Meanwhile Norton had been stirring, and while I retired10 to “dress” he began to busy himself with preparations for our own breakfast. Tea of course was intended for us too, and further two tins of spaghetti had been 184reserved to give us the best possible start for the day. But one small thing had been forgotten. Those precious tins had lain all night in the snow; they should have been cuddled by human bodies, carefully nursed in the warmth of sleeping-bags. Now their contents were frozen stiff and beyond extraction even by an ice-axe12. Even so it might be supposed a little boiling water would put all to rights. Had a little sufficed I should omit to tell the doleful tale. Only very gradually were the outer surfaces thawed13, permitting the scarlet14 blocks (tomato sauce was an ingredient) to be transferred to another saucepan, where they had still to be thawed to homogeneous softness and afterwards heated to the point required for doing justice to the genius of Mr. Heinz. As the expenditure15 of treasured hot water merely for thawing17 spaghetti involved more melting of snow to water and boiling of water for indispensable tea, the kitchen-maid’s task was disagreeably protracted18; and the one among us, Norton, who most continuously and stubbornly played the man’s part of kitchen-maid, sitting upon the snow in the chill early morning became a great deal colder than anyone should be with a day’s mountaineering in front of him.
Of our nine porters it was presently discovered that five were mountain-sick in various degrees; only four were fit to come on and do a full day’s work carrying up our camp. The whole of our reserve was already exhausted19 before we had advanced a single step up the North Ridge20. 185But pessimism21 was not in the air this morning. We had won through our various delays and difficulties, we had eaten and enjoyed our wonderful breakfast, and after all we were able to make a start about 7.30 a.m. The reserve had already been of use; without it we should have been obliged to remain in camp, waiting for sick porters to recover, and counting our stores. Morshead, who by the testimony22 of good spirits seemed the fittest of us all, was set to lead the party; I followed with two porters, while Norton and Somervell shepherded the others on a separate rope. In a short half-hour we were on the North Col itself, the true white neck to the South of those strange blocks of ice, and looking up the North Ridge from its foot.
The general nature of what lay ahead of us can readily be appreciated from this point of view. To the right, as you look up, the great Northern slopes of Mount Everest above the main Rongbuk Glacier23 are slightly concave; the North-eastern facet24 to the left is also concave, but much more deeply, and especially more deeply in a section of about 1,500 feet above the North Col. Consequently the ground falls away more suddenly on that side below the ridge. The climber may either follow the crest26 itself or find a parallel way on the gently receding27 face to right of it. The best way for us, we soon saw, was not to follow the crest of snow or even the snow-slopes immediately to the right; for these were merged28 after a little interval29 in the vast sweep of broken rocks 186forming the North face of the mountain, and at the junction30 between snow and rocks was an edge of stones stretching upwards31 for perhaps 1,500 feet at a convenient angle. Loose stones that slip as he treads on them are an abomination to the climber’s feet and only less fatiguing32 than knee-deep sticky snow. We presently found those stones agreeably secure; enough snow lay among them to bind33 and freeze all to the slope; we were able to tread on firm, flat surfaces without the trouble of kicking our feet into snow; no sort of ground could have taken us more easily up the mountain. The morning, too, was calm and fine. Though it can hardly be said that we enjoyed the exercise of going up Mount Everest, we were certainly able to enjoy the sensation so long as our progress was satisfactory. But the air remained perceptibly colder than we could have wished; the sun had less than its usual power; and in the breeze which sprang up on our side, blowing across the ridge from the right, we recognized an enemy, “the old wind in the old anger,” the devastating34 wind of Tibet. The wolf had come in lamb’s clothes. But we were not deceived. Remembering bitter experiences down in the plains now 10,000 feet below us, we expected little mercy here, we only hoped for a period of respite35; so long as this gentle mood should last we could proceed happily enough until we should be obliged to fight our way up.
We had risen about 1,200 feet when we stopped to put on the spare warm clothes which we carried against 187such a contingency36 as this. For my part, I added a light shetland “woolly” and a thin silk shirt to what I was wearing before under my closely woven cotton coat. As this outer garment, with knickers to match, was practically windproof, and a silk shirt too is a further protection against wind, with these two extra layers I feared no cold we were likely to meet. Morshead, if I remember right, troubled himself no more at this time than to wrap a woollen scarf round his neck, and he and I were ready and impatient to get off before the rest. Norton was sitting a little way below with his rucksack poised37 on his lap. In gathering38 up our rope so as to have it free when we should move on I must have communicated to the other rope some small jerk—sufficient, at all events, to upset the balance of Norton’s rucksack. He was unprepared, made a desperate grab, and missed it. Slowly the round, soft thing gathered momentum39 from its rotation40, the first little leaps down from one ledge41 to another grew to excited and magnificent bounds, and the precious burden vanished from sight. For a little interval, while we still imagined its fearful progress until it should rest for who knows how long on the snow at the head of the Rongbuk Glacier, no one spoke42. “My rucksack gone down the kudh!” Norton exclaimed with simple regret. I made a mental note that my warm pyjama-legs which he had borrowed were inside it, so if I were to blame I had a share in the loss. A number of offers in woollen garments for the night were soon made to Norton; after which 188we began to explain what each had brought for comfort’s sake, and I wondered whether my companions’ system of selection resembled mine;—as I never can resolve in cold blood to leave anything behind, when each article presents itself as just the one I may particularly want, I pack them all into a rucksack and then pull out this and that more or less at random43 until the load is not greater than I can conveniently carry; even so I almost invariably find that I have more clothing in reserve than I actually use.
However, we had no time to spare for discussing the dispensation of absolute justice between the various claims of affection and utility among a man’s equipment. We were soon plodding44 upwards again, and had we been inclined to tarry the bite of the keen air would have hurried us along. The respite granted us was short enough. The sun disappeared behind a veil of high clouds; and before long grey tones to match the sky replaced the varied45 brightness of snow and rocks, and soon now we were struggling to keep our breath and leaning our bodies against a heavy wind. We had not the experience to reckon exactly the dangers associated with these conditions. We could only look to our senses for warning, and their warning soon became obvious enough. Fingertips and toes and ears all began to testify to the cold. By continuing on the windward flank of the ridge just where we were most exposed we should incur46 a heavy risk of frostbite and the whole party might be put out of 189action. It was clear that something must be done, and without delay. The best chance was to change our direction. Very likely we should find less wind, as is often the case, on the crest itself, and in any case we must reach shelter on the leeward47 side at the earliest possible moment.
While Morshead stopped, at last submitting so far as to put on a sledging48 suit, which is reputed to be the best possible protection, I went ahead, abandoned the rocks, and steered49 a slanting50 course over the snow to the left. Unlike the softer substance we had met in the region of the North Col, the surface here was hard; on this smooth slope the blown snow can find no lodgment, cannot stay to be gathered into drifts, and the little that falls there is swept clean away. The angle soon became steeper, and we must have steps to tread in. A strong kick was required to make the smallest impression in the snow. It was just the place where we could best be served by crampons and be helped up by their long steel points without troubling ourselves at all about steps. Crampons of course had been provided among our equipment, and the question of taking them with us above Camp IV had been considered. We had decided not to bring them: we sorely needed them now. And yet we had been right to leave them behind; for with their straps52 binding53 tightly round our boots we should not have had the smallest chance of preserving our toes from frostbite. The only way was to set to work and cut steps. The 190proper manner of cutting one in such a substance as this is to take but one strong blow, tearing out enough snow to allow the foot to finish the work as it treads in the hole. Such a practice is not beyond the strength and skill of an amateur in the Alps. But even if he can muster54 the power for this sort of blow at a great altitude, he will soon discover the inconvenience of repeating it frequently; he will be out of breath and panting and obliged to wait, so that no time has been gained after all. The alternative is to apply less force; three gentle strokes, as a rule, will be required for each step. To cut a staircase in this humble55 manner was by no means impossible, as was proved again on the descent, up to 25,000 feet. But the same rules and limitations determine this labour as every other up here. The work can be done and the worker will endure it provided sufficient time is allowed. It is haste that induces exhaustion56. On this occasion we were obliged to hurry; our object was to reach shelter as soon as possible. In a wind like that on a bare snow-slope a man must take his axe in both hands to meet the present need; future contingencies57 will be left to take care of themselves. The slope was never steep; the substance was not obdurate58; but when at length we lay on the rocks and out of the wind I computed59 our staircase to be 300 feet, and at least one of us was very tired.
