Explorers of the New Century

by Magnus Mills

  Magnus Mills

  Explorers of the New Century

  2005, EN

  Daily we stumble over shale and flint, toiling onwards in the vague belief that at some distant time and place we’ll see the sun rise again; and that spreading before us will be vast, hospitable ranges where the mules may finally be turned loose. It is the beginning of the century, and two teams of explorers are racing across a cold, windswept, deserted land to reach the furthest point from civilisation. This is, they find, ‘an awfully long way’. We are gripped by the progress of the two rival teams as they struggle with the elements, each other and the mules who accompany them. Johns and his men take the western route, along a rocky scree, gossiping, bickering and grumbling as they go. Meanwhile, Tostig’s men make their way along the dry riverbed, in the east. They are fewer, with just five men and ten mules, and better organised than their rivals. But with Johns’ team keeping apace in the distance, the race is on to reach the Agreed Furthest Point.

  Refreshingly original, finely crafted, and with a unique and comic vision, Explorers of the New Century takes us on an adventure unlike any other.

  Table of contents

  1 · 2 · 3 · 4 · 5 · 6 · 7 · 8

  Epilogue

  ∨ Explorers of the New Century ∧

  One

  “He’s a thoroughly decent man,” said Johns. “His reputation for fair play is second to none. Clearly he had good reason for his early departure and, therefore, we must allow him the benefit of the doubt. It goes without saying that this development will have no bearing on our own arrangements. We’ll continue with our preparations and proceed as per schedule.”

  “But he’s stolen a march on us!” protested Summerfield.

  “That doesn’t matter,” replied Johns. “We’re not in a competition to see who gets there first, and I don’t want anyone thinking in those terms. What concerns us now is the immediate job in hand. How long do you reckon till nightfall, Scagg?”

  “About an hour.”

  “Right you are then. The temperature is already beginning to plummet, so we’d better get the stove fired up. Then we’ll see about getting some supplies landed.” Johns glanced around the blockhouse. “I must say they’ve left this place in immaculate condition. Quite spick and span. One would never think it was occupied until only a few days ago.”

  “They’ve even replenished the coal stocks,” said Scagg.

  “Yes indeed. They were obviously expecting us to arrive hard on their heels. Well, we might as well make the most of their kindness. Can you light a fire, Summerfield?”

  “Yes I can.”

  “All right. See to it, will you? The rest of us can set to work unloading the Centurion.” Johns turned and led the way outside, followed by most of the others. Only Summerfield and Plover remained behind. They stood gazing at the stove, then Plover laid his hand on the iron plate.

  “Stone cold,” he said. “This hasn’t been lit for at least a week.”

  “As long as that?” asked Summerfield.

  “At the very least. And I don’t care what Johns says about fair play: in my opinion they cleared out of here at the first opportunity.”

  “Leaving a barrel of coal in recompense.”

  “Quite.”

  The door opened and Scagg looked in. “Two to light a fire, gentlemen?”

  “We were just talking a moment,” said Plover.

  “So I see.”

  Scagg said nothing more, but waited in silence as Summerfield bent quickly to his task. Meanwhile, Plover buttoned his reefer, thrust his hands in his pockets, and went outside.

  The blockhouse stood on a low headland. Down by the water’s edge, a number of boxes, sacks and crates were being unloaded from the cutter. Two men sat at the oars, and as soon as everything was beached they rowed back out to the anchorage for further supplies. On Scagg’s instructions, Plover went and assisted Johns. The mules had been roped together and swum ashore, and Johns was examining them one by one as they recovered their land legs.

  “We’ll put them in the lee of the blockhouse after they’ve had some hot mash,” he announced, when Plover joined him. “They’ll need a while to acclimatise after so many days at sea. Perhaps you could rig up some kind of shelter; a tarpaulin slung across poles maybe?”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” said Plover.

  “Very good.”

