The Climb
Had it not been for the Great War, it is doubtful Dabney Henshaw and Victor Sotheby would have ever become friends. Although they both were born into the British upper class, these two young men had little in common. Victor was a conservative, scholarly man, educated at Oxford, who hoped to someday practice law and then go into politics. Dabney, on the other hand, was better at athletics than academics and preferred an active social life to one spent in a classroom or library. Given the differences in their personalities, the paths of these two men might never have crossed.
However, in August 1914, German forces attacked France through Belgium, and Great Britain declared war on Germany. Both men joined the Royal Garrison Artillery, and their friendship was forged in the trenches of the battlefields of France.
After the Armistice, many of the returning heroes found it difficult to readjust to civilian life. Victor found it particularly hard to concentrate on his studies. He hoped that if he gave himself time to fully recuperate from his war experiences, he could then go back to school and resume his education. However, after being home for more than two years, he had not made any progress in this goal.
"I was thinking of joining the Mount Everest Reconnaissance Expedition," he told his wife, Eliza, as the start of another school term neared.
"You want to climb a mountain?" she asked with astonishment. "Whatever for?"
"We're not necessarily going to climb Everest," he explained. "We're going to reconnoiter, to see if we can locate a route to the mountain through Tibet."
"I realize it hasn't been easy for you since the war, but going off on an expedition to the ends of the earth seems completely out of character for you."
"That's precisely why I want to do it. I need to step out of my day-to-day existence in order to get a clear perspective on my life."
"What about your time in France? That wasn't exactly part of your normal routine."
"It wasn't until after the war that I began to lose sight of my goals. Besides, I did some climbing when I was younger. Did you know I took on Pillar Rock in the Lake District?"
"Well, darling," Eliza said after giving the matter careful consideration, "the decision is yours. Do what you feel you must. Although I really don't see why if you have a desire to climb a mountain, you can't go up to Scotland and ascend Ben Nevis."
"Because Ben Nevis is a mere molehill compared to Everest," Victor replied with a boyishly handsome grin that never failed to melt Eliza's heart.
The 1921 expedition was a success in that it was responsible for producing the first accurate maps of the region. Victor found the experience so gratifying that he returned to the Himalayas the following year. During the 1922 expedition, climbers achieved a record altitude of over twenty-six thousand feet.
When he returned to England, Victor was still euphoric over his experience.
"You have no idea what it's like to be on that mountain!" he exclaimed to his wife when she met his ship at Dover.
"I imagine it would be extremely cold," Eliza replied drolly.
"Who cares about the cold? The feeling is positively God-like."
"Now that you've climbed Everest and gotten it out of your system, I expect you'll be returning to your studies."
Victor was suddenly overcome by guilt. In the nine years the couple had been married, he spent little time with his wife. Although his military service in France couldn't be helped, the war had been over for four years already. Instead of creating a life with Eliza, he had been in Tibet hiking up the side of a mountain.
"Of course, I will," he said unenthusiastically.
It was a promise Victor had every intention of keeping at the time.
* * *
Dabney Henshaw was travelling from Leeds to London when he decided to stop in Oxford and visit his old army friend. Unlike Victor, he had not been faced with making a difficult readjustment upon returning to England after the war. Although he was not married and did not work at a steady job, his life was much the same as it was before going off to France.
When Eliza answered the knock on her front door, she had no idea of the identity of the handsome stranger standing on her front steps.
"Hello," he said, with a warm, friendly grin. "You must be Eliza. You're just as pretty as Victor described you."
"You're an associate of my husband's?" she asked, still uncertain whether she should invite him inside or not.
"My name is Dabney Henshaw. Victor and I served in the army together."
"Oh, of course! Victor has spoken of you many times. Please come in."
"I'm sorry to show up unannounced. I was on my way to London when I saw a sign for Oxford, and I decided to stop and see what my old friend has been up to."
"Sit down and make yourself comfortable. I'll go tell my husband you're here."