I cannot say precisely60 how much time passed on this arduous61 section of our ascent62. It was now 11.30 a.m. The aneroid was showing 25,000 feet compared with a 191reading of 23,000 on the North Col; the rise of 2,000 feet had taken us in all 3? hours. For some reason Morshead had been delayed with two or three of the porters, and as the rest of us now sat waiting for them we began to discuss what should be done about fixing our camp. It had been our intention to reach 26,000 feet before pitching the tents. But it was evident that very few places would accommodate them. We had already seen enough to realise how steeply the rocks of this mountain dip towards the North, with the consequence that even where the ground is broken the ledges63 are likely to prove too steep for camping. We must pass the night somewhere on this leeward side, and we had little hopes of finding a place above us. However, at about our present level, well marked as the point of junction between snow and rocks, we had previously64 observed from Camp III some ground which appeared less uncompromising than the rest. A broken ledge offered a practicable line towards this same locality.
Whether the decision we came to at this crisis of our fortunes were right or wrong, I cannot tell, and I hardly want to know. I have no wish to excuse our judgment67. Who can tell what might have happened had we decided otherwise? And who can judge? Then why should I be at the pains to analyse the thoughts which influenced our decision? It is perhaps a futile68 inquiry69. Nevertheless it is such decisions that determine the fate of a mountaineering enterprise, and the operative motives70 or contending 192points of view may have an interest of their own. Among us there was deliberation often enough, but never contention71. There never was a dissentient voice to anything we resolved to do, partly, I suppose, because we had little choice in the matter, more because we were that sort of party. We had a single aim in common and regarded it from common ground. We had no leader within the full meaning of the word, no one in authority over the rest to command as captain. We all knew equally what was required to be done from first to last, and when the occasion arose for doing it one of us did it. Some one, if only to avoid delay in action, had to arrange the order in which the party or parties should proceed. I took this responsibility without waiting to be asked; the rest accepted my initiative, I suppose, because I used to talk so much about what had been done on the previous Expedition. In practice it amounted only to this, that I would say to my companions, “A, will you go first? B, will you go second?” and we roped up in the order indicated without palaver73. Apart from this I never attempted to inflict75 my own view on men who were at least as capable as I of judging what was best. Our proceedings76 in any crisis of our fortunes were informally democratic. They were so on the occasion from which I have so grievously digressed.
It must not be forgotten that we had just come through a trying ordeal77. Nothing is more demoralising than a severe wind, and it may be that our morale78 was affected79. 193But I don’t think we were demoralised, or not in any degree so as to affect our judgment. The impression I retain from that remote scene where we sat perched in discussion crowding under a bluff80 of rocks is of a party well pleased with their performance, rejoicing to be sheltered from the wind, and every one of them quite game to go higher. Perhaps the deciding influence was the weather. A mountaineer judges of the weather conditions almost by instinct; and apart from our experience of the wind, which had already been sufficiently81 menacing, we knew, so far as such things can be known, that the weather would get worse before it got better. But we could not imagine what might be coming without thinking definitely about the porters. It would be their lot, wherever our new camp was fixed82, to return this same day to Camp IV. It was no part of our design to risk even the extremities83 of their limbs, let alone their lives; apart from any consideration of ethics84 it would not be sensible; no one supposed that this attempt on Mount Everest would be the last of the season, even for ourselves, and if the porters who first completed this stage were to suffer nothing worse than severe frostbite the moral effect of that injury alone might be an irreparable disaster. The porters must be sent down before the weather grew worse, and the less they were exposed to the cold wind the better. It was 12.30 p.m. before the stragglers who had joined us had rested sufficiently to go on. To fix a camp 1,000 feet higher would probably require, granted reasonably good 194fortune in finding a site, another three hours; and if snow began to fall or the ridge were enveloped85 in mist it would be necessary to provide an escort for the porters. Had we supposed a place might be found anywhere above us within range on this lee-side of the ridge, we might conceivably have accepted these hard conditions and pushed on. Deliberately86 to choose a site on the ridge with such a wind blowing and in defiance87 of every threat in the sky was a folly88 not to be contemplated89, and our suppositions as to the lee side above us (they were afterwards proved correct) were all unfavourable to going higher. The plan of encamping somewhere near at hand, not lower than 25,000 feet, still left plenty to hope for this time besides building the best foundation for a second attempt. In my opinion no other alternative was sanely90 practicable; and I believe this conviction was shared by all when at length we left our niche91, having conceded so much already to the mountain.
As the broken ledges we now followed presented no special difficulties the party was able to explore more than one level in search of some place sufficiently flat and sufficiently commodious92. The nature of the ground and the presence of cloud, though we were never thickly enveloped, prevented any sort of extensive view. Many suggestions were mooted93 and rejected; a considerable time elapsed and still we had found no site that would serve. At about 2 p.m. Somervell and some porters shouted the news that one tent could be pitched in the 195place where they were. On the far side of a defined rib94 slanting up to the ridge we had left they had discovered some sort of a platform. It was evident that work would be required to extend and prepare it for the tent, and they at once set about building a supporting wall and levelling the ground. It remained to find a place near at hand for the other tent. We could see no obvious shelf, but the constructional works undertaken by Somervell seemed to contain such a promising65 idea that Norton and I in separate places each started works of our own. Each of us very soon reached the same conclusion, that nothing could be done where he was. We moved away and tried again; but always with the same result; the ground was everywhere too steep and too insecure. One soon tires of heaving up big stones when no useful end is served. Eventually coming together, we resolved to agree on the least unlikely site and make the best of it. We chose the foot of a long sloping slab95—at all events it was part of the mountain and would not budge96—and there built up the ground below it with some fine stones we found to hand. Our tent was pitched at last with one side of the floor lying along the foot of the sloping slab and the other half on the platform we had made. It was not a situation that promised for either of us a bountiful repose97, for one would be obliged to lie along the slope and the only check to his tendency to slip down would be the body of the other. However, there it was, a little tent making a gallant98 effort to hold itself proudly and well.
196Before we had concluded these operations the porters had been sent down about 3 p.m. and kitchen had been instituted, and a meal was already being prepared. Presumably because their single tent would have to accommodate the four of us (ours was too far away), when we set ourselves down to eat and be warm, Somervell and Morshead had arranged the kitchen outside it. Somervell had appointed himself chief in this department and it remained only for the rest of us to offer menial service. But so great had been his energy and perseverance99, sheltering the flame from the cold draught100 and by every device encouraging the snow to melt, that almost all such offers were rejected. Like a famous pretender, I would have gladly been a scullion, but I was allowed only to open one or two tins and fill up a pot with snow. I have no recollection of what we ate; I remember only a hot and stimulating101 drink, Brand’s essence or bovril or something of the sort. We did not linger long over this meal. We wanted to go to bed still warm. Norton and I soon left the others in possession of their tent and began to make our dispositions102 for the night.
