Explorers of the New Century

by Magnus Mills

  “Clearly, we’re not going to get moving until tomorrow,” said Johns. “So we might as well draw up a sleeping roster beginning immediately. Can you see to that please, Scagg?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  In the event it was not until after dusk that the litter was finished. By this time, one or two lamps had been lit and the stove was on for supper. When Johns heard the job was done, he went and carried out an inspection, after which he congratulated Sargent and Summerfield for their fine workmanship. Then Gribble was brought over.

  “Now, Gribble,” said Johns. “We’ve built this so that you can travel safe and sound to our destination. Would you like to try it?”

  Gribble said nothing, but silently parted the canopy and stepped on to the litter. Then she sat down and closed the canopy behind her. The men waited. From within there came a quiet cough. They all moved away slightly. A minute passed.

  “Gribble?” said Johns. “Gribble, do you like it?”

  There was no reply.

  “Gribble, why don’t you come out and eat?”

  Further silence.

  “Looks as if she’s turned in for the night,” suggested Scagg.

  “All right, well, that’s all the more supper for each of us,” said Johns.

  When this comment brought no response, they gave up and left Gribble alone.

  §

  The new sleeping arrangements entailed five men occupying the single remaining tent, while two others waited outside. These ‘nightwatchmen’ were to be replaced hourly on a rotating basis until everyone had done a stint. The first names on the roster belonged to Seddon and Sargent, so when their companions went to bed they made themselves as comfortable as they could under their utility blankets.

  “To tell the truth, it doesn’t make much difference to me whether I’m inside or out,” declared Sargent. “After the day I’ve had I could sleep standing up in my boots.”

  “If I were you I wouldn’t say that too loudly,” answered Seddon. “It sounds like you’re volunteering.”

  “Me?” said Sargent. “Volunteer? Never!”

  During the succeeding hours the diminutive encampment underwent repeated onslaughts of wind and dust. Dust now lay thick on every surface: on the tent, on the stack of supplies, on the canopy of the portable chair; and it only served to worsen the already poor visibility. By general accord the lanterns were extinguished overnight, which meant each pair of watchmen fulfilled their spell in total darkness. This later resulted in a surprise for Sargent. Despite protestations from Scagg, Johns had insisted on having his own name included on the roster so that he could carry out his fair share of the duties. In consequence it was Johns who eventually emerged to relieve Sargent. His advancing figure was barely perceptible in the gloom.

  “About time too,” growled Sargent, who hadn’t bothered to examine the roster in detail.

  “Good evening, Sargent,” said Johns. “I believe I’m quite punctual, as a matter of fact.”

  “Oh, sorry, sir. I didn’t know it was you.”

  “Who did you think it was then?”

  “Er…not sure, sir.”

  “Someone who can’t tell the time, perhaps?”

  “No, sir.”

  “You really should be more careful what you say, Sargent,” observed Johns. “I could have been anybody coming along.”

  “Yes, sir. Sorry.”

  “Sleep well, Sargent.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  Meanwhile, Plover had made an appearance, relinquishing his place in the tent to Seddon.

  “Ah, Plover,” said Johns, glancing up briefly.

  There was little further conversation. If Johns noticed that Plover had reverted to his woolly helmet then he didn’t mention it, and for his part Plover drew no particular attention to the fact. Instead they sat side by side, with their backs to the wind, and for the ensuing hour exchanged only occasional banalities. Next to turn out were Chase and Scagg. These two got on easily together, and passed the time discussing obscure geographical matters. They were followed in due course by Sargent and, lastly, Summerfield. Sargent was down-in-the-mouth, and complained at some length that the roster had been deliberately set up ‘against’ him.

  “I’m the only one who’s had to get out of bed twice,” he muttered. “Typical of my luck.”

  Summerfield attempted to argue that the situation was the same for everyone, and that over subsequent nights it would even out quite fairly; but his efforts were all in vain. Sargent had a simpler explanation.

