Magnus Mills - Explorers of the New Century

“Sorry I didn’t come and lend a hand earlier,” he said. “I thought we were supposed to be waiting for Johns’ decision.”

“We were,” replied Sargent. “But it was obvious the moment he came back he’d already made his mind up.”

“Why was it obvious?”

“Because he looked so blinking cheerful, that’s why!”

Shortly afterwards, everyone was called into the middle of the camp so that Johns could address them. He was wearing a heavy surcoat, as well as his woolly helmet and mittens, and stood braced against the wind.

“Good morning, men,” he said, raising his voice. “I’m glad to see you’re all so keen to press on. In fact, I find it most heartening. Now you might have guessed it’s blowing seven bells beyond the ridge, but I’ve come to the conclusion we would gain nothing by waiting here on the off-chance that it subsides. We’d simply lose another day. So, assuming you’ve all breakfasted, I’d like to push forward at once, if that’s agreeable to everybody?”

“Quite agreeable,” replied Scagg.

“Excellent,” said Johns. “And by the way, I suggest you don the warmest clothing you have. It’s really quite bitter up there.”

At these words he glanced briefly at Plover who, unlike the other men, was still wearing his high-peaked cap. By some fortune this item had stayed on its owner’s head during even the worst bouts of wind experienced in the past few days, and had lately become a frequent subject of discussion between Johns and Scagg. On several occasions Johns expressed his opinion that woolly helmets were markedly more suitable for the present conditions than any sort of cap, being both warmer and likelier to stay in place. He urged Scagg to press the point on Plover, but for some reason Scagg persistently failed to do this. Johns never raised the matter directly with Plover himself because, as he told Scagg, it might cause embarrassment. Hence Plover continued to be at odds with his companions: them in their woolly helmets; him in his high-peaked cap.

He was wearing it thirty minutes later when they departed from the camp, leaving Summerfield’s stone dyke as the only evidence they had ever been there. No one witnessed whether or not Plover struggled to retain his headgear as they mounted the ridge. Dawn was still some hours away, and the combination of darkness and rising gales meant all their faculties were directed towards finding a passage over the ridge and into the territory beyond. Summerfield pioneered the way, his body bent to the ground; his pace slow but resolute. Then came Blanchflower and Firth leading the mules, followed by Scagg and the rest of the men in steady procession, with Johns at the rear. The formation had been as such for almost a week now, and at Scagg’s suggestion had remained unaltered.

“There won’t be any stragglers when they know you’re behind them,” he observed to Johns one evening in the seclusion of their tent. “I’ll pull them and you can push them, so to speak.”

“Are you sure that’s really necessary?” Johns enquired. “After all, they’re each of them hand-picked volunteers who shouldn’t need any inducement.”

“Mark my words, Mr Johns,” replied Scagg. “Even the keenest volunteer needs the occasional prod in the right direction.”

“Well, all right, if you say so,” said Johns. “You certainly seem to have the measure of the men.”

A second consequence of this policy was that Summerfield had become de facto leader of the expedition. His enthusiasm apparently undampened by Johns’s cautionary words, it was always he who chose where they camped overnight, since he invariably arrived first. During the days of the gales he demonstrated an acute ability in judging the ideal times to rest, pause, or come to a full halt. Often the tail-enders entered a new site to find a rudimentary dyke already under construction, with the suggested position for the field kitchen carefully marked out. At other times Summerfield would get the stove set up temporarily, so that a hot malt drink awaited his comrades when they caught up. Johns seemed content to allow him to continue in the role of trailblazer (so long as he didn’t get too far ahead) and remarked to Scagg that this freed them to concentrate on logistical matters. For some while they had been holding regular consultations on the state of their supplies; these being based on Scagg’s figures. Regard was also given to the distance covered so far, and the estimated journey ahead. Accordingly, at the end of the twelfth day’s march across the scree, Johns and Scagg were occupied in their tent, heads together over a page of calculations.

“Yes, I quite agree,” Johns concluded at length. “Tomorrow would seem to be most opportune. And you think he can do it on his own?”

“I’ve no doubt at all,” said Scagg. “He’s a very capable man when he applies himself.”

“Very well. Could you ask him to come and see me?”

“Beg your pardon, but I’ve already taken the liberty. This should be him on his way now.”

There was a crunching of heavy boots outside the tent, followed by a polite cough, after which Cook’s head appeared in the opening. “You wanted to see me, Mr Johns, sir?”

“Yes, Cook. Step inside, will you?”

Cook did as he was instructed, removing his woolly helmet and clutching it in one hand behind his back. Meanwhile, Scagg stood up and went out. Johns ran his eye over the calculations once more, then glanced at the man before him.

“Fancy a change, Cook?” he said.

“I don’t mind, sir.”

“Well, there’s a task I’d like you to do for me.”

“Sir.”

“I want you to act as a relay.”

“Sir?”

“Take four mules and make your way back to the blockhouse.”

“Oh, right, sir.”

“Have a rest for a day or two; then, when you judge the conditions are correct, bring out all the remaining supplies. Come only as far as Summerfield’s Depression. With luck we’ll meet you there on our return journey. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good,” said Johns. “You can leave first thing tomorrow. See Seddon for some rations and any equipment you think you may need. Now, at present you share a tent with Medleycott and Sargent, don’t you?”

“I do, sir, yes.”

“All right, well, I think I’ll pay them a visit and explain what’s happening. Lead on, will you, Cook?”

A few moments later they emerged into the night, where the only illumination came in the form of a weak glow emanating from each of the other three tents. The rest of the camp lay hidden from view as the tireless wind swept over it. Carefully avoiding an array of guy ropes, Cook led the way to his own tent and parted the flaps.

“After you, Mr Johns,” he announced in a loud voice.

Inside, the lamp revealed Medleycott and Sargent reclining against their kit bags. Both peered casually towards the doorway before sitting up sharply to clear a space for their unexpected guest. “No need for ceremony,” said Johns, ducking inside. With a gleeful look on his face, Cook slipped in behind him. After exchanging a few pleasantries with his men, Johns made some general enquiries into their well-being. He listened earnestly to their replies, then told them about Cook’s imminent departure. “This marks the beginning of the second stage of our operation,” he expanded. “It has all been worked out by Scagg and myself, and means we should be fully supplied for our return journey. The other side of the coin is that we’ll be going on with four less mules than before, so I’m afraid we’ll be obliged to jettison some of our gear. We’ll be abandoning one of the tents when we leave here tomorrow, as well as select other items, and these measures should help reduce our overall burden. The large telescope, for example, has proved superfluous to requirements, so it can stay behind. Personally I’ll be sacrificing my camp table, which I’ve come to regard as an unnecessary luxury. If any of you wish to make similar gestures they will be greatly appreciated.”