To the civilised man who gets into bed after the customary routine, tucks himself in, lays his head on the pillow, and presently goes to sleep with no further worry, the dispositions in a climber’s tent may seem to be strangely intricate. In the first place, he has to arrange about his boots. He looks forward to the time when he will have to start next morning, if possible with warm feet and in 197boots not altogether frozen stiff. He may choose to go to bed in his boots, not altogether approving the practice, and resolving that the habit shall not be allowed to grow upon him. If his feet are already warm when he turns in, it may be that he can do no better; his feet will probably keep warm in the sleeping-bag if he wears his bed-socks over his boots, and he will not have to endure the pains of pulling on and wearing frozen boots in the morning. At this camp I adopted a different plan—to wear moccasins instead of boots during the night and keep them on until the last moment before starting. But if one takes his boots off, where is he to keep them warm? Climbing boots are not good to cuddle, and in any case there will be no room for them with two now inside a double sleeping-bag. My boots were happily accommodated in a rucksack and I put them under my head for a pillow. It is not often that one uses the head for warming things, and no one would suspect one of a hot head; nevertheless my boots were kept warm enough and were scarcely frozen in the morning.
It was all-important besides to make ourselves really comfortable, if we were to get to sleep, by making experiments in the disposition103 of limbs, adjusting the floor if possible and arranging one’s pillow at exactly the right level—which may be difficult, as the pillow should be high if one is to breathe easily at a great altitude. I had already found out exactly how to be comfortable before Norton was ready to share the accommodation. I remarked that in 198our double sleeping-bag I found ample room for myself but not much to spare. Norton’s entrance was a grievous disturbance104. It was doubtful for some time whether he would be able to enter; considering how long and slim he is, it is astonishing how much room he requires. We were so tightly pressed together that if either was to move a corresponding man?uvre was required of the other. I soon discovered, as the chief item of interest in the place where I lay, a certain boulder105 obstinately106 immovable and excruciatingly sharp which came up between my shoulder-blades. How under these circumstances we achieved sleep, and I believe that both of us were sometimes unconscious in a sort of light, intermittent107 slumber108, I cannot attempt to explain. Perhaps the fact that one was often breathless from the exhaustion of discomfort109, and was obliged to breathe deeply, helped one to sleep, as deep breathing often will. Perhaps the necessity of lying still because it was so difficult to move was good for us in the end. Norton’s case was worse than mine. One of his ears had been severely110 frostbitten on the way up; only one side was available to lie on; and yet the blessed sleep we sometimes sigh for in easy beds at home visited him too.
The party had suffered more than at first we realized from exposure in the wind on the way up. The damage to Norton’s ear was not all. I noticed when my hands got warm in bed that three finger-tips appeared to be badly bruised111; the symptom could only point to one conclusion, 199and I soon made out how they had come to be frostbitten. At the time when the step-cutting began I had been wearing a pair of lined leather gloves, motor-drivers’ gloves well suited to the occasion, and my hands had been so warm that I thought it safe to change the glove on my right hand for a woollen one with which it was easier to grasp the axe. But wool is not a good protection against wind, and in grasping the axe I must have partially112 stopped the circulation in these finger-tips. The injury, though not serious, was inconvenient113. And Morshead had felt the cold far more than I. It is still uncertain whether he had yet been frostbitten in toes and fingers, but though he made no complaint about them until much later I have little doubt they were already touched, if not severely frozen. At all events, he had been badly chilled on the way up; he was obliged to lie down when we reached our camp and was evidently unwell.
When all is said about our troubles and difficulties, the night, in spite of everything, was endurable. For distraction114 to pass the sleepless115 intervals116 engaging thoughts were not far to seek; we had still our plans for to-morrow; the climax117 was to come; and, might we not get so high by such a time? Then, might not the remaining hours be almost, even quite enough? Besides, we had accomplished118 something, and though the moments following achievement are occupied more often in looking forward than in looking back, we perhaps deliberately encouraged in ourselves a certain complacency on the present occasion; 200we were able to feel some little satisfaction in the mere16 existence of this camp, the two small tents perched there on the vast mountain-side of snow-bound rocks and actually higher, at 25,000 feet, than any climbing party had been before. “Hang it all!” we cooed, “it’s not so bad.”
The worst of it in dimly conscious moments was still the weather. The wind had dropped in the evening, as it often does, and nothing was to be deduced from that; but the hovering119 clouds had not cleared off and the night was too warm. I’m not meaning that we complained of the warmth; but for fine weather we must have a cold night, and it was no colder here than we had often known it at Camp III.[6] Occasionally stars were visible during the night; but they shone with a feeble, watery120 light, and in the early morning we were listening to the musical patter of fine, granular snow on the roofs of our tents. A thick mist had come up all about us, and the stones outside were white with a growing pall121 of fresh snow. We were greatly surprised under these conditions when, at about 6.30 a.m., a perceptible break appeared in the clouds to the East of us, the “weather quarter,” and this good sign developed so hopefully that we were soon encouraged to expect a fair day. It was even more surprising perhaps that some one among us very quickly discovered his conscience: “I suppose,” he said with a 201stifled yawn, in a tone that reminded one of Mr. Saltena rolling over in his costly122 bed, “it’s about time we were getting up.” No one dissented—how could one dissent72? “I suppose we ought to be getting up,” we grunted123 in turn, and slowly we began to draw ourselves out from the tight warmth of those friendly bags.
6. The thermometer confirmed our senses and showed a minimum reading for the night of 7° F.
I do not propose to emphasise124 the various agonies of an early-morning start or to catalogue all that may be found for fumbling125 fingers to do; but one incident is worth recording126. A second rucksack escaped us, slipping from the ledge where it was perched, and went bounding down the mountain. Its value, even Norton will agree, was greater than that of the first; it contained our provisions; our breakfast was inside it. From the moment of its elusion127 I gave it up for lost. What could stop its fatal career? What did stop it unless it were a miracle? Somehow or another it was hung up on a ledge 100 feet below. Morshead volunteered to go and get it. By slow degrees he dragged up the heavy load, and our precious stores were recovered intact.
At 8 a.m. we were ready to start and roped up, Norton first, followed by myself, Morshead and Somervell. This bald statement of fact may suggest a misleading picture; the reader may imagine the four of us like runners at the start of a race, greyhounds straining at the leash128, with nerves on the stretch and muscles aching for the moment when they can be suddenly tight in strong endeavour. It was not like that. I suppose we had all the same 202feelings in various degrees, and even our slight exertions129 about the camp had shown us something of our physical state. In spite of the occasional sleep of exhaustion it had been a long, restless night, scarcely less wearisome than the preceding day; we were tired no less than when we went to bed, and stiff from lying in cramped130 attitudes. I was clear about my own case. Struggling across with an awkward load from one tent to the other, I had been forced to put the question, Is it possible for me to go on? Judging from physical evidence, No; I hadn’t the power to lift my weight repeatedly step after step. And yet from experience I knew that I should go on for a time at all events; something would set the machinery131 going and somehow I should be able to keep it at work. And when the moment of starting came I felt some little stir of excitement. If we were not going to experience “the wild joy of living, the leaping from rock up to rock,” on the other hand this was not to be a sort of funeral procession. A certain keenness of anticipation132 is associated merely with tying on the rope. We tied it on now partly for convenience, so that no one would be obliged to carry it on his back, but no less for its moral effect: a roped party is more closely united; the separate wills of individuals are joined into a stronger common will. Our roping-up was the last act of preparation. We had “got ourselves ready,” lacing up our boots so as to be just tight enough but not too tight, disposing puttees so that they would not slip down, attending to one small 203thing or another about our clothing for warmth and comfort’s sake, possibly even tightening133 a buckle134 or doing up a button simply for neatness, and not forgetting to arrange the few things we wanted to take with us, some in rucksacks, some nearer to hand in pockets. Two of us, Norton and I, as Somervell’s photograph proves, appeared positively135 dainty; the word seems hardly applicable to Somervell himself: but at all events we were all ready; we felt ready; and when all these details of preparation culminated136 in tying on the rope we felt something more, derived137 from the many occasions in the past when readiness in mind and body contained the keen anticipation of strenuous138 delights.