  Johns completed his appraisal, then the two of them stood for some minutes regarding the mules, which had now gathered in a group, their ropes slack as they huddled together for warmth.

  “They’re in pretty good condition for the most part,” Johns remarked at length. “We won’t work them for the time being, though. They’ve got a rough time ahead, and we need to conserve their strength.”

  “Shall I see Seddon for some equipment?” Plover asked.

  “Yes,” said Johns. “I’ve appointed him as quartermaster, so tell him what you need and that will be all right. Now I need to go and speak with Scagg.”

  §

  “I’m thinking of offering the men a choice this evening. To mark our last day at sea they can have the option of either staying on board the Centurion for one more night, or else sleeping in the blockhouse. It will be entirely up to them. Personally, I’m very happy to be back on terra firma, but I know it’s likely to be a wrench for some.”

  “They’ll have to get used to it soon enough,” said Scagg.

  “You’re quite right,” replied Johns. “Nevertheless, I think they’ll appreciate the gesture. Could you see your way to passing the word around?”

  “As you wish, Mr Johns. Was there anything else?”

  “Not at present, no. You appear to have everything running smoothly. I expect you could do with an extra pair of hands, though?”

  “It would help.”

  “Very well,” said Johns. “I’m at your disposal until dusk.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean…”

  “It’s all right, Scagg. Every one of us is going to have to put his shoulder to the wheel if this expedition’s to be a success. Now what would you like me to do?”

  “Well, the cutter is just coming back, so that will need unloading.”

  “Right you are. Leave it to me.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Scagg watched as Johns trudged across the sand to meet the boat. Then he went and found Cook, who was busy lashing down a stack of crates. “When you’ve finished doing that, go and give Mr Johns some help,” Scagg ordered. “And don’t let him get his feet wet.”

  The rest of the day’s work was straightforward: a simple matter of bringing in as many supplies as possible before dark. Actually, no one ceased from their labours until night had crept fully on to the shore and was beginning to hamper further progress. Only then did Scagg call everyone into the blockhouse for supper. Johns returned in his own time, having carried out a cursory inspection of the camp. When at last he went inside he was met by a general cheer from the men. A bottle had been opened to celebrate their landing, and as they gathered around the stove he spelt out his plans for the following day.

  “We’ve made excellent advances so far,” he began. “If we continue at the same rate, we’ll have all our provisions ashore by noon tomorrow. Then, tide permitting, I want to see about getting the Centurion beached. Will your estimates allow for that, Chase?”

  “Should be all right, Mr Johns.”

  “Good. It’s going to be hard work, there’s no avoiding that, but we’ll travel easier knowing that the ship’s safe. In the meantime I suggest an early night. Your various tasks will be posted at daybreak.” Johns paused and looked around him. “By the way, where are Blanchflower and Firth?”

  “They’ve opt
ed to stay on board this evening,” said Scagg. “I’ve told them to bring in the cutter at first light.”

  “Fully laden, I hope?”

  “Of course, sir. Blanchflower knows what we need.”

  “Well, Scagg, you seem to have everything organised so I’m going to turn in now, if nobody minds. I’ll take one of the upper bunks. Good night, everyone, and congratulations: we’ve trodden our first few steps.”

  Johns was cheered again as he ascended the ladder to bed. Then, while the men quietly resumed their supper, he made an entry in his journal:

  Tostig has struck for the interior. We will follow in due course.

  At dawn, a greenish bloom arose in the eastern sky, spreading gradually into a vast gleaming radiance. As darkness receded, Cook emerged from the blockhouse and grimaced at the sea. Closing the door behind him, he swiftly unfolded Johns’s standard, ran it up the flagpole and secured it. Then he went inside again. A little while later smoke began issuing from the chimney. At about the same time, Blanchflower appeared on the fore-deck of the Centurion. He looked across at the standard flapping stiffly in the breeze, and immediately went below to wake Firth.