  “My card’s been marked ever since we started this trip,” he said. “It’s always the same: wherever I go you’ll find me at the bottom of the pile.”

  “What about the mules, though?” demanded Summerfield. “You’re much better off compared to them.” His manner was unusually terse.

  “Yes, Mr Summerfield,” replied Sargent. “So I’ve often been told.”

  Both men were now gazing at the dim outline of the litter, which stood some distance away, fully exposed to the elements. Its occupant had remained silent throughout the hours of darkness. Summerfield took a deep breath.

  “Look, Sargent,” he said. “I’m sorry I snapped at you like that: it’s not your fault. It’s just that I sometimes have very grave doubts about what we’re doing here. Let’s admit it, the Theory barely stands up to close scrutiny: a set of harsh measures disguised as ideology by some well-intentioned professor. I mean, what exactly does society hope to achieve by rounding up all the mules and shipping them off to the wildest reaches of the earth? Will it really bring improvement, or have we been fooling ourselves all along?”

  Sargent gave the questions a few moments’ thought.

  “Don’t ask me,” he said.

  After that the subject was dropped.

  When dawn finally came, nobody professed to having had a good night’s sleep. Instead, they wandered around the camp, waiting for breakfast and becoming irritated with one another for scant reason. Johns mentioned to Scagg that he found this state of affairs rather disturbing.

  “It’s only the first morning,” he said. “What will their mood be like when they’ve been carrying that chair for a few days?”

  “They’ll soon adapt to it,” Scagg answered. “They always do.”

  “Maybe we…good grief!”

  Johns broke off as Gribble drew back her canopy and stepped out. The cause of his astonishment was clear. Since the previous evening Gribble’s appearance had changed beyond recognition. She was still dressed in sackcloth, but now there was a belt fastened around her waist. This belt was made from a strip of canvas, and served to give her garment a degree of femininity formerly lacking. Also, her hair was elaborately plaited, whereas hitherto it had always been unkempt. Most striking, though, were the bright blue lines that ran across her face: two on each cheek, and one in a V-shape on her forehead. These lines had been applied in the form of a thick paste, apparently ground down from the blue stones so carefully chosen by Gribble.

  “I wondered why she wanted that spare strip of canvas,” said Sargent, reddening slightly.

  Apart from this solitary remark, the men seemed at a complete loss for words. They stood in a half-circle gaping as Gribble passed by before seating herself at a discreet distance from the cooking area. There she waited until Summerfield delivered her breakfast. When he rejoined his comrades he said, “Gribble asked me to say she had a pleasant night, thank you very much.”

  “Well, that’s something,” replied Johns.

  As departure time approached, great care was taken to ensure that only the most essential items were packed for the onward journey. Any gear considered dispensable was left behind in a new depot. The rest was bundled into three loads, along with the remaining food supplies. Then, when all was ready, Gribble was requested to take her place on the litter. She was to be carried on this first day by Chase, Seddon, Sargent and Plover, while the other three men shouldered the packs. ‘Unexpectedly light’ was the unanimous verdict when the lit
ter was raised from the ground and they got moving. The air was heavy with dust, however, and it was not long before Gribble closed the canopy, leaving her entourage to battle on as best they could. After an hour, Johns called a halt.

  “Slow but steady,” he announced. “So far, so good.”

  During the break, Chase was asked to check their position. Summerfield had been leading the way, and Chase quickly established that he had, in fact, erred from their desired course.

  “We’re a bit too far to the west,” Chase told Johns. “An easy enough mistake.”

  “Maybe so,” Johns replied. “Yet I wouldn’t have expected it from Summerfield of all people.”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “He’s seemed rather distracted of late; therefore, I think I’ll take over the leading from now on, and I’ll make sure to confer regularly with you.”

  “Righto, sir,” said Chase.