How quickly the physical facts of our case asserted their importance! We had only moved upwards a few steps when Morshead stopped. “I think I won’t come with you any farther,” he said. “I know I should only keep you back.” Considering his condition on the previous day I had not supposed Morshead would get very much higher; but this morning he had so made light of his troubles, and worn so cheerful a countenance139, that we heard his statement now with surprise and anxiety. We understood very well the spirit of the remark; if Morshead said that, there could be no longer a question of his coming on, but we wondered whether one of us should not stay behind with him. However, he declared that he was not seriously unwell and was perfectly140 capable of looking after himself. Somervell’s judgment as a 204doctor confirmed him, and it was decided he should remain in camp while we three went on without him.
Mallory and Norton approaching their highest point, 26,985 ft.
Our first object was to regain141 the crest of the North ridge, not by retracing142 our steps to the point where we had left it yesterday, but slanting up to meet it perhaps 800 feet above us. Ascent is possible almost everywhere on these broken slopes; a steeper pitch can usually be avoided, and the more difficult feats143 of climbing need not be performed. In fact, the whole problem for the mountaineer is quite unlike that presented by the ridge of any great mountain in the Alps, which, if it is not definitely a snow ridge like that from the D?medu Gouter to the summit of Mont Blanc, will almost invariably present a sharper edge and a more broken crest. On the North ridge of Everest one has the sensations rather of climbing the face than the ridge of a mountain; and it is best thought of as a face-climb, for one is actually on the North face, though at the edge of it. I can think of no exact parallel in the Alps—the nearest perhaps would be the easier parts on the Hornli ridge of the Matterhorn, if we were to imagine the stones to be fewer, larger and more secure. Somervell’s photographs will convey more to the trained eye of a mountaineer than any words of mine, and it will readily be understood that there was no question for us of gymnastic struggles and strong arm-pulls, wedging ourselves in cracks and hanging on our finger-tips. We should soon have been turned back by difficulties of that sort. We could allow ourselves nothing 205in the nature of a violent struggle. We must avoid any hasty movement. It would have exhausted us at once to proceed by rushing up a few steps at a time. We wanted to hit off just that mean pace which we could keep up without rapidly losing our strength, to proceed evenly with balanced movements, saving effort, to keep our form, as oarsmen say, at the end of the race, remembering to step neatly144 and transfer the weight from one leg to the other by swinging the body rhythmically145 upwards. With the occasional help of the hands we were able to keep going for spells of twenty or thirty minutes before halting for three or four or five minutes to gather potential energy for pushing on again. Our whole power seemed to depend on the lungs. The air, such as it was, was inhaled146 through the mouth and expired again to some sort of tune66 in the unconscious mind, and the lungs beat time, as it were, for the feet. An effort of will was required not so much to induce any movement of the limbs as to set the lungs to work and keep them working. So long as they were working evenly and well the limbs would do their duty automatically, it seemed, as though actuated by a hidden spring. I remember one rather longer halt. In spite of all my care I found that one of my feet was painfully cold, and fearing frostbite I took off my boot. Norton rubbed my foot warm. I had been wearing four thick socks, and now put back on this foot only three. As it remained warm for the rest of the day I have no doubt that the boot was previously too tight. Once again I 206learned the futility147 of stopping the circulation by wearing one layer of wool too many.
It was our intention naturally in setting out this day to reach the summit of Mount Everest. Provided we were not stopped by a mountaineering difficulty, and that was unlikely, the fate of our Expedition would depend on the two factors, time and speed. Of course, we might become too exhausted to go farther before reaching our goal; but the consideration of speed really covers that case, for provided one were capable of moving his limbs at all he would presumably be able to crawl a few steps only so slowly that there would be no point in doing so. From the outset we were short of time; we should have started two hours earlier; the weather prevented us. The fresh snow was an encumbrance148, lying everywhere on the ledges from 4 inches to 8 inches deep; it must have made a difference, though not a large one. In any case, when we measured our rate of progress it was not satisfactory, at most 400 feet an hour, not counting halts, and diminishing a little as we went up. It became clear that if we could go no farther—and we couldn’t without exhausting ourselves at once—we should still at the best be struggling upwards after night had fallen again. We were prepared to leave it to braver men to climb Mount Everest by night.
By agreeing to this arithmetical computation we tacitly accepted defeat. And if we were not to reach the summit, what remained for us to do? None of us, 207I believe, cared much about any lower objective. We were not greatly interested then in the exact number of feet by which we should beat a record. It must be remembered that the mind is not easily interested under such conditions. The intelligence is gradually numbed149 as the supply of oxygen diminishes and the body comes nearer to exhaustion. Looking back on my own mental processes as we approached 27,000 feet, I can find no traces of insanity150, nothing completely illogical; within a small compass I was able to reason, no doubt very slowly. But my reasoning was concerned only with one idea; beyond its range I can recall no thought. The view, for instance—and as a rule I’m keen enough about the view—did not interest me; I was not “taking notice.” Wonderful as such an experience would be, I had not even the desire to look over the North-east ridge; I would have gladly got to the North-east shoulder as being the sort of place one ought to reach, but I had no strong desire to get there, and none at all for the wonder of being there. I dare say the others were more mentally alive than I; but when it came to deciding what we should do, we had no lively discussion. It seemed to me that we should get back to Morshead in time to take him down this same day to Camp IV. There was some sense in this idea, and many mountaineers may think we were right to make it a first consideration. But the alternative of sleeping a second night at our highest camp and returning next day to Camp III was never mentioned. It may have 208been that we shrank unconsciously from another night in such discomfort; whether the thought was avoided in this way, or simply was not born, our minds were not behaving as we would wish them to behave. The idea of reaching Camp IV with Morshead before dark, once it had been accepted, controlled us altogether. It was easy to calculate from our upward speed, supposing that we could treble this on the descent, at what time we ought to turn; we agreed to start down at 2.30 p.m., but we would maintain our rate of progress as best we could until that time approached.
At 2.15 we completed the ascent of a steeper pitch and found ourselves on the edge of an easier terrain151, where the mountain slopes back towards the North-east shoulder. It was an obvious place for a halt: we were in need of food; and we lay against the rocks to spend the remaining fifteen minutes before we should turn for the descent according to our bond. None of us was altogether “cooked”; we were not brought to a standstill because our limbs would carry us no farther. I should be very sorry to reach such a condition at this altitude; for one would not recover easily; and a man who cannot take care of himself on the descent will probably be the cause of disaster to his companions, who will have little enough strength remaining to help themselves and him. It is impossible to say how much farther we might have gone. In the light of subsequent events it would seem that the margin152 of strength to deal with an emergency was already 209small enough. I have little doubt that we could have struggled up perhaps in two hours more to the North-east shoulder, now little more than 400 feet above us. Whether we should then have been fit to conduct our descent in safety is another matter.
While we ate such food as we had with us, chiefly sugar in one form or another, chocolate, mintcake, or acid-drops, and best of all raisins153 and prunes154, we now had leisure to look about us. The summit of Everest, or what appeared to be the summit (I doubt if we saw the ultimate tip), lying back along the North-east ridge, was not impressive, and we were too near up under this ridge to add anything to former observations as to the nature of its obstacles. The view was necessarily restricted when Everest itself hid so much country. But it was a pleasure to look westwards across the broad North face and down it towards the Rongbuk Glacier; it was satisfactory to notice that the North Peak which, though perceptibly below us, had still held, so to speak, a place in our circle when we started in the morning, this same Changtse had now become a contemptible155 fellow beneath our notice. We saw his black plebeian156 head rising from the mists, mists that filled all the valleys, so that there was nothing in all the world as we looked from North-east to North-west but the great twins Gyachung Kang and Ch? Uyo; and even these, though they regarded us still from a station of equality, were actually inferior. The lesser157 of them is 26,000 feet, and we could 210clearly afford to despise him; the greater Ch? Uyo we had to regard respectfully before we could be sure; his triangulated height is 26,870, whereas our aneroid was reading only 26,800; it seemed that we were looking over his head, but such appearances are deceptive158, and we were glad to have the confirmation159 of the theodolite later proving that we had reached 26,985 feet—higher than Ch? Uyo by 100 feet and more.
