide down on his bottom. Couzy caught up with him on his way down and, although desperately weary himself, gave him invaluable assistance.

Lionel Terray followed closely behind them, held on a rope by Schatz, who was still in fine fettle. The little group drew nearer to the camp. The first man to arrive was Terray, and Marcel Ichac went up towards the great cone to meet him. Terray’s appearance was pitiful. He was blind, and clung to Angtharkay as he walked. He had a huge beard and his face was distorted by pain into a dreadful grin. This ‘strong man’, this elemental force of nature who could barely drag himself along, cried out:

‘But I’m still all right. If I could see properly, I’d come down by myself.’

When he reached camp Oudot and Noyelle were aghast. Once so strong, he was now helpless and exhausted. His appearance moved them almost to tears.

Immediately after, Schatz and Couzy arrived, and then Lachenal, practically carried by two Sherpas. From a distance it looked as though he was pedalling along in the air, for he threw his legs out in front in a most disordered way. His head lolled backwards and was covered with a bandage. His features were lined with fatigue and spoke of suffering and sacrifice. He could not have gone on for another hour. Like myself, he had set a limit which had helped him to hold on until now. And yet Biscante, at such a moment, still had the spirit to say to Ichac:

‘Want to see how a Chamonix guide comes down from the Himalaya?’

Ichac’s only reply was to hold out to him a piece of sugar soaked in adrenalin.

It was painful to watch Terray groping for the tent six inches from his nose: he held both hands out in front of him feeling for obstacles. He was helped in, and he lay down; then Lachenal, too, was laid on an air mattress.

Everyone was now off the mountain and assembled at Camp II. But in what a state! It was Oudot’s turn to take the initiative, and he made a rapid tour of inspection. Faced with the appalling sight that we presented, his countenance reflected, now the consternation of the friend, now the surgeon’s impersonal severity.

He examined me first. My limbs were numb up to well beyond the ankles and wrists. My hands were in a frightful condition; there was practically no skin left, the little that remained was black, and long strips dangled down. My fingers were both swollen and distorted. My feet were scarcely any better: the entire soles were brown and violet, and completely without feeling. The arm which was hurting me, and which I was afraid might be broken, did not appear to be seriously injured, and my neck was all right.

I was anxious to have Oudot’s first impression.

‘What do you think of it all?’ I asked him, ready to hear the worst.

‘It’s pretty serious. You’ll probably lose part of your feet and hands. At present I can’t say more than that.’

‘Do you think you’ll be able to save something?’

‘Yes, I’m sure of it. I’ll do all I can.’

This was not encouraging, and I was convinced that my feet and hands would have to be amputated.

Oudot took my blood pressure and seemed rather concerned. There was no pressure in the right arm, and the needle did not respond at all on my left arm. On my legs the needle oscillated slightly, indicating a restricted flow of blood. After putting a dressing over my eyes to prevent the onset of ophthalmia; he said:

‘I’m going to see Lachenal. I’ll come back in a moment and give you some injections. I used them during the war and it’s the only treatment that’s any use with frostbite. See you presently.’

Lachenal’s condition was slightly less serious. His hands were not affected, and the black discolouration of his feet did not extend beyond the toes, but the sinister colour reappeared on his heels. He would very likely lose his toes, but that would probably not prevent him from climbing, and from continuing to practise his profession as a guide.

Rébuffat’s condition was much less serious. His feet were pink except for two small grey patches on his toes. Ichac massaged him with Dolpyo for two hours and this appeared to relieve him; his eyes were still painful, but that was only a matter of two or three days. Terray was unscathed: like Rébuffat he was suffering from ophthalmia – most painful, but only a temporary affliction. Couzy was very weak, and would have to be considered out of action. That was the balance sheet.

Night fell gradually. Oudot made his preparations, requisitioned Ichac and Schatz as nurses, and Camp II was turned into a hospital. In cold and discomfort, and to the accompaniment of continual avalanches, these men fought late into the night to save their friends. Armed with torches, they passed from tent to tent, bending over the wounded and giving them emergency treatment, at this minute camp, perched 20,000 feet up on the flanks of one of the highest mountains in the world.