A few minutes later, Victor came into the house from the back yard. Without hesitation, he walked up to Dabney and threw his arms around him.
"It's so good to see you!" he exclaimed.
"You'll stay for dinner, won't you?" Eliza asked.
"I don't want to be a bother."
"You won't be. I hope you don't mind steak and kidney pie."
"I don't mind it at all," Dabney replied.
"It's a fine sight better than the food we had in the army, hey what?"
After Eliza disappeared into the kitchen, the two old army buddies shared their memories of their time in France. They remembered with sadness the names of men who had not returned, who had fallen and were buried on foreign soil. Then the conversation shifted to those who had survived. Where were they now? What were they doing?
"Did you know that Heathcliff Edes decided to become a doctor?" Dabney asked.
"Really? I would have thought he'd seen enough blood and guts over there. Besides, he was always going on about wanting to work for Scotland Yard."
"Apparently he's changed his mind."
"I heard from Thurston Horseley about a month ago. Seems he's decided to move to the States. He wants to sell stocks and bonds or some such nonsense."
When Eliza announced that dinner was ready, the two men joined her at the dining room table. Not wanting to leave her out of the conversation, they decided to talk about something other than army life.
After hearing about Dabney's recent trip to Belfast, Eliza said, "Ask Victor about his adventures in Tibet."
Dabney's eyes widened with surprise.
"Tibet? What were you doing there?"
"I went on an expedition to Mount Everest," Victor replied.
"He nearly made it to the top," Eliza added.
"How short were you?"
"We had a little less than a thousand feet to go."
"Why did you stop?"
"Weather conditions."
"I assume you'll go back and complete the hike," Dabney said matter-of-factly.
Victor hung his head, not wanting his wife to see the look of discontent on his face.
"No. My mountain climbing days are over," he replied glumly.
"That's absurd! You made it so far. How can you not want to complete the climb?"
"I'm satisfied with making it as far as I did. No one's ever climbed to the top."
"That's just it. You'd be the first. You'd go down in history. If you don't make the attempt, you might regret it the rest of your life. Some day you'll be sitting here in Oxford or in London and you'll read in the news that some American chap climbed to the top of Mount Everest, and you'll say to yourself, 'That could have been me.'"
"It's not that important," Victor argued, although his two dinner companions could plainly tell he was lying.
"It's like Columbus turning back before he discovered America!"
"What about you?" Victor asked. "If you think it's such a big deal, why don't you try it?"
"I once did some climbing but nothing of that magnitude."
"You're young and physically fit."
"Fit enough for running around a cricket field, but for climbing Everest?"
"I think you should go," Eliza said, surprising her husband by the suggestion. "I think you both should."
"But I promised you ...."
"Don't you think I've noticed how you've been moping around here ever since you got back? Admit it. You've got your heart set on making it to the summit."
A guilty smile crossed Victor's face.
"Dabney's right. I would be the first."
"Then do it. After you've finally made it to the top of the world, maybe you'll be content to settle down here in England."
* * *
The members of the 1924 Mount Everest expedition were enjoying dinner at the Savoy Hotel on the eve of their departure. There was a good deal of merriment and a heightened sense of expectation.
"This time we'll make it to the top," Victor predicted.
"To the top of the summit!" Dabney cried and raised his glass in a toast.
"Here! Here!" came the optimistic response from around the table.
Each man in turn proposed a toast. One toasted to the hope of good weather. Another raised his glass to a swift and uneventful journey to Tibet. Still another toasted to His Majesty King George V, which was followed by a general chorus of "Long live the king and the British Empire!"
Redmond Coggins, who like Victor had signed up for a third expedition, lifted his glass and, slightly inebriated, said, "To not encountering any Yeti."
Glasses were dutifully raised in response.
"What, may I ask, is a Yeti?" Dabney inquired.
"The Yeti, more commonly known as the Abominable Snowman, is a huge, ape-like creature that has been known to wander the Himalayas."