The beneficent superiority with which we now regarded the whole world except Mount Everest no doubt helped us to swallow our luncheon—or was it dinner?—a difficult matter, for our tongues were hanging out after so much exercise of breathing. We had no chance of finding a trickle160 here as one often may in the blessed Alps; and medical opinion, which knew all about what was good for us, frowned upon the notion of alcoholic161 stimulant162 for a climber in distress163 at a high altitude. And so, very naturally, when one of us (Be of good cheer, my friend, I won’t give you away!) produced from his pocket a flask164 of Brandy—each of us took a little nip. I am glad to relate that the result was excellent; it is logically certain therefore that the Brandy contained no alcohol. The non-alcoholic Brandy, then, no doubt by reason of what it lacked, had an important spiritual effect; it gave us just the mental fillip which we required to pull ourselves together for the descent.
Summit of Mount Everest from the highest point of the first climb, 26,983 feet, 21st May, 1922.
Happily inspired by our “medical comfort,” I announced that I would take the lead. Norton and I changed 211places on the rope. I optimistically supposed that I should find an easier way down by a continuous snow-slope to the West of the ridge. Somervell, also moved by inspiration, suggested that he should remain behind to make a sketch165 and hurry down our tracks to catch us up later. He says that I found it difficult to understand that he would only require a few minutes, and that I replied irritably166. I can hardly believe that my tone just then was anything but suave167, but I have no doubt I was glad to have him with us to be our sheet-anchor, and particularly so a little later, for we were in difficulties almost at once. We found more snow on this new line, as I had supposed; but it was not to our liking168; it lay not on a continuous slope, but covering a series of slabs169 and only too ready to slide off. We were obliged to work back to the ridge itself and follow it down in our morning’s tracks.
At 4 p.m. we reached our camp, where Morshead was waiting. He was feeling perfectly well, he reported, and ready to come down with us to Camp IV. After collecting a few of our possessions which we did not wish to abandon to the uncertain future, we roped up once more to continue our descent. So far our pace going down had been highly satisfactory. In the Alps one usually expects to descend170 on easy ground twice as fast as one would go up. But we had divided our time of ascent by 4, and in an hour and a half had come down 2,000 feet. Under normal conditions at lower altitudes even this pace would be 212considered slow; it would not be an exceptionally fast pace for going up these slopes; and yet the image that stays in my memory is of a party coming down quite fast. It is evident that the whole standard of speed is altered. On the ascent, too, I had the sensation of moving about twice as fast as we actually were. I imagine that the whole of life was scaled down, as it were, that we were living both physically171 and mentally at half, or less than half, the normal rate. However that may be, we had now to descend only 2,000 feet to Camp IV, and with more than three hours’ daylight left we supposed we should have no difficulty in reaching our tents before dark.
Meditating172 after the event about the whole of our performance this day, I have often wondered how we should have appeared at various stages to an unfatigued and competent observer. No doubt he would have noted174 with some misgiving175 the gradually diminishing pace of the party as it crawled upwards; but he would have been satisfied, I think, that each man had control of his limbs and a sure balance, and as we were moving along together over ground where the rope will very easily be caught under the points of projecting rocks and thereby176 cause inconvenience and delay while it is unhitched, this observer, watching the rope, would have noticed that in fact it almost never was caught up. The party at all events were “keeping their form” to the extent of managing the rope as it ought to be managed. For a moment 213when they were in difficulties after turning back, he might have thought them rather shaky; but even here they were able to pull themselves together and proceed with proper attention and care. Whether he would have noticed any difference when they started off again I cannot say. A certain impetus179 of concentration, a gathering of mental and physical energy, a reserve called up from who knows where when they turned to face the descent, had perhaps spent its force; and though the party was a stage nearer to the end of the journey, it was also a stage nearer to exhaustion and to that state where carelessness so readily slips in unperceived. It may be supposed we were a degree less alert, all the more because we foresaw no difficulty; we had not exercised the imagination to figure difficulties on the descent, and we now came upon them unexpectedly.
The fresh snow fallen during the night had so altered appearances that we could not be certain, as we traversed back towards the ridge again, that we were exactly following the line by which we had approached our camp the day before. My impression is that we went too low and missed it. We were soon working along broken ground above a broad snow slope. Fresh snow had to be cleared away alike from protruding180 rocks where we wished to put our feet and from the old snow where we must cut steps. It was not a difficult place and yet not easy, as the slope below us was dangerous and yet not very steep, not steep enough to be really alarming or specially25 to 214warn the climber that a slip may be fatal. It was an occasion when the need for care and attention was greater than obviously appeared, just the sort to catch a tired party off their guard. Perhaps the steps were cut too hastily, or in one way and another were taking small risks that we would not usually take. The whole party would not necessarily have been in grave danger because one man lost his footing. But we were unprepared. When the third man slipped the last man was moving, and was at once pulled off his balance. The second in the party, though he must have checked these two, could not hold them. In a moment the three of them were slipping down and gathering speed on a slope where nothing would stop them until they reached the plateau of the East Rongbuk Glacier, 3,500 feet below. The leader for some reason had become anxious about the party a minute or two earlier, and though he too was moving when the slip occurred and could see nothing of what went on behind him, he was on the alert; warned now by unusual sounds that something was wrong, he at once struck the pick of his axe into the snow, and hitched177 the rope round the head of it. Standing181 securely his position was good, and while holding the rope in his right hand beyond the hitch178, he was able to press with the other on the shaft182 of the axe, his whole weight leaning towards the slope so as to hold the pick of the axe into the snow. Even so it would be almost impossible to check the combined momentum of three men at once. In ninety-nine 215cases out of a hundred either the belay will give or the rope will break. In the still moment of suspense183 before the matter must be put to the test nothing further could be done to prevent a disaster one way or the other. The rope suddenly tightened184 and tugged185 at the axe-head. It gave a little as it gripped the metal like a hawser186 on a bollard. The pick did not budge. Then the rope came taut187 between the moving figures, and the rope showed what it was worth. From one of the bodies which had slid and now was stopped proceeded an utterance188, not in the best taste, reproaching his fate, because he must now start going up hill again when he should have been descending189. The danger had passed. The weight of three men had not come upon the rope with a single jerk. The two lengths between the three as they slipped down were presumably not stretched tight, and the second man had been checked directly below the leader before the other two. Probably he also did something to check those below him, for he was partly held up by projecting rocks and almost at once recovered his footing. We were soon secure again on the mountain-side, and—not the least surprising fact—no one had been hurt.
I suppose we must all have felt rather shaken by an incident which came so near to being a catastrophe190. But a party will not necessarily be less competent or climb worse on that account. At all events we had received a warning and now proceeded with the utmost caution, moving one at a time over the snow-covered ledges. It 216was slow work. This little distance which with fair conditions could easily be traversed in a quarter of an hour must have taken us about five times as long. However, when we reached the ridge and again looked down the snow where we had come up the day before, though it was clear enough we must waste no time, we did not feel greatly pressed. Our old tracks were, of course, covered, and we looked about for a way to avoid this slope; but it seemed better to go down by the way we knew, and we were soon busy chipping steps. It was a grim necessity at this hour of the day. I felt one might almost have slipped down checking himself with the axe. We were distinctly tempted74. But after all, we were not playing with this mountain; it might be playing with us. There was a clear risk, and we were not compelled to accept it. We must keep on slowly cutting our steps. The long toil191 was shared among us until the slope eased off and we had nothing more to fear. We looked down to the North Col below us. No difficulty could stop our descent. We had still an hour of daylight. After all, with ordinary good fortune, we should be back in our tents before dark.
