by Magnus Mills
Summerfield was prompt. “You wanted to see me, Mr Johns?”
“Yes, Summerfield, do come in out of the cold.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Summerfield entered and removed his woolly helmet.
“Now, Summerfield, I’m not going to beat about the bush,” said Johns. “It’s about this mule. The female.”
“Oh yes?”
“You seem to have won her trust.”
“I’ve tried to, yes, sir. I thought it might be of benefit to the expedition, given the circumstances.”
“Really?” Johns considered the explanation for some time. “Yes, well I suppose I can understand your line of reasoning,” he resumed. “The problem is, Summerfield, that in the past we’ve always kept the mules very much at arm’s length.”
“I know, sir.”
“Yet I’ve been reliably informed you’ve been conversing with this one, and have even gone so far as to give her a name.”
“Actually, sir, she already had a name.”
“Good heavens!”
“They all have names,” said Summerfield. “She’s called Gribble, which quite suits her, I think. And you remember the one who was crushed under the tugboat? That was her brother: his name was Thrip. Then she lost two cousins in the river. They were called Vetch and Madder. And the four…”
“Summerfield! Summerfield!” interrupted Johns. “What on earth are you trying to prove by all this?”
“Nothing, sir.”
“But you know very well you’re not supposed to have dealings of any sort with the mules, not even to talk to them, let alone learn their family history!”
Summerfield bowed his head. “I’m sorry, Mr Johns, and I hope you can forgive me. I know my conduct must appear somewhat aberrant. It’s just that over the last few days I’ve come to see qualities in the mules I thought only we possessed: humour, companionship and so forth; and it’s made me realise they’re hardly different from ourselves.”
“Nevertheless, in the final analysis they are different,” said Johns. “It’s a scientific fact: their minds operate differently to ours; therefore, they behave differently. That’s why we classify them as mules; and that’s why they’re being sent away.”
“And well they know it.”
“What?!” exclaimed Johns. “I hope you haven’t disclosed any details!”
“There was no need,” said Summerfield. “They’re not fools: they’ve already worked it out for themselves.”
Johns sighed and shook his head.
“Such a dreadful state of affairs!” he uttered. “I really must insist you put an end to this fraternising at once. Apart from it being most unseemly, I fear you may be creating extra difficulties for all of us in terms of both discipline and control. Yes, Summerfield, I know you meant well, but it has got to stop immediately. Do I make myself clear?”
“Perfectly, sir.”
“Good,” said Johns. “Then we’ll draw a line under the matter.” He leaned back and smiled broadly at Summerfield. “On a lighter note, you’ll be pleased to hear that your cherished ambition will soon be within reach.”
A moment passed.
“Beg your pardon, Mr Johns,” said Summerfield. “What cherished ambition?”
“Why, to be first to reach the Furthest Point, of course.”
“Oh that. Er…yes, I am quite looking forward to it.”
The smile disappeared.
“Quite looking forward to it?” Johns repeated. “Surely you can summon up a bit more enthusiasm than that, Summerfield; after all, you’ve been our keenest trailblazer thus far.”
“I’m as eager as ever,” came the reply.
“Well, try to show it, can’t you?” snapped Johns. “It’s not much to ask.”
“No, sir. Sorry. Will that be all?”
“For now, yes.”
“All right, then. Good night.”
“Night.”
Johns did not look at Summerfield as he headed outside. After he’d gone, however, he glanced towards the doorway. “Damn and blast,” he murmured to himself.
§
The next morning dawned cold and bleak. In the south a dense bank of clouds obliterated the sunrise; in the north the sky was clear, but the air was flecked with incoming particles of dust. The two tents stood parallel to one another, with a space in between. The space was empty. When Seddon emerged he headed straight for the makeshift cooking area, buttoning his coat as he went. Struggling in the wind, he got the stove lit and put a pan on before turning back towards the tents. Only then did he notice the mules were missing. Immediately he went to the command tent and woke Johns, who rose quickly and initiated a search.
“They can’t have got far in one night,” he asserted. “The trouble is we don’t know which direction they took off in.”
“Back the way we came?” suggested Scagg. “Unlikely,” said Johns. “They wouldn’t want to cross that river on their own. Yet there are no obvious tracks going anywhere else.”
“They must have covered them over.”
“Possibly, Scagg; or more probably the dust did.”
“Mr Johns!” called Plover. “There’s one of them!” He was pointing to the west of the camp, where a short distance away Gribble could be seen wandering slowly about, picking up pebbles from the ground, examining them closely and then discarding them again. She seemed oblivious to the hue and cry that was going on all around her, and showed not the slightest sign of being a potential runaway.
“Keep your eye on her, Plover!” ordered Johns. “The rest of us will have to spread out and see if we can trace the others. We’ll meet back here in one hour’s time.” Before proceeding, Plover went back into the tent and exchanged his woolly helmet for the high-peaked cap he’d worn during the early part of the expedition. This gave him rather an official bearing, especially as he’d taken care to keep his beard neatly trimmed during the past weeks. With a determined stride, he marched out of the camp towards Gribble. She was now only a hundred yards away; he covered the distance in less than a minute. As he approached she turned her back as if she hadn’t seen him coming, and moved a little further off. Plover followed, dogging her resolutely until at last she drew to a halt.
