Basil Copper: The Great White Space

He pointed out through the thick quartz windows to the far side of the hangar.

‘Collapsible rubber boats of specially toughened material. If necessary, four of them, suitably girdered could act as pontoons for ferrying tractors. I don’t think we’ll fail this time. We dare not fail.’

He clenched his fist on the table in front of him as he spoke and it seemed to me as though shutters momentarily closed over his eyes, but not before I had seen chaotic fires burning within. I then realised that Clark Ashton Scarsdale was a man of immense strength whose mental fortitude was under siege by equally strong pressures. I cleared my throat and the trivial sound seemed to recall the Professor to his surroundings. It appeared to me then as though he had been far away physically, and that once again he stood upon the shore of a vast tideless underground sea.

‘The clay oval upon the model depicts the underground lake?’ I said.

The Professor nodded. ‘Exactly. I could, in fact, have gone beyond this in the model but I did not feel it politic to do so.’

Seeing the surprise upon my face he went on.

‘I have formulated theories from my earlier research but as I have myself not seen with my own eyes what lies beyond the lake it seemed pointless to give it physical features in a model of that sort.’

‘What do you expect to find beyond the lake?’ I asked bluntly.

Scarsdale smiled. He became at once far less serious.

‘I have, as I indicated, definite theories. What these are it would be both premature and unwise to reveal at this stage. It might take the zest out of the exploration for the other members of the expedition. And we must, must we not, have soijie speculative topics to discuss during the long nights in camp?’

I agreed. Just one point of curiosity remained for the moment.

‘The tractors, Professor. Supposing we venture beyond visual touch?’

Scarsdale became the practical man again.

‘Powerful searchlights for underground work, plus lanterns for pre-arranged signals. Short-wave radio sets for verbal contact, effective up to a range of five miles. You’ll be given instructions on this equipment also before we start. But here’s Collins. He’ll be wanting the tea-things. Are you satisfied with the Great Northern Expedition?’

‘Perfectly,’ I said.

Thus casually did I commit myself to the most appalling experience of my life.

Having completed my arrangements in London I drove back down to Surrey the following week in a mood which blended contentment with apprehension. In the interim I had time to consider the implications of the Professor’s cryptic statements; divorced of his personality and the sincerity of his voice they left a good deal to be desired. And yet, wild as some of his assertions had been and as mysterious as our destination still appeared, I was inclined on balance to believe him. There was no doubt of his sanity in my mind and his field record was an impressive one.

I had been to the reference books during the past few days and my old friend Robson had added his own personal reminiscences of Scarsdale’s personality; third-hand, I must admit, but they had reinforced my own belief in his integrity. Robson too was a dabbler in outre and bizarre things on the fringe of the world’s knowledge; one of his own friends had accompanied. Scarsdale on what he was pleased to call one of his ‘hikes’. He was full of admiration for a man he regarded as one of the most outstanding field workers of the twentieth century.

All this was good enough for me. With Robson’s assurance that he would ‘look in’ at my flat from time to time and deal with any mail of a business nature, and my own promise that I would write as and when I was able, I packed my few personal belongings, together with a plethora of photographic equipment, bundled it all in my old car and set off. On my arrival at The Pines I was at once flung into such a routine of work, research, preparation and tests that on looking back I regarded it as one of the most enjoyable — if occasionally traumatic experiences — of my life.

In addition to my special photographic work — and I had to set up a minute dark room for my own purposes in Number 1 tractor — and the general manhandling of supplies inescapable in such a project where the five principals are desirous of keeping their preparations secret — I had also to learn the mysteries of tractor driving, plus the operation of the radio equipment linking the mobile bases. Scarsdale, to my surprise, had designated me his sole companion in Number 1 with Van Damm in charge of Number 2, Holden and Prescott acting as his crew. I asked if that were not causing an imbalance among the expedition’s scientific personnel but the Professor’s reply somewhat startled me.

‘The technical qualifications have little to do with this aspect,’ he assured me. ‘All I am concerned with is that the two physically strongest people shall be in the leading vehicle.’

This factor, together with the other special equipment being loaded, filled me with some disquiet. Rifles, revolvers, grenades, Very pistols and even what looked like a rack of elephant guns were among the formidable armaments being screwed into position within the vehicles.

I had meant to ask Scarsdale about this but something in his eyes made me hold my own counsel. Certainly, none of the others saw any reason for comment or alarm in the material currently loading and I wondered if perhaps they had discussed it all earlier. I understood the four of them had been at the Surrey house for something like a year and certainly they all worked smoothly together with a score of private jokes and special references that I, as a newcomer, could not be expected to comprehend.

The only outward opinion expressed was Holden’s jocular remark to Prescott one afternoon. Scarsdale was absent on some business in Guildford and Holden was lifting one of the massive elephant pieces through the sliding door of Number 2. He made some grave comment about Van Damm’s forthcoming ‘sparrow shoot’. To my surprise both he and his companion went into veritable paroxysms of laughter and the subject of their amusement, whom I had not earlier seen in the hangar doorway, joined in, Van Damm’s high, snickering laugh echoing among the roof girders.

They had more cause for amusement shortly as it was soon discovered that I was an even more inept pupil than Van Damm at tractor-driving; try as I would, I could not at first remember exactly how to operate the two confounded levers and the complicated gear-stick that Scarsdale and Van Damm had devised to drive the things and my efforts in the misty orchard, with Collins hopping frantically out of the way and the Professor bellowing about the high cost of fruit trees, raised echoes of mirth long after their physical manifestations had ceased.

Van Damm, I think, was secretly pleased at this, as it gave the Professor another scapegoat though he did not, of course, bully me in the same manner and his arguments did not take the same form that his mock rows with the doctor took. But he did take me aside on one or two occasions to express his gentle concern at my ineptitude and it was this, more than anything, which forged in me the ambition to succeed That I succeeded in becoming the best driver among them, with a ground-work of only three weeks’ training, was a tribute, I feel, to the Professor’s personality rather than to any special aptitude on my part.

When the Professor went to the bank one morning to draw out a number of charts, books and other documents he had deposited there, we then knew that the time of departure must be near. We were not leaving, initially, by ship, but the Professor had arranged for the vehicles to be taken through France and Italy by road, in three great lorries and we could, of course, leave at almost any time, being subject to no sailing schedules other than those maintained by the Channel boats.