  When the journey resumed, no more comments were heard about the litter being ‘unexpectedly light’. Instead the men fell into a solemn march, heads down against the wind, and kept their thoughts to themselves. In this manner they continued for the rest of the day. The miles dragged by, and there was little to distinguish one hour from the next. Occasionally Gribble would peek out from her recess as if taking note of their progress. Then her face would vanish once more. Otherwise she was rarely seen. At meal breaks it was always Summerfield who served her. Johns did not wholly approve of this arrangement but, as he said to Scagg, no one else ever offered to do it, so for the time being it might as well stand.

  By dusk the pace had slowed noticeably. At six o’clock Johns paused and raised an arm. Immediately the entire party halted, unrolled the tent, and began setting up camp.

  “Actually I was only adjusting my pack,” said Johns. “But I suppose this is as good a place to stop as any.”

  ♦

  The days passed, and gradually their objective drew nearer. One morning, after breakfast, Sargent made a great show of inspecting the portable chair. He went from corner to corner, spitting on his hands before grasping each of the carrying poles to test the grip. When he’d finished he shook his head in a puzzled way, then wandered back to join his companions.

  “What’s the matter, Sargent?” Johns enquired.

  “Well, it’s very odd, sir,” came the reply. “But it seems to be heavier at the front left-hand corner.”

  “You mean the corner you were carrying all day yesterday?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Sargent. “I’ve tried all the other corners and mine’s definitely the heaviest. I just can’t understand it.”

  “But you built the blasted thing!”

  Sargent sighed deeply. “I know, sir,” he said. “That’s the worst part of it.”

  “Well, take another corner then.”

  “No, it’s all right, sir,” said Sargent. “I’ll keep my corner now I’m used to the weight. I’m just saying it’s heavier than the others, that’s all.”

  “Sargent, would you like some chocolate?” said Plover suddenly.

  Six startled faces turned towards him.

  “Please don’t make jokes like that,” Johns uttered. “Not when we’re struggling on short rations. You really should know better, Plover.”

  “It wasn’t a joke, sir.” Plover reached into his inside pocket and produced a complete bar of chocolate, still pristine in its wrapper. “I’ve been saving this since the expedition began,” he said. “I thought Sargent might enjoy a pick-me-up seeing as he’s having to endure extra hardship. As a matter of fact, there’s enough for everybody.”

  A stunned silence followed, during which the bar was passed round amongst the men. It was divided into eight sections, and consequently there was one piece remaining at the end.

  “Gribble can have that bit, if she wants,” said Plover.

  “Are you sure?” said Summerfield.

  “Of course I’m sure.”

  “Would you like to hand it to her yourself then?”

  “No, no. I’ll allow you that pleasure.”

  “All right, well, thank you, Plover. That’s very nice of you.”

  “Hear, hear,” agreed Johns. “Well done, Plover. Very well done indeed, and it so happens you’ve chosen the perfect moment for such a gesture. Chase and I have been keeping this next piece of news quiet so as not to raise false hopes, but I feel under the circumstances it’s safe to make an announcement. I’m pleased to tell everybody that we should reach the Furthest Point later today!”

  At once a mighty cheer rose up, and the men all went round shaking hands with one another.

  “On a cautionary note,” Johns added, “I think I should warn you of the possibility that Tostig may have beaten us to it. Now, as I’ve said from the start, this is not a race, and personally it makes no difference whether he gets there first or not. Nevertheless, I know a few of you might find such an outcome difficult to accept. Therefore, you should prepare yourselves for disappointment.”

  “What will we do if he’s there to meet us?” asked Seddon.

  “Congratulate him, of course,” Johns replied.

