Magnus Mills - Explorers of the New Century

“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 opted 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.