I had been aware for some time that Morshead, though he was going steadily192 and well, was more tired than the rest of us. His long halt at our high camp can have done him little good. He had not recovered. His strength had just served to keep him up where it was urgently necessary that he should preserve his balance; but it 217was now exhausted; he had quite come to the end of his resources, and at best he could move downwards193 a few steps at a time. It was difficult to see what could be done for him. There were places where we might sit down and rest, and we should be obliged not only to stop often for two or three minutes, but also to stay occasionally for perhaps ten minutes or a quarter of an hour. Anything like a longer halt must be avoided if possible, as the air was already cold, and an exhausted man would be particularly sensitive. Probably a longer rest would not have helped him, and we proceeded as best we could, so as to avoid delay as much as possible. One of us, and it was usually Norton, gave Morshead the support of his shoulder and an arm round his waist, while I went first, to pick out exactly the most convenient line, and Somervell was our rearguard in any steeper place. So we crawled down the mountain-side in the gathering darkness, until as I looked back from a few yards ahead my companions were distinguishable only as vague forms silhouetted194 against the snow. There were long hours before us yet, and they would be hours of darkness. Occasionally the flicker195 of lightning from distant clouds away to the West reminded us that the present calm might sometime be disturbed. Perhaps below on the col, or it might be sooner, the old unfriendly wind would meet us once again. For the present it was fortunate that the way was easy; the great thing was to keep on the snow, and we found that the edge of rocks by which we had come up, and where 218it was now so much more difficult to get along, could be avoided almost everywhere. With the same edge of stones to guide us, we could not miss our way, and were still stumbling on in the dark without a lantern when we reached the North Col. But we had a lantern with us, and a candle too, in Somervell’s rucksack, and we should now require a light. I was reminded once again of the most merciful circumstance, for the air was still so calm that even with matches of a Japanese brand, continually execrated196 among us, we had no difficulty in lighting197 our candle.
Two hundred yards, or little more in a direct line, now separated us from our tents, with the promise of safety, repose, and warmth in our soft eiderdown bags. Looking back, I never can make out how we came to spend so long in reaching them. We had but to go along the broken saddle of snow and ice where our tracks lay, and then drop down to our camp on the shelf. But the tracks were concealed198, and not to be found; crevasses199 lay under the snow waiting for us. With nothing to guide us, we must proceed cautiously, and once among the confusing shapes of white walls and terraces and monticules and corridors, it was the easiest thing in the world to lose our way. Somervell, who had covered the ground once each way more often than any of us, held the helm, so to speak, against a sea of conflicting opinions. Even he, now our leader, was not always right, and we had more than once to come back along our tracks and take a cast in 219another direction. To avoid the possible trouble or disaster of having two men at once in a crevasse200, we were obliged to keep our intervals on the ropes, so that Morshead had now to take care of himself. Perhaps the lower altitude had already begun to tell, for he was stronger now, and came along much better than was to be expected. At length we reached a recognisable landmark201, a cliff of ice about 15 feet high, where we had jumped down over a crevasse on our first visit here in order to avoid a disagreeable long step over another crevasse on an alternative route. I was very glad we had come this way rather than the other, for though, looking down at the dimly lit space of snow which was to receive us, I boggled a little at the idea of this leap, the landing-place was sure to be soft, and it would be easy not to miss it.
The First Climbing Party.
I think each of us was just a little relieved when he found himself safely down, and I dimly remember congratulating, not Morshead, but Longstaff. I had already transposed the names several times, and he now protested; but it made no difference, as I could remember no other. “Longstaff” became an idée fixe, and though the entity202 of Morshead remained unconfused—I did not, for instance, give him Longstaff’s beard—he was fixedly203 Longstaff until the following morning.
The agreeable change of finding ourselves together in that curious coign was hardly disturbed by Somervell’s remark, “We’re very near the end of our candle.” We felt we were all very near the end of our journey, for we had 220dimly made out from the higher level we had just quitted the neat rank of our tents still standing on the shelf below and ready to welcome us. We had only to find the rope which had been fixed on the steep slope below us and we should be at the end of our troubles. But the rope was deeply buried, and we searched in vain, dragging the snow with our picks along the edge of the fall. We were still searching when the last of our candle burnt out. In the end we must do without the rope, and began the abrupt204 descent tentatively, dubiously205, uncertain that we had hit off just the right place. The situation was decidedly disagreeable. Suddenly someone among us hitched up the rope from under the snow. It may be imagined we were not slow to grasp it. The blessed security of feeling the frozen but helpful thing firmly in our hands! We positively made some sort of a noise; unrecognisable, perhaps, it would have been to sober daylight beings who know how to produce the proper effect, but if a dim bat of the night were asked what this noise resembled, he might have indicated that distantly, but without mistake it was like a cheer. A few minutes more and then—then, at 11.30 p.m., and there on the good flat snow as we fumbled206 at the tent-doors, then and there at last we began to say, “Thank God.”
Had we known what was yet in store for us, or rather what was not in store, we might have waited a little longer for so emphatic207 an exclamation208. We were in need of food, and no solid food could be eaten until something had been done towards satisfying our thirst. It was not that one 221felt, at least I did not feel, a desire to drink; but the long effort of the lungs during the day in a rarefied atmosphere where evaporation209 is so rapid had deprived the body of moisture to such an extent that it was impossible to swallow, for instance, a ration11 biscuit. We must first melt snow and have water. But where were the cooking-pots? We searched the tents without finding a trace of them. Presumably the porters whom we had expected to find here had taken them down to Camp III in error. As we sat slowly unlacing our boots within the tents, it was impossible to believe in this last misfortune. We waited for a brainwave; but no way could be devised of melting the snow without a vessel210. Still supperless, we wriggled211 into our sleeping-bags. And then something happened in Norton’s head. In his visions of all that was succulent and juicy and fit to be swallowed with ease and pleasure there had suddenly appeared an ice-cream. It was this that he now proposed to us; we had the means at hand to make ice-creams, he said. A tin of strawberry jam was opened; frozen Ideal Milk was hacked212 out of another; these two ingredients were mixed with snow, and it only remained to eat the compound. To my companions this seemed an easy matter; their appetite for strawberry cream ice was hardly nice to watch. I too managed to swallow down a little before the deadly sickliness of the stuff disgusted me. My gratitude213 to Norton was afterwards cooled by disagreeable sensations. In the last drowsy214 moments before complete forgetfulness I was convulsed by shudderings which I was 222powerless to control; the muscles of my back seemed to be contracted with cramp51; and, short of breath, I was repeatedly obliged to raise myself on my elbows and start again that solemn exercise of deep-breathing as though the habit had become indispensable.
The last stage of our descent to Camp III had still to be accomplished on the following morning of May 22. I imagine that a fresh man with old tracks to help him might cover the distance from Camp IV in about an hour and a quarter. But no sign was left of our old tracks, and the snow was deeper here than higher up. Only in the harder substance below the fresh surface could new steps be cut wherever the slope was steep; and as we began to understand that the way would be long and toilsome, another thought occurred to us—our sleeping-bags at Camp IV would now be required at Camp III, and porters must be sent to fetch them. Our tracks, therefore, must be made safe for them. Half our labour was in hewing215 so fine a staircase that the porters would be able to go up and down unescorted without danger. The wearisome descent, which began at 6 a.m., continued far into the morning; the sun pierced the vapoury mists and the heat was immoderate now as the cold had been higher up. The fatigued173 party regarded the conventions until the first man reached the snow at the foot of the final ice-slope. There, so far as I could understand, the van became possessed216 of the idea that it would be more companionable for all to finish together. I found myself deliberately pulled from my steps and slid 223about 80 feet down the ice until the pick of my axe pulled me up at the foot of the slope. I could have borne the ignominy of my involuntary glissade had I not found Finch217 at the foot of the slope taking advantage of my situation with a kodak.