"And you've encountered such a being before?"
"No, but back on the '21 expedition, Lieutenant-Colonel Charles Howard-Bury found large, mysterious footprints at about twenty-one thousand feet. One of our Sherpa guides claimed the tracks belonged to a 'Wild Man of the Snows.'"
"Are these creatures known to be dangerous?"
"I don't know, but I certainly wouldn't want to encounter one."
Dabney laughed good-naturedly, believing that as the newcomer to the group he was being made the butt of a joke. Not one to object to a little hazing, he raised his glass to propose another toast when Victor stayed his hand.
"I think we've had enough to drink for one night. We're going to embark on a long journey tomorrow. We ought to get some sleep."
"You're right," his friend concurred. "As it is, I'm going to have one hell of a headache in the morning!"
* * *
The expedition made it to Tibet without incident. Upon arriving in Darjeeling, they engaged Tibetan and Sherpa porters and purchased the necessary supplies. The men followed the same route as on the previous two expeditions, erecting pre-planned camps along the way. More than three months later, after several weather-related delays, the mountaineers were ready to make their ascent up the Northeast Ridge to the summit.
The climbers worked in pairs from their high camp at nearly twenty-seven thousand feet. After two unsuccessful attempts by their fellow mountaineers, it was Henshaw and Sotheby's turn.
"Are you sure there are no Yeti up there?" Dabney laughingly called to Redmond Coggins as he prepared for the climb.
"I didn't see any, but I heard there was a female one on the loose, so keep your eyes open."
"No worries. There's not a woman I can't handle."
After receiving well wishes from the remainder of the expedition, the two army friends shook hands and began to climb.
Coggins and several others watched their ascent until, at roughly eight hundred feet from the summit, their figures disappeared into the clouds.
Foot by foot the two continued to make steady progress. The weather was clear, not a sign of snow in sight. As they drew ever closer to the top, their minds wandered from their strenuous exertions to what might await them if they were successful.
Victor thought about returning to England where he would most likely write a book on his experiences. If he could convince his wife to join him, he might go on a lecture tour, not only across Great Britain and Ireland but all of Europe and possibly America as well. After what would be an achievement of a lifetime, he had no further desire to study law and run for Parliament.
Dabney, on the other hand, imagined himself as a celebrity. He would no doubt have his picture on the cover of National Geographic. After conquering Everest, there might be no limit to the social heights he could climb. He might be knighted and spend the rest of his life hobnobbing with royalty.
Neither man had anticipated that when Victor next swung his ice axe it would dislodge a small boulder and cause a minor slide. As the ground beneath him shifted, the climber lost his balance. He frantically sought a handhold in the rock, but there was none to be found. Victor fell, pulling Dabney, who was tethered to him with a rope, down the steep mountain. Victor landed on top of a cliff while Dabney swung from the rope beneath him.
With no hope of survival suspended in air as he was, Dabney took out his knife and cut the rope that held him to his friend. Once free, he fell and landed on his back with a mighty force that knocked the breath out of him. When he tried to move, he felt excruciating pain in both his legs and his back. His dream of becoming famous vanished in the reality of his dangerous predicament.
I'm going to die here on this mountain, he thought with certainty. That's life for you. I survived four years of hell during the Great War only to freeze to death on Mount Everest.
Consigned to his fate, he closed his eyes and waited for the end to come.
As he felt the icy numbness gradually overtake his body, he heard a sound of crunching snow.
Is that Victor? he wondered.
Dabney's spirits rose. If Victor was unharmed, there was hope he could save his friend. He turned his head and saw a figure approaching him.
Oh, God, no!
It wasn't Victor after all, nor was it any other member of the expedition. It wasn't even a human. At close to seven feet tall, the fur-covered creature was obviously what Coggins called a Yeti. As the Abominable Snowman came closer, Dabney prayed for a swift death. His mind filled with fear at the idea of being eaten alive by the ape-like monster. He squeezed his eyes closed as the Yeti leaned over him, bracing himself against the prospect of having a limb viciously torn out of his body.