“Up to your usual tricks?” he remarked.
Gribble said nothing.
“I suppose you think you’re very clever, don’t you?” Plover continued. “Helping the others to sneak off.”
“It wasn’t me,” she replied.
“Who was it then?”
“Don’t know.”
“Of course it was you,” he said. “You were the only one who wasn’t tied up. I knew you couldn’t be trusted: we gave you an inch and look what happened. Well, you’ll be sorry this time. They’ll have a rope round your neck sure as I’m standing here, and that’ll put an end to your fun and games.”
Gribble turned and peered towards the camp.
“Is breakfast ready yet?” she asked.
“No, it isn’t!” retorted Plover. “In case you hadn’t noticed, everybody’s busy seeking the rest of the fugitives. You’ll just have to go without.”
“As usual.”
“What was that?”
“I said I’ll have to go without as usual.”
“You get your full provender,” said Plover. “What is it you imagine you go without exactly?”
“Comfort,” answered Gribble. “Warmth; sympathy; kindness.”
Plover broke in. “Oh, don’t try making me feel pity for you,” he said. “It just won’t wash at all; your situation is of your own making and no one else’s.”
“Our own making?!” she cried. “How can you say that when you held us down for generations!”
“You held yourselves down!” countered Plover. “It had nothing to do with us! The simple truth is that your ancestors sat idly in the sun, while ours toiled and sweated in preparation for winter. Then when they fell behind they put the blame on everybody but themselves. They curled up, covered their heads and ho
ped it would get better, which it didn’t. Now you and your kind are paying the price: you were born feckless, and feckless you will always remain.”
“So we’re being punished because of who we are,” said Gribble.
“Because of what you are,” answered Plover. “And I tell you: the sooner you’ve all been shipped out the better.”
“Then you’ll be happy, will you?”
“Life will be vastly improved, yes.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Don’t be impertinent!!” Plover raised his voice and instantly Gribble fell silent. For some moments the two of them glared at each other in open hostility; then Plover turned abruptly away and strode back to the camp. Gribble followed at a distance, having now lapsed into a wordless sulk. She passed the next hour arranging her collection of pebbles in a small pile. These numbered half a dozen, all blue in colour, and all roughly the same size. Meanwhile, Plover tinkered with the stove. Seddon had extinguished the flame when he went off to join the search party, and, try as he might, Plover was unable to get it going again. Eventually, he gave the priming mechanism a dismissive prod, as if to suggest it might be faulty, and turned his attention elsewhere. By this time one or two of his comrades were beginning to return. Chase and Sargent trudged in from the north-east, shaking their heads when Plover looked at them enquiringly.
“No success?” he said.
“Nothing,” replied Sargent. “They’ve vanished completely.”
“That’s put paid to the expedition then.”
“Not necessarily,” said Chase. “We’ve still got one mule left so I expect Mr Johns will want to press on.”
“Shame the ‘one mule’ is the most awkward of the bunch,” observed Plover.
“You can say that again,” agreed Sargent. “A wily specimen and no mistake.”
“Here’s Mr Johns now,” said Chase.
Johns had appeared in the distance, accompanied by Seddon. Beyond them could be seen the advancing figures of Summerfield and Scagg.
“Obviously no luck either,” said Sargent.
On entering the camp, Johns immediately asked Seddon to prepare a belated breakfast.
“Any food missing?” he queried.
“Not as far as I can tell,” answered Seddon, after sorting through the stock of provisions. “Oh, except for the bag of barley sugar.” He looked a second time. “Yes, that seems to have gone.”
“Well, I don’t know how far they expect to travel on a handful of sweets,” remarked Johns. “What an infantile escapade! Don’t they realise we’re doing this for their sakes as much as ours?”
“Apparently not, sir,” said Seddon.
“They’ll be sorry when they starve to death.”
While Seddon busied himself with his pans, Johns went over and spoke to Scagg.
“Yet another setback,” he said. “Nonetheless, we still have one mule remaining; therefore, I intend to press on. I trust I have your agreement on this?”
“Certainly, Mr Johns,” said Scagg. “I’m determined we’ll get to the Furthest Point, come what may.”
“Good show, Scagg.”
A short time later Seddon announced breakfast.
“Sorry it’s a little overcooked, gentlemen,” he commented. “Someone’s been fiddling with the stove and it was difficult to regulate properly.” As he said this he threw a glance at Plover, who gave no hint of having heard him.
Gribble ate separately at the other side of the camp. Summerfield took her food to her, and was a little while in coming back. When finally he returned his face betrayed anger.
“Plover,” he said. “What on earth did you say to Gribble earlier?”
“I simply reminded her of a few harsh realities,” Plover replied.
“Such as?”
“Such as the fact that the mules have no future in the civilised world.”
“Well, I wish you’d been a little more tactful,” said Summerfield. “Now you’ve gone and upset her.”
“Is this true?” asked Johns. “You’re sure she’s not merely play-acting?”