  Now Medleycott opened the blockhouse door and stood gazing out. Within seconds someone inside demanded that he shut it right away, so he did as they asked before wandering down to the water’s edge. On the horizon, the early light was giving way to a cold greyness. Medleycott picked up a flat pebble and skimmed it into the waves. Then Blanchflower and Firth started moving around on the Centurion. Medleycott watched as they lowered some boxes into the cutter, climbed aboard and cast off.

  “‘Each man should try to do an hour’s work before breakfast’,” said a voice behind him.

  He turned round and saw Plover coming down the beach.

  “Yes,” said Medleycott. “I noticed that when I was reading through the postings. Quite a smart idea really. Good morning, by the way.”

  “Morning,” replied Plover. “I assume it’s Johns’ method of ensuring we all build up a healthy appetite.”

  “Yes.”

  “As if we wouldn’t in a place like this.”

  “Well, I think anything that gets us on the move can only be to our advantage,” offered Medleycott. “After all, the sooner we get the work done, the sooner we can get going inland.”

  “I suppose so.”

  “Better look sharp. Here’s Scagg.”

  The cutter was now halfway to the shore, so the two of them got into the surf and made ready to catch it as it came in. At the same time, Scagg came down from the blockhouse, followed by Seddon, Chase and Cook. The provisions were quickly landed, then relayed on to higher ground. With Scagg directing operations, the cutter underwent three more journeys during that first part of the day, and by mid-morning all the portable equipment had been stashed near the blockhouse. After breakfast, Johns asked Scagg if he could ‘borrow’ Chase for an hour or so. Scagg obliged, and the pair went off to conduct a brief coastal survey. Meanwhile, the Centurion was prepared for beaching. Around midday, lines were taken out and made secure. Next the ballast was discharged and the vessel allowed to float in on the tide. Plover and Summerfield had harnessed the mules in readiness; these were now brought down to the water’s edge. Then the Centurion was gradually hauled ashore, with the entire crew helping the mules cover the last few yards. Johns and Chase returned just in time to lend a hand, taking their place on the ropes alongside the others. Finally, timber supports were positioned beneath the hull, and tarpaulins fastened over to protect it from the weather.

  Further along the shore, about half a mile to the east, a second ship lay already beached. The bulk of the day’s work having been completed, Johns ordered a break. Then he and Scagg walked over to have a look at the other vessel. It was a converted steam tug, similar to their own though slightly shorter in length, carrying the name Perseverance. Painted blue with yellow gunwales (the Centurion was red and white), it stood clasped in a makeshift wooden cradle, fully battened down, with sand gathering slowly around its keel.

  “Very thorough work,” said Johns, testing a guy line for tautness. “Not a loose fitting to be seen.”

  “He certainly hasn’t left anything to chance,” remarked Scagg.

  “Each item in its proper place, just as I’d expect. And would you believe he’s even stuck a marker post at the beginning of his trail? Chase and I discovered it when we were out surveying this afternoon.”

  “So you know the route he’s taken?”

  “Well, we’re fairly certain,” replied Johns. “As far as we can tell, he’s gone by way of that dry river bed we could see as we sailed in yesterday.”

  “But wasn’t that your preferred direction, sir?”

  Johns smiled. “Initially, yes, Scagg. However, it seems to me that there’s little to be gained from two parties treading the same ground. Indeed, it may prove favourable to establish a secondary, alternative route. With this in mind, I’ve decided we’ll take a more westerly path than that chosen by Tostig.”

  “The river bed looks the easier way by far,” Scagg pointed out. “The natural course is often the best.”

  “Maybe so,” Johns smiled again. “But I’m sure our journey will be much more interesting.”

  At that moment a cry went up from the main work party. This was followed by a commotion around the Centurion. Quickly they hurried back, and were met halfway by Plover. They paused briefly to hear his news.

  “I’m afraid there’s been a mishap.”

  “What happened?” asked Scagg.

  “Well, a few of us decided to drive some extra wedges under the hull. To make it more secure, so we thought.”