Oudot made ready to give me arterial injections. The lamp shone feebly and in the semi-darkness Ichac sterilised the syringes as best he could with ether. Before starting operations, Oudot explained:

‘I am going to inject novocaine into your femoral and brachial arteries.’

As I could not see a thing with the bandage over my eyes, he touched with his finger the places where he would insert the needle: both groins and in the bends of my elbows.

‘It’s going to hurt. Perhaps I shan’t get the right place first shot. But in any case you mustn’t move, particularly when I have got into the artery.’

I was not at all reassured by these preparations; I had always had a horror of injections. But it would have to be done, it was the only thing possible.

‘Go ahead,’ I said to Oudot, ‘but warn me when you are going to stab.’

Anyhow, perhaps it would not hurt all that much in my present condition. I heard the murmur of voices – Oudot asking if something was ready, and Ichac answering: ‘Here you are. Got it?’

Oudot ran his fingers over my skin. I felt an acute pain in the groin and my legs began to tremble; I tried to control myself. He had to try again, for the artery rolled away from the needle. Another stab, and my whole body was seized with convulsions, I stiffened when I should have relaxed, and felt all my nerves in revolt.

‘Gently!’ I could not help myself.

Oudot began again: my blood was extremely thick and clotted in the needle.

‘Your blood is black – it’s like black pudding,’ he said in amazement.

‘That’s got it!’ This time he had succeeded in spite of my howls which, I knew very well, made the operation all the more difficult to perform. The needle was now in position:

‘Don’t move!’ Oudot shouted at me. Then to Ichac:

‘Hand it over!’

Ichac passed him the syringe; I felt the needle moving in my flesh and the liquid began to flow into the artery. I should never, until then, have believed so much pain to be possible. I tried to brace myself to the utmost to keep myself from trembling: it simply had to be successful! The liquid went on flowing in.

‘Can you feel any warmth?’ asked Oudot, brusquely, while he was changing the syringe. Again the liquid went in; I gritted my teeth.

‘Does it feel warm?’

Oudot was insistent – the point was evidently crucial; yet still I felt nothing. Several times the syringe was emptied, filled up, and emptied again:

‘Now, do you feel anything?’

‘I seem to feel a little warmth, but it’s not very definite.’

Was it auto-suggestion? The needle was withdrawn abruptly, and while Ichac sterilised the instruments. I had a few moments respite.

‘It’s excruciating, the way it hurts,’ I said, just as if Oudot needed telling!

‘Yes, I know, but we must go on.’

Oudot amputated the ends of all Herzog’s fingers and toes. Herzog never climbed again, but turned instead to politics, becoming the French Minister of Sport.

21 April
Very heavy rain has now set in and every appearance of its continuing. This is the heaviest rain I have seen since I left Victoria. The lake has risen four feet today, and the rivers are at a fearful height. Nothing to eat since a small snack this morning. There is nothing at all that we can find here eatable – no fern root, no spear-grass, no annis, or any vegetable whatever; nothing but stones, timber and water. I am certain we can get payable gold here if we can only get to work. It continued to rain at a fearful rate during the four following days, and flooded the lake and river, entirely precluding any work. Obtained just sufficient game to keep life in us, only after great hardships and difficulties.

26 April
Foggy morning; cleared up about 12; put our blankets out to dry. One of the boys started early this morning to look after some game, but returned without any. Have but about 4lbs oatmeal now, and are 80 miles from the Wakatip in a straight line, but it will take us twice 80 to get there. My two mates made up their minds to start back again the first fine day we get, but I do not fancy going back the same route. I have tried all I know to induce them to continue east with me, as we cannot be more than 30 miles from the west river running into Lake Hawea, which lies NE from the Wanaka Lake, and which I believe to be the centre of the golden line of country, as the farther we get eastward the better we find the gold, and it is not half the distance that it is to the Wakatip. They however refused, and I then said I should go alone, which I was afterwards sorry I did not do, as I believe we had got almost to the end of the chain of mountains which runs north to Jackson’s Bay from the Wakatip. If I had had a dog nothing should have prevented me from going alone, as I know it cannot be a worse road than we have had coming here.