“I’m afraid not, sir,” answered Summerfield. “She really is quite distraught. Furthermore, she says she’s lost the will to go on. She told me she can’t possibly walk another step.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
Summerfield shrugged. “There’s not much difference.”
“Then we’ll just have to put the whip behind her,” said Plover.
“I don’t think so,” said Johns. “That won’t help matters at all.”
“What are we going to do then?” enquired Scagg.
“I’m not sure yet. We’ll need to consider it.”
Accordingly, straight after breakfast Johns and Scagg went into the command tent for a consultation. They spent half an hour discussing the various options; then they called in Chase.
“Now then, Chase,” began Johns. “It’s about your instrument case.”
“Yes, sir?”
“I gather it’s your personal property.”
“That’s correct,” said Chase. “The instruments have been in my family for years, as a matter of fact. I come from a long line of navigators.”
“So I’m given to understand,” said Johns. “Actually, it’s not the equipment I’m interested in so much as the case itself.”
“Ah.”
“Looks like a nice piece of timber.”
“Finest mahogany.”
“Really?”
“Specially selected by the manufacturer.”
“Well, Chase, I was wondering if you would be prepared to sacrifice it for the good of the expedition? You see, we urgently need some timber and apart from a few discarded provisions boxes there’s little else available. It would really help us if you’d consent to this; naturally your contribution would be noted in the records.”
“Of course, Mr Johns, you’re most welcome to use it.”
“Thank you, Chase,” said Johns. “Scagg here will provide you with some cloth to wrap your instruments in. That will be all. Can you send in Sargent next, please?”
“Yes, sir.”
A minute later Sargent arrived. “You wanted to see me, Mr Johns?”
“Yes, Sargent. Now when you joined this expedition I remember you described yourself as a jack-of-all-trades.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Sargent. “That’s what I am.”
“And does that list of trades include carpentry?”
“I can do a bit of joinery, yes.”
“All right, well, we won’t quibble over semantics.”
“Sir?”
“You can call yourself a joiner if you wish.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“What I want, Sargent, is for you to build me a kind of portable chair: something that can be borne by four men, one at each corner. In ancient times such a conveyance was known as a litter. It needs to be as light as possible, but strong enough to take Gribble’s weight. We’ve decided if she won’t walk to the Furthest Point then we’ll jolly well carry her there! Do you have any questions, Sargent?”
“None I can think of, sir.”
“Then you can start directly. Use whatever materials you require.”
“Right you are, sir.”
After Sargent had gone, Johns turned to Scagg. “There’s one slight consolation arising from the loss of the four mules,” he said. “It means our rations should stretch that little bit further. Heaven knows, we’re going to need all our strength in the coming days.”
§
Sargent spent several hours building his portable chair. First he gathered together the few available pieces of timber (including Chase’s instrument case, now empty) and laid them out on the ground. Then, when he’d devised a basic pattern, he set to work. For most of the time his companions left him undisturbed, instead seizing the opportunity to complete minor tasks of their own. Eventually, however, Plover wandered over to see how Sargent was getting along. By this stage the litter was halfway to completion.
“This is sheer folly,” Plover murmured, when he saw it. “The mules are supposed to be our bearers, not the other way round.”
“I’m only doing what I’ve been told,” replied Sargent.
“I’m aware of that,” said Plover. “Yours is not to reason why.”
“Exactly.”
“Well, so much for our ‘dash’ to the Furthest Point. At this rate it’ll take a month of Sundays.”
“Plover!” called Johns from the other side of the camp. “Can I have a word, please?”
“I’ll be right with you, sir!”
When Plover joined him, Johns asked, “Why do you persist in wearing that high-peaked cap in these conditions?”
“Sorry, Mr Johns,” rejoined Plover. “Actually, I forgot I was still wearing it.”
Johns looked him up and down. “You always have to be different, don’t you?” was all he said.
Some while later, as Johns and Scagg conferred over their notes, they were approached by Sargent. At first he went unnoticed and merely hovered awkwardly nearby. Finally, Johns looked up.
“Yes, Sargent?”
“It’s about the handles, sir.”
“What about them?”
“We haven’t got any.”
“Is there nothing to spare?”
“No, sir,” said Sargent. “We’re short of two stout poles. The chair needs one on each side, so it can be carried properly.”
“How long do these poles need to be?”
“About the same length as the tent poles, sir.”
Johns gave a sigh. “Very well, Sargent,” he said. “I suppose if you must have them you must.”
“But then we’ll be down to a single tent!” objected Scagg. “We can’t sleep seven at a time!”
“I know, Scagg, I know,” said Johns. “I’m afraid all of us will just have to take turns and get by as best we can.”
“If I could have the ridge pole as well, sir,” Sargent ventured, “I could improve the basic frame.”
Ultimately it was agreed that not only were the tent poles to be sacrificed, but also a section of canvas, so the litter could be fitted with a canopy to protect Gribble from the weather. In addition it was to have an upholstered seat. This would be made separately by Summerfield, who had offered his services to help speed things up. The afternoon was swiftly wearing on.