  “Who’s this ‘we’?”

  “A few of us.”

  “And?”

  “Unfortunately, we overdid it and the boat tipped forward. One of the mules was crushed under the port bow.”

  “What?!” bellowed Scagg, quickly starting off once more. Johns said nothing, but followed with the others to where the hapless creature lay trapped. It was still attached to the rest of the mules, which were now being unharnessed and carefully led away by Summerfield and Firth. Scagg observed the scene for some moments before rounding on Plover.

  “Why hadn’t they been moved clear?!” he demanded. “And what was the idea of adding more wedges without consulting myself or Mr Johns?!”

  Plover did not reply.

  “Well?” said Scagg.

  As Plover stood before them, seemingly unable to answer, Johns at last broke his silence.

  “It doesn’t matter, Scagg,” he said.

  “But it’s such a waste, sir!”

  “I know, I know. Yet whatever happened was plainly an accident, and doubtless a valuable lesson has been learned as a result. We’ll just have to make do with one less mule, that’s all.”

  From his pocket he produced a revolver, which he loaded and handed to Scagg. Scagg passed it to Cook, who walked over and quickly destroyed the mule. Then Johns turned and addressed the men in general. “Could everyone please try to be a little more careful in future? I should hate us to lose another.”

  “Sorry for my part in that,” murmured Plover.

  “That’s all right,” Johns replied. “Now perhaps a few of us could get this boat straightened out and made safe again. Can you see the best way of going about it, Scagg?”

  “Well, I dare say we’ll manage something if we give it a bit of thought.”

  “Good.”

  “And the mule will need burying.”

  “Of course.”

  “So if you want to leave it with me, Mr Johns? I’m sure you’ve got more important issues to deal with.”

  “All right, Scagg. Thank you. Yes, I could do with consulting Chase again to discuss possible routes. Maybe we’ll have another stroll before dark.”

  §

  “Marvellous!” said Cook. “Sheets, pillows and a mattress. Makes a change from swinging about in that blasted hammock.”

  “Well, you’d b
etter make the most of it,” remarked Sargent. “Once we set off inland you’ll have to get by with your utility blanket and nothing more.”

  Cook stretched himself and yawned. “Yes, I’m fully aware of that fact, thank you,” he said. “But I’ll worry about sacrifice and hardship when we’ve received the order to move, and not a moment before.”

  “There’ll be no luxury of any kind,” Sargent continued. “No hot-water bottles. No thickly buttered toast. No orange marmalade or lemon curd. And no more bedtime cocoa.”

  “No cocoa? Whyever not?”

  “Because we’ll be getting a patent malt drink instead.”

  “Good grief.”

  “My thoughts exactly. I’ve heard it’s made with powdered milk.”

  “How do they produce that then?”

  “I’ve no idea, but apparently Johns swears by it. Brought a whole crateful with us.”

  “Must be one of his ‘innovations’.”

  “Yes, I suppose so.”

  Rolling out of his bunk, Cook padded over to the stove. “Oh well, if it helps keep the blinking cold out I’ll give anything a try. I heard the mercury dropped to fifteen below last night.”

  “That’s nothing,” said Sargent. “We’ll be losing the sun in a week or two. Then we’ll really know about it. Put some fuel in there, will you?”

  “All right.”

  In the corner stood a coal bucket, which Cook grabbed and swung upwards, emptying the contents into the stove. He did this in a careless manner, allowing black dust to spill on to the floor. Closing the lid, he adjusted the flame before seizing a broom to sweep up. Sargent, meanwhile, had pulled a sheet from his bunk and was giving it a shake.

  The door opened and Scagg looked in. “Spring cleaning, gentlemen?”

  “Not really, no,” Cook answered.

  “What are you doing then?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Why not?”

  “We thought it was a rest day,” said Sargent. “There was no work posted this morning.”

  “That’s because you’re supposed to be carrying out voluntary tasks.”