The pain came, but it was from the creature lifting him and putting him onto his back.
Obviously, it doesn't want to eat me raw, Dabney thought, pessimistically believing his fate was going from bad to worse. It will probably take me back to its cave and roast me over an open fire.
Thankfully, he soon passed out from the pain. When he came to, he was still on the creature's back. They were headed for what appeared to be a fissure in the face of the mountain.
Oh, God, here it comes! Please let me pass out again so that I don't have to feel the flames sear my broken body.
It was surprisingly warm inside the narrow cave. When the Yeti laid him on the ground, Dabney noticed there were torches stuck in the rocks, providing both light and heat. He tried to control his trembling, stubbornly adhering to the belief that one must die like a man.
As Dabney uttered what he believed was his final prayer, the Yeti stood up and said, "Amen" in perfect English.
"You're not a monster!" the mountaineer cried in astonishment as he watched the creature shed his fur.
It was a man, not an animal beneath the heavy coat, hood and boots. Furthermore, he was not a predator but a savior.
"Who are you?" Dabney gasped through the waves of pain that tortured him.
"The name's Ainsley MacPhee, but don't try to talk anymore," he replied with a thick Scottish accent. "You're badly hurt, and you must conserve your strength."
"My friend ... he fell and ...."
Ainsley shook his head.
"I'm afraid he's dead. You're lucky to be alive. Now, I don't want to cause you any further pain, so I'll go get help to carry you the rest of the way."
MacPhee didn't bother to tell the climber to wait, since he was in no shape to go anywhere. Roughly forty minutes later the Scotsman returned with four Tibetan natives. They gently picked the injured man up and placed him on a makeshift stretcher.
As he lay back and pondered his fate, Dabney wondered how long he could live in a cave. It was warm enough that he no longer needed to fear hypothermia, but what about his injuries? Had he suffered any serious internal damage that would claim his life? Or would he slowly starve to death?
The sudden realization that there might be a lack of food renewed his fear that he would be eaten. The fact that he was surrounded by humans no longer comforted him. Men had on occasion been forced to eat their fellow man in order to survive. Dabney took comfort in the belief that at least he could appeal to the humans' sympathies. If they must serve him for dinner, at least they might have the compassion to mercifully kill him before they cook him.
But as these thoughts were running through his fevered imagination, he was brought to the end of a tunnel in the cave and into what can best be described as a palace, one built inside the mountain. The beauty of his surroundings led Dabney to wonder if he had died and gone to heaven. However, the intense pain he felt negated any possibility of paradise.
"Bring him in here," Ainsley instructed the stretcher bearers.
Dabney was laid on a soft, comfortable bed that would have delighted his senses had he not been in such agony. A young Tibetan woman entered the room carrying a tray of heated rocks.
"This is Dolma," Ainsley introduced here. "She'll take care of you."
Had he not been so seriously injured, Dabney would have turned on his charm to impress the woman, but he was in no condition to play Romeo.
"Just lay back and relax," the young woman said, and began placing the stones around his body.
Dabney briefly wondered if Dolma was a nurse or a chef. Then, as the warmth of the rocks soothed him, he closed his eyes and promptly fell asleep.
* * *
When Dabney awoke, his pain was gone. He gingerly moved first one arm and then another. There was not even a slight twinge of discomfort. Encouraged, he moved his legs, and again he felt no pain. Finally, he shifted his weight and stood up.
"I'm no doctor, but I think I'm in excellent health!"
Ainsley walked into the room and said, "Glad to see you've recovered so nicely."
"So am I. I thought I was a real goner there."
"You were. If I hadn't gotten you inside when I did, you'd be a corpse like your friend."
"Thank you. I owe you my life," Dabney said with sincere gratitude.
"Don't thank me. Thank the mountain."