  Gribble chose to mark the occasion by renewing her blue streaks (which Sargent referred to as ‘war paint’). She seldom left the confines of her litter any more, but this morning she made a brief appearance as the men strove to pack away the gear. For a short while she walked amongst them, nodding and smiling from time to time, until at last the inclement weather drove her back inside. She spoke quietly to Summerfield before withdrawing, and was not seen again for some hours. Subsequently, all efforts were concentrated on the journey ahead. If Johns’ prediction was to come true, they needed to get a move on, and everyone agreed that a smart pace was required. So it was that all of a sudden Chase, Sargent, Scagg and Plover grabbed hold of the litter and set off with it, leaving the other three labouring after them with the baggage. It turned out that this ‘jape’ had been secretly organised by Scagg, in order to maintain a light-hearted spirit in the face of hardship. Unfortunately, Johns did not seem to view it this way, since he was amongst those left behind, and when he caught up with the rest of the party his feathers were clearly ruffled. Saying nothing, he purposefully strode past them until he had reclaimed his position at the head of the column. Only after another hour did his indignation subside, at which time his comrades heard him whistling a merry tune.

  “He’s happy now,” remarked Scagg. “We’re on the home straight.”

  Despite this optimism, there was one last hitch. With only a mile to go, the dust thickened considerably, and Johns found it necessary to stop and check his bearings with Chase. This took a minute or so. Then, when the men raised the litter to move off again, Gribble began rocking it violently, forcing them to put it down.

  “Gribble, what do you think you’re doing?” Johns demanded.

  She opened the canopy and looked out.

  “I wish to be borne aloft,” she answered.

  “Don’t be so damned silly,” said Johns. “It’s hard enough carrying you as it is without you being awkward.”

  “Very well,” said Gribble, stepping nimbly out of the litter. “I’m not going any further.”

  “What?!”

  “I wish to be borne aloft,” she repeated. “For the last mile.”

  Johns clasped his hands together and regarded her patiently.

  “Look, Gribble,” he said. “You really must try to be reasonable.”

  “I can’t be reasonable!” she snapped. “I’m only a mule, remember. We don’t do reasonable things! All I know is that your mission cannot succeed without me; therefore, I’ll only go on if you agree to my wishes.”

  They had come to an impasse, so Johns moved away and conferred quietly with Scagg.

  “Why don’t we make a grab for her?” Scagg suggested. “Surely seven of us can manage that?”

  “I’m not so certain,” Johns countered. “We’re all tired, whilst she’s as fresh as a daisy, and very canny to boot. I doubt if we could get a
nywhere near her. Moreover, I’m reluctant to use coercion this late in the game. She’s been fairly cooperative to date, and I’m inclined to give her the benefit and find out exactly what these wishes are.” He turned towards Gribble and addressed her directly. “So you want to be borne aloft, do you?”

  “At shoulder height,” she replied. “For the last mile.”

  “Yes, well, I suppose we can go along with that.”

  “I want another cushion for my litter.”

  “That can be arranged.”

  “And I desire to be known henceforth as Princess Gribble,” she continued. “I wish to be granted full title to all the lands hereabout, so that I can reign over them for ever more.”

  “What on earth are you talking about?” said Johns. “You can’t stay here on your own.”

  “I won’t be on my own,” said Gribble. “I’ll be with my consort.”

  At these words the assembled men laughed in disbelief. The laughter faded, however, when Summerfield stepped forward.

  “She means me, sir,” he announced.

  “You, Summerfield?!” exclaimed Johns. “Have you taken leave of your senses?”

  “I don’t believe so, sir.”

  “Are you telling me you intend to live in this place? With this mule?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “But it’s quite unthinkable. I simply won’t hear of it. Even setting aside the moral question, which we won’t discuss now, there’s the matter of feasibility. You must be aware that our supplies have practically run out. What do you suppose you would live on?”

  “Supplies can be sent up,” Summerfield answered. “It’s been known all along that establishing a colony would require outside support: you told me that yourself, sir. With me here there’s a much greater chance of success.”

  “And what about the months of adversity and darkness, the bitter cold, possibly even starvation?”

  “We’ve endured pretty much already, Mr Johns. The worst is behind us.”

  Johns gave Summerfield a thoughtful look. “It seems you’ve considered this quite carefully,” he said. “So when did the pair of you plan it all?”