Frostbitten climber being helped down to Camp II.
The presence of Finch was easily explained. Reinforcements had arrived at Camp III in our absence, and the transport had worked with such wonderful speed that the oxygen cylinders218 were already in action. Finch, whom we had last heard of in bed with dysentery at the Base Camp, had shown such energy that he was now testing the oxygen apparatus219 with Wakefield and Geoffrey Bruce. They were bound for the North Col with a party of porters, so the return of our sleeping-bags was easily arranged. The lesser injustices220 of fate are hard to forgive, and we regretted labour that might have been left to others. However, Wakefield now took us in charge, and at noon we were at Camp III once more. Strutt and Morris had come out to meet us. Noel had stayed in camp, and, like a tormentor221 waiting for his disarmed222 victim, there we found the “movie” camera and him winding223 the handle.
However, our welcome in camp is a pleasing memory. The supply of tea was inexhaustible. Somervell confesses to having drunk seventeen mugfuls; he can hardly have been so moderate. Morshead probably needed to drink more than any of us; he ascribed his exhaustion on the mountain to want of liquid, and medical opinion was inclined to agree with the suggestion. However that may be, the 224night’s rest at a lower elevation224 had largely restored his strength, and Morshead arrived at Camp III no more fatigued to all appearances than the rest of us. But he bore the marks of his painful ordeal. His condition had made him a prey225 to the cold, and we only began to realise how badly he had been frostbitten as we sat in camp while Wakefield bound up the black swollen226 fingers.
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snugness
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zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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inquiries
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| n.调查( inquiry的名词复数 )；疑问；探究；打听 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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untie
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| vt.解开，松开；解放 | |
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somnolence
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| n.想睡，梦幻；欲寐；嗜睡；嗜眠 | |
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inertia
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| adj.惰性，惯性，懒惰，迟钝 | |
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prevailing
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| adj.盛行的；占优势的；主要的 | |
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brew
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| v.酿造，调制 | |
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retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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ration
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| n.定量(pl.)给养，口粮；vt.定量供应 | |
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axe
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| n.斧子；v.用斧头砍，削减 | |
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thawed
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| 解冻 | |
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scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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expenditure
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| n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出；使用，消耗 | |
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mere
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thawing
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| n.熔化，融化v.（气候）解冻( thaw的现在分词 )；（态度、感情等）缓和；（冰、雪及冷冻食物）溶化；软化 | |
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protracted
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| adj.拖延的；延长的v.拖延“protract”的过去式和过去分词 | |
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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21
pessimism
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| n.悲观者，悲观主义者，厌世者 | |
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22
testimony
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| n.证词；见证，证明 | |
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23
glacier
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| n.冰川，冰河 | |
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24
facet
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| n.(问题等的)一个方面；(多面体的)面 | |
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25
specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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26
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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27
receding
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| v.逐渐远离( recede的现在分词 )；向后倾斜；自原处后退或避开别人的注视；尤指问题 | |
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28
merged
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| （使）混合( merge的过去式和过去分词 )； 相融； 融入； 渐渐消失在某物中 | |
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29
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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30
junction
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| n.连接，接合；交叉点，接合处，枢纽站 | |
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31
upwards
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| adv.向上，在更高处...以上 | |
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32
fatiguing
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| a.使人劳累的 | |
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33
bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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34
devastating
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| adj.毁灭性的，令人震惊的，强有力的 | |
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35
respite
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| n.休息，中止，暂缓 | |
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36
contingency
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| n.意外事件，可能性 | |
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37
poised
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| a.摆好姿势不动的 | |
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38
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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39
momentum
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| n.动力，冲力，势头；动量 | |
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40
rotation
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| n.旋转；循环，轮流 | |
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41
ledge
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| n.壁架，架状突出物；岩架，岩礁 | |
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42
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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43
random
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| adj.随机的；任意的；n.偶然的(或随便的)行动 | |
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44
plodding
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| a.proceeding in a slow or dull way | |
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45
varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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46
incur
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| vt.招致，蒙受，遭遇 | |
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47
leeward
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| adj.背风的；下风的 | |
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48
sledging
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| v.乘雪橇( sledge的现在分词 )；用雪橇运载 | |
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49
steered
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| v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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50
slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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51
cramp
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| n.痉挛；[pl.](腹)绞痛；vt.限制，束缚 | |
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52
straps
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| n.带子( strap的名词复数 )；挎带；肩带；背带v.用皮带捆扎( strap的第三人称单数 )；用皮带抽打；包扎；给…打绷带 | |
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53
binding
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| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
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54
muster
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| v.集合，收集，鼓起，激起；n.集合，检阅，集合人员，点名册 | |
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55
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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56
exhaustion
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| n.耗尽枯竭，疲惫，筋疲力尽，竭尽，详尽无遗的论述 | |
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57
contingencies
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| n.偶然发生的事故，意外事故( contingency的名词复数 )；以备万一 | |
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58
obdurate
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| adj.固执的，顽固的 | |
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59
computed
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| adj.[医]计算的，使用计算机的v.计算，估算( compute的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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60
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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61
arduous
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| adj.艰苦的，费力的，陡峭的 | |
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62
ascent
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| n.(声望或地位)提高；上升，升高；登高 | |
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63
ledges
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| n.（墙壁，悬崖等）突出的狭长部分( ledge的名词复数 )；（平窄的）壁架；横档；（尤指）窗台 | |
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64
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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65
promising
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| adj.有希望的，有前途的 | |
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66
tune
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| n.调子；和谐，协调；v.调音，调节，调整 | |
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67
judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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68
futile
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| adj.无效的，无用的，无希望的 | |
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69
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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70
motives
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| n.动机，目的( motive的名词复数 ) | |
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71
contention
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| n.争论，争辩，论战；论点，主张 | |
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72
dissent
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| n./v.不同意，持异议 | |
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73
palaver
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| adj.壮丽堂皇的；n.废话，空话 | |
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74
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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75
inflict
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| vt.(on)把…强加给，使遭受，使承担 | |
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76
proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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77
ordeal
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| n.苦难经历，（尤指对品格、耐力的）严峻考验 | |
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78
morale
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| n.道德准则，士气，斗志 | |
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79
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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80
bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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81
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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82
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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83
extremities
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| n.端点( extremity的名词复数 )；尽头；手和足；极窘迫的境地 | |
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84
ethics
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| n.伦理学；伦理观，道德标准 | |
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85
enveloped
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| v.包围，笼罩，包住( envelop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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86
deliberately
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|
| adv.审慎地；蓄意地；故意地 | |
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87
defiance
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| n.挑战，挑衅，蔑视，违抗 | |
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88
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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89
contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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90
sanely
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| ad.神志清楚地 | |
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91
niche
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| n.壁龛；合适的职务(环境、位置等) | |
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92
commodious
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| adj.宽敞的；使用方便的 | |
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93
mooted
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|
| adj.未决定的，有争议的，有疑问的v.提出…供讨论( moot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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94
rib
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| n.肋骨，肋状物 | |
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95
slab
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| n.平板，厚的切片；v.切成厚板，以平板盖上 | |
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96
budge
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| v.移动一点儿；改变立场 | |
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97
repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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98
gallant
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| adj.英勇的，豪侠的；(向女人)献殷勤的 | |
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99
perseverance
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| n.坚持不懈，不屈不挠 | |
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100
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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101
stimulating
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| adj.有启发性的，能激发人思考的 | |
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102
dispositions
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| 安排( disposition的名词复数 )； 倾向； （财产、金钱的）处置； 气质 | |
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103
disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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104
disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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105
boulder
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| n.巨砾；卵石，圆石 | |
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106
obstinately
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| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
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107
intermittent
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| adj.间歇的，断断续续的 | |
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108
slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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109
discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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110
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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111
bruised