The Scotsman then explained, as best he understood the miracle, the healing properties of the stones. They not only restored health but nourished the body.
"It's the damnedest thing!" Ainsley exclaimed. "The rocks give off both oxygen and water."
"What about food? Do you grow your own here?"
"There's no need for meat or bread. We drink the water in the cave and we are nourished by it."
"But for how long?"
"I don't know, but I've been here so many years I've lost count."
"How did you get here, anyway?"
"That's a long story. My father had a title and lands in Scotland but lost them when he supported Bonnie Prince Charlie in the Jacobite uprising of forty-five. When he was killed at Culloden, I fled Scotland. I had neither land nor fortune, and I feared that my life was in danger. Rather than head west to the New World, I went east, hoping to get as far away from civilization as possible. And here I am."
"Culloden?" Dabney asked with disbelief. "That battle was fought a hundred and seventy-some years ago."
"That long ago, is it? It's hard to keep track of time here."
Naturally, the young Englishman believed the older man had lost his mind. No one could live that many years. Besides, he looked like he was no older than forty.
Yet as one day led to another, Dabney discovered many wondrous things about the palace in the mountain. Despite not having eaten in two days, he was not the least bit hungry. Apparently, MacPhee's claims concerning the beneficial properties of the rocks were not exaggerated. Ainsley's story was further confirmed when Dabney met the forty-two other people who lived in the palace: not a single one suffered from ill health or old age.
"When I tell the people back in England about this place, they're never going to believe me," Dabney declared as he held a warm stone in his hand and felt a pleasant tingling sensation spread through his arm and into his body.
"I'm afraid there'll be no going back to England," Ainsley announced.
"Why not?"
"You think you're going to just walk out through the tunnel and hike down the mountain? You'd never make it."
"I made it up here, didn't I. Going down is always easier."
"Do you even know how to get down?"
Dabney admitted that he did not have a clue. This was his first trip up the mountain, and without Victor, he would have difficulty finding his way. Still, if he brought a number of stones with him, they would sustain him on the journey. Even if he got lost, he would eventually find his way back.
"I'm still going to try," he announced.
Despite the undeniable beauty of palace, his home was in London, not inside a mountain.
"I'm sorry, but we can't let you do that," Ainsley said sympathetically. "I have no idea how much the world has changed since I walked the cobbled streets of Edinburgh, but I doubt human nature is any different. If you tell the outsiders about the stones, no doubt an army of miners will be sent up here to rip them from the mountain. Once people discover these rocks are more valuable than diamonds, Everest will be leveled."
"But think how much mankind can benefit," Dabney cried, although his motives were not exactly altruistic. "With these rocks, we could wipe out disease, famine, drought and God knows what else."
"I wish I shared your optimism, laddie, but I think about how many wars will be fought and how many men will die so that some greedy bastard can gain possession of them. No, I can't let you leave here. I don't want all that death and destruction on my conscience."
"Maybe you're right," Dabney said, already plotting his escape. "And as prisons go, this isn't such a bad place."
Some hours later, after enjoying a game of chess with Ainsley, using a set the Scotsman carved himself from what was once his walking stick, Dabney feigned a yawn.
"I could use some sleep," he announced.
"Good idea! I'm a bit tired myself."
The Englishman went to his quarters and waited until he heard the soft snores coming from the adjoining room. Fearing the Scotsman might be a light sleeper, he crept into the room and hit Ainsley over the head with a rock with enough force to knock him out but not enough to kill him.
Then he took off the silk robe he had been given and put on his climbing gear. Finally, he filled his pockets and his knapsack with two dozen small stones. He longed to take more but did not want to risk weighing himself down. Cautiously, he crept to the tunnel entrance. When he made it to the mouth of the cave, he put on MacPhee's fur coat, hat and wide, thick-soled boots.
