Bob Smith wrote:
> Some time back there was an account posted of a group of British
> mountain climbers being caught in a storm while climbing Mt. Everest, 
> One of them was critically ill with a high fever.  One of the group took
> a flashlight battery and a silver medallion he was wearing and fashioned
> a crude generator.  He knew it was working when he saw bubbles forming, 
> At the time I read it, I understood it to be even before the 20's It
> didn't say if the sick one survived.

Oh LORDY!!! I can't stop laughing! 

Thank you for remembering that, Bob. However, that was a small piece of 
***FICTION*** written by *ME* to illustrate a point.

God, I *hope* that little snippet never makes it to the status of an 
urban legend! It would be the sort of thing that would hurt rather than 
help the cause of CS. <sigh>

Also, note that the story is set in the near future, rather than 
distant past.  

If, however, somebody does know of such a tale that is real, I'd love 
to hear about it...

To wit:

------- Forwarded message (slightly edited from the original) -------

Date forwarded:         Thu, 13 Aug 1998 08:09:57 -0700
From:                   "M. G. Devour" <[email protected]>
To:                     [email protected]
Date sent:              Thu, 13 Aug 1998 11:11:04 -5
Subject:                Re: CS protocol

Reid wrote:

>     Also if you want to get even simpler on Becks tape he uses
> "one" 9v battery. I don't think he was using distilled because it
> started to produce a white smoke as soon as he put the rods in the
> water.

Sounds like a great "field expedient" setup. Hmmm...

>From _Miracle_in_the_Heights_, an as yet unwritten novel by your 
esteemed moderator. <GRIN> ...  

The fine silver medallion he wore at his neck was the answer. He had 
received the award from His Majesty for acts of heroism on the ill-
fated expedition to Nepal in ought-six, and carried it in memory of the 
friends he lost there.  

Were there anyone to see, they would have noticed a moist glint at the 
edge of his eye as Commodore Peter Emtrey melted snow in his coffee mug 
over the diminutive camp stove.  

He then removed the battery from the GPS receiver, and the antenna 
clipleads from Martin's portable shortwave transceiver. He used one of 
the wires to connect the metal cup to the negative pole of the battery. 
The other, he attached between the positive terminal and the chain on 
which the medal hung.  

He dissolved two grains of salt from his mess kit into the warm water, 
and held the medallion by its chain in the middle of the cup. In the 
waning light filtering through the tent he could see streams of tiny 
bubbles rising to the surface, a sure sign that nearly invisible 
particles of silver were filling the liquid with their healing potency. 
 
The minutes dragged by, the wind and snow rocking the tent, perched on 
the precarious rock shelf.  

Martin groaned as the Commodore raised him up to receive the 
preparation. "Here now, chap. Drink this. It'll help."  

Slowly, he administered sips of the life-saving colloid of silver to 
his fever-ridden comrade.  

Hours passed, the only sound the wind and quiet breathing. Emtrey twice 
repeated the treatment during the night, working by the dim light of 
the tiny solid state lamp.  

"Not this time," he thought, his eyes looking far beyond the walls of 
the tent and the grey light of dawn, his thoughts returning to the 
heights of Nepal. "No, not this time."  

--

<VERY BIG GRIN>

Be well, all.

Mike D.

[Mike Devour, Citizen, Patriot, Libertarian]
[[email protected]                        ]
[Speaking only for myself...               ]


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