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| [医]青肿的，瘀紫的 | |
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112
partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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113
inconvenient
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| adj.不方便的，令人感到麻烦的 | |
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114
distraction
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| n.精神涣散，精神不集中，消遣，娱乐 | |
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115
sleepless
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| adj.不睡眠的，睡不著的，不休息的 | |
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116
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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117
climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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118
accomplished
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| adj.有才艺的；有造诣的；达到了的 | |
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119
hovering
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| 鸟( hover的现在分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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120
watery
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| adj.有水的，水汪汪的；湿的，湿润的 | |
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121
pall
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| v.覆盖，使平淡无味；n.柩衣，棺罩；棺材；帷幕 | |
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122
costly
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| adj.昂贵的，价值高的，豪华的 | |
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123
grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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124
emphasise
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| vt.加强...的语气，强调，着重 | |
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125
fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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126
recording
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| n.录音，记录 | |
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127
elusion
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| n.逃避，规避 | |
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128
leash
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| n.牵狗的皮带，束缚；v.用皮带系住 | |
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129
exertions
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| n.努力( exertion的名词复数 )；费力；（能力、权力等的）运用；行使 | |
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130
cramped
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| a.狭窄的 | |
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131
machinery
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| n.(总称)机械，机器；机构 | |
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132
anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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133
tightening
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| 上紧，固定，紧密 | |
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134
buckle
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| n.扣子，带扣；v.把...扣住，由于压力而弯曲 | |
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135
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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136
culminated
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| v.达到极点( culminate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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137
derived
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| vi.起源；由来；衍生；导出v.得到( derive的过去式和过去分词 )；（从…中）得到获得；源于；（从…中）提取 | |
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138
strenuous
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| adj.奋发的，使劲的；紧张的；热烈的，狂热的 | |
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139
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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140
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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141
regain
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| vt.重新获得，收复，恢复 | |
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142
retracing
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| v.折回( retrace的现在分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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143
feats
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| 功绩，伟业，技艺( feat的名词复数 ) | |
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144
neatly
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| adv.整洁地，干净地，灵巧地，熟练地 | |
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145
rhythmically
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| adv.有节奏地 | |
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146
inhaled
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| v.吸入( inhale的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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147
futility
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| n.无用 | |
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148
encumbrance
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| n.妨碍物，累赘 | |
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149
numbed
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| v.使麻木，使麻痹( numb的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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150
insanity
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| n.疯狂，精神错乱；极端的愚蠢，荒唐 | |
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151
terrain
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| n.地面，地形，地图 | |
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152
margin
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| n.页边空白；差额；余地，余裕；边，边缘 | |
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153
raisins
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| n.葡萄干( raisin的名词复数 ) | |
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154
prunes
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| n.西梅脯，西梅干( prune的名词复数 )v.修剪（树木等）( prune的第三人称单数 )；精简某事物，除去某事物多余的部分 | |
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155
contemptible
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| adj.可鄙的，可轻视的，卑劣的 | |
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156
plebeian
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| adj.粗俗的；平民的；n.平民；庶民 | |
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157
lesser
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| adj.次要的，较小的；adv.较小地，较少地 | |
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158
deceptive
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| adj.骗人的，造成假象的，靠不住的 | |
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159
confirmation
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| n.证实，确认，批准 | |
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160
trickle
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| vi.淌，滴，流出，慢慢移动，逐渐消散 | |
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161
alcoholic
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| adj.（含）酒精的，由酒精引起的；n.酗酒者 | |
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162
stimulant
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| n.刺激物，兴奋剂 | |
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163
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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164
flask
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| n.瓶，火药筒，砂箱 | |
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165
sketch
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| n.草图；梗概；素描；v.素描；概述 | |
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166
irritably
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| ad.易生气地 | |
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167
suave
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| adj.温和的；柔和的；文雅的 | |
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168
liking
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| n.爱好；嗜好；喜欢 | |
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169
slabs
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| n.厚板，平板，厚片( slab的名词复数 )；厚胶片 | |
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170
descend
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| vt./vi.传下来，下来，下降 | |
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171
physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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172
meditating
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| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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173
fatigued
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| adj. 疲乏的 | |
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174
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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175
misgiving
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕 | |
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176
thereby
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| adv.因此，从而 | |
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177
hitched
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| （免费）搭乘他人之车( hitch的过去式和过去分词 )； 搭便车； 攀上； 跃上 | |
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178
hitch
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| v.免费搭(车旅行)；系住；急提；n.故障；急拉 | |
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179
impetus
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| n.推动，促进，刺激；推动力 | |
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180
protruding
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| v.（使某物）伸出，（使某物）突出( protrude的现在分词 )；凸 | |
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181
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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182
shaft
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| n.(工具的)柄，杆状物 | |
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183
suspense
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| n.（对可能发生的事）紧张感，担心，挂虑 | |
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184
tightened
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| 收紧( tighten的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）变紧； （使）绷紧； 加紧 | |
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185
tugged
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| v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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186
hawser
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| n.大缆；大索 | |
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187
taut
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| adj.拉紧的，绷紧的，紧张的 | |
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188
utterance
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| n.用言语表达，话语，言语 | |
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189
descending
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| n. 下行 adj. 下降的 | |
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190
catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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191
toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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192
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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193
downwards
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| adj./adv.向下的（地），下行的（地） | |
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194
silhouetted
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| 显出轮廓的，显示影像的 | |
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195
flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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196
execrated
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| v.憎恶( execrate的过去式和过去分词 )；厌恶；诅咒；咒骂 | |
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197
lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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198
concealed
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| a.隐藏的，隐蔽的 | |
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199
crevasses
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| n.破口，崩溃处，裂缝( crevasse的名词复数 ) | |
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200
crevasse
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| n. 裂缝，破口；v.使有裂缝 | |
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201
landmark
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| n.陆标，划时代的事，地界标 | |
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202
entity
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| n.实体，独立存在体，实际存在物 | |
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203
fixedly
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| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
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204
abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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205
dubiously
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| adv.可疑地，怀疑地 | |
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206
fumbled
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| （笨拙地）摸索或处理（某事物）( fumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 乱摸，笨拙地弄； 使落下 | |
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207
emphatic
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| adj.强调的，着重的；无可置疑的，明显的 | |
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208
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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209
evaporation
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| n.蒸发，消失 | |
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210
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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211
wriggled
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的过去式和过去分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等） | |
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212
hacked
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| 生气 | |
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213
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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214
drowsy
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| adj.昏昏欲睡的，令人发困的 | |
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215
hewing
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| v.（用斧、刀等）砍、劈( hew的现在分词 )；砍成；劈出；开辟 | |
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216
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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217
finch
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| n.雀科鸣禽(如燕雀，金丝雀等) | |
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218
cylinders
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| n.圆筒( cylinder的名词复数 )；圆柱；汽缸；（尤指用作容器的）圆筒状物 | |
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219
apparatus
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| n.装置，器械；器具，设备 | |
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220
injustices
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| 不公平( injustice的名词复数 )； 非正义； 待…不公正； 冤枉 | |
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221
tormentor
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| n. 使苦痛之人, 使苦恼之物, 侧幕 =tormenter | |
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222
disarmed
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| v.裁军( disarm的过去式和过去分词 )；使息怒 | |
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223
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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224
elevation
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| n.高度；海拔；高地；上升；提高 | |
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225
prey
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| n.被掠食者，牺牲者，掠食；v.捕食，掠夺，折磨 | |
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226
swollen
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| adj.肿大的，水涨的；v.使变大，肿胀 | |
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