Weighed down by the heavy clothes and the stones, he took his first step outside. Whether it was the fur or the rocks, he wasn't sure, but he felt warm despite the freezing temperature. However, he had no cause to be confident, for without so much as a compass to guide him, his chances of making it safely down the mountain were slim.
* * *
Redmond Coggins said little as he and three fellow climbers dressed for their ascent. For the past four days they had journeyed up the mountain searching for signs of their missing companions. This fifth attempt was to be their last. If they did not find Sotheby and Henshaw this time, they would pack up camp and return to England without them.
Even if we do find them, Coggins thought grimly, it's not likely they'll still be alive.
For two hours they trudged up the Northeast Ridge with their Sherpa and Tibetan porters aiding in the search. As they drew nearer to the top, the sky grew progressively darker. The impending snowstorm would greater hinder their rescue efforts.
The members of team looked to Coggins, who had assumed the leadership role. He indicated that they would continue a little longer. When the snow started to fall, however, he had to make a difficult decision. Should he risk the lives of those in the rescue party to search for two men who were probably already dead?
Coggins looked behind him and estimated how long it would take to return to camp. He was about to signal to the others that they should begin the descent when one of the Sherpa porters pointed to his left. The leader turned and looked. There was something dark moving against the white snow.
Is that a man? he wondered as it disappeared into a wisp of cloud.
The men waited for the figure to emerge from the mist, praying it was one of the two missing climbers.
How could either of them survive on this mountain for four days? Coggins wondered.
Suddenly, the figure reappeared and struck fear in the hearts of every man on that ridge. The fur-clad creature that ran toward them, waving its hands above its head was not human. It was a Yeti, an Abominable Snowman!
The mountaineers' first instinct was to turn and run, but flight on the icy slope would likely mean certain death. As the creature closed the gap between them, their fear grew. Could they defend themselves against such a monster? Unknown to the other members of the expedition, one of the men had brought a gun with him. Fearing for his safety, he reached into his pocket, took out the weapon, aimed and pulled the trigger. An expert marksman, he hit his target dead on.
Dabney Henshaw, who had been overjoyed at the sight of the rescue party, pitched forward into the snow. The realization that he had been shot did not upset him too much since he believed the stones could heal him. He reached under the heavy fur coat and took one of the rocks out of his pocket. It was cold to his touch. As he grasped it firmly in his palm, he felt no warm, tingling sensation.
Feeling a mounting sense of panic, he raised his head, only to see Redmond Coggins walking down the mountain with the other members of the rescue team following behind. Dabney tried to stand but his body would not respond. As he watched his red blood soak into the white, virgin snow, he slipped silently away, his hand still clutching a cold, impotent rock in his hand.
* * *
On May 29, 1953 Edmund Percival Hillary from Auckland, New Zealand and his Nepalese Sherpa guide, Tenzing Norgay, members of the ninth British expedition to Mount Everest, were the first men to reach the summit.
Forty-six years later, in 1999, an expedition of explorers found Victor Sotheby's body, solving a seventy-five-year-old mystery. However, there was no trace of Dabney Henshaw. Several subsequent attempts, including one as late as 2013, were made to find Henshaw's remains. It was known that he brought a camera with him on that fateful climb. Historians hoped to find that camera and either prove or disprove a theory that Sotheby and Henshaw reached the summit of Everest twenty-nine years before Hillary and Norgay.
It is not known how many more search expeditions will be sent up that majestic slope, but none of them will succeed, for not only Dabney's camera but also his mortal remains are buried inside the cave at the entrance of the tunnel that leads to the palace inside the mountain.
Although this story was inspired by Mallory and Irvine's attempt to reach the summit of Mount Everest, the characters herein are purely fictional. However, the reference to Lieutenant-Colonel Charles Howard-Bury is factual. He was the leader of the 1921 Mount Everest Reconnaissance Expedition and did find large animal tracks in the snow.
No, Salem isn't scaling the Northeast Ridge of Mount Everest. He is auditioning for a role in the sequel to Frozen.
