Explorers of the New Century

Seven

“You know what I’d like?” said Sargent.

“No,” replied Seddon. “Do tell us.”

“I’d like a plate of freshly baked scones.”

“Oh yes?”

“Scones served piping hot with lashings of butter and jam. A bit of cream would be nice as well, just to finish the job; but the main thing is they’d have to be freshly baked.”

Sargent was reclining on his utility blanket with his hands behind his head. He watched as the tent billowed languidly in the wind, causing dappled lamplight to play along the walls.

“I’m afraid scones are off the menu for the time being,” remarked Seddon.

“No spare flour then?” said Sargent.

“No flour at all,” came the answer.

The tent had four occupants. Sargent was in his normal position by the door. Next to him was Summerfield, already fast asleep. Then came Seddon, and at the far end was Plover. The latter had adopted his usual pose. He was lying on his side, outstretched with his legs crossed and his head propped on one hand, facing the doorway.

He waited a moment and then said, “I think you’ll find that the correct pronunciation is ‘scones’.”

“‘Scones?’” repeated Sargent.

“‘Scones’,” repeated Plover.

“Well, I’ve never heard that before. We’ve always said ‘scones’ where I come from.”

“Same here,” agreed Seddon.

“I assure you the word is ‘scones’,” said Plover. “You should look it up when you get the opportunity.”

“Yes, I will,” rejoined Sargent. “When I get the opportunity.”

He reached over to the lamp and turned it off. In the neighbouring tent a muffled conversation could be heard, indicating that Johns, Scagg (and possibly Chase) were still awake. Sargent also seemed keen to continue talking.

“No flour, eh?” he said.

“Not an ounce.”

“Biscuits?”

“A few.”

“Beans?”

“Likewise.”

“I suppose there’s still plenty of the patent malt drink?”

“Yep,” confirmed Seddon. “The entire case was saved from the river.”

“Well, there’s a mercy.”

“Don’t you like it then?”

“I didn’t mind it at first, but to tell the truth I’ve had that much of the stuff it’s beginning to swill round inside me.”

“So you won’t mind when we start dishing it out to the mules.”

“What?!”

“We gave them the last of their mash this evening,” said Seddon. “The rest was washed away in the disaster.”

“Are you telling me they’re going to be sharing our rations?”

“According to Scagg, yes.”

“Blimey.”

“You should be quite pleased: it’ll give you something else to moan about.”

“Oh, I fully reserve the right to moan,” said Sargent. “It’s the only pleasure I get these days.”

A series of grunts and curses in the darkness signalled that he was finally getting ready to bed down for the night, and within a few minutes he was snoring. The other tent had now gone quiet.

“Tell me, Seddon,” said Plover. “What’s our exact position regarding the supplies?”

“Quite precarious,” Seddon answered.

“It’s going to be a close call, isn’t it?”

“Indeed.”

“I thought as much,” Plover sighed. “What a damned fiasco this is.”

Not until several seconds had passed did Seddon respond.

“Pardon?” he said.

“Well, don’t you think so?” said Plover.

“Think what?”

“That this expedition has been a complete shambles from start to finish. Look at it: we’ve had one catastrophe after another: supplies running out; mules crushed or drowned; men strung out in one’s and two’s across half a continent; perfectly good tents abandoned; the list goes on and on.”

“And you could have organised it better, could you?”

“I’m just saying…”

“Look, Plover!” rasped Seddon. “I’ve told you before, I’m not interested in your weaselly sort of griping!”

“But Sargent complains morning, noon and night,” protested Plover.

“That’s different! Sargent is a time-served whinger of long-standing, and what’s more it’s a privilege he’s earned. In your case, if you’ve got anything to say you can say it directly to Mr Johns. Otherwise I suggest you keep your mouth well and truly shut!”

The snoring had ceased.

“Who?” said Sargent, drowsily.

“Nothing,” replied Seddon. “It was a disturbance over nothing.”

There was no further talk.

Outside, under the open sky, the five surviving mules were sleeping. Ever since the incident on the river, they had been allowed to shelter between the two tents at night, rather than being confined to the edge of the camp. The four males were tethered together in a group; the sole female, unrestrained, nestled amongst them. And so they remained for the long, cold hours before dawn, at which time Seddon emerged and started cooking breakfast. He was accompanied by Summerfield, whose usual duty was to prepare hot mash for the mules. This having run out the previous evening, however, he instead gave them a simplified version of the men’s rations. He then joined his comrades to eat. The morning was a dismal grey, and full daylight was very slow in coming. Consequently, it was not until the equipment was being packed up and loaded did anyone notice that the female had at some point slipped away. She was eventually spotted loitering some hundred yards to the west, and Summerfield was sent to fetch her back.

He advanced without hurry, setting off in a casual manner as if embarking on a country stroll. The mule appeared to ignore his approach, her attention seemingly otherwise engaged; but when he drew near she moved out of reach again. Summerfield paused. He could now see what was occupying her. She was toying with a smooth blue pebble, the size and shape of a small egg. Sometimes she tossed it up and down, or weighed it in the palm of her hand; sometimes she rubbed it against her skin, carefully examining the blue stain it left behind. Still Summerfield did not stir, but continued to regard her in silence. Finally, curiosity got the better of her and she glanced across at him. With a faint smile on his face, Summerfield reached into his pocket and produced a similar pebble.

“Snap,” he said.

“Snap yourself,” said the mule.

He held his pebble towards her. “Would you like this?”

“I don’t mind.”

“Catch then.”

After catching the pebble and comparing it with her own, the mule then apparently lost interest in both and let the hand holding them fall idly to her side.

“Did you have enough to eat?” Summerfield enquired.

“Just about.”

“Good.” He smiled again. “Ready to go then?”

“Who?”

“You.”

The mule stared at Summerfield and said, “I do have a name, you know.”

“Oh. Yes. Of course. What is it?”

“You didn’t think I had a name, did you? You just thought I was one of those ‘wretched mules’. The pretty female.”

“Well…”

“Gribble.”

“I’m sorry?”

“That’s my name. Nice, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Summerfield. “Gribble. Yes, it is very nice. Now we really should be thinking about moving.”

The mule ignored this comment. Instead she said quietly, “Your friend came and spoke to me last night.”

“What friend?”

“Peewit.”

“Ah,” said Summerfield. “You mean Plover.”

“We call him Peewit.”

“He’s not really a friend. Just a travelling companion.”

“He told me I should watch my step. He said I’d do well to remember which side my bread was buttered.”

“Yes, that sounds like Plover. Well, don’t worry about what he says. He has no authority.”

“I told him it wasn’t buttered either side.”

Summerfield laughed. “Very good, Gribble. Yes, that’s very good indeed.”

“I wouldn’t laugh too loudly,” she replied. “Grim the Collier is watching us.”

She nodded in the direction of the camp, and Summerfield turned to see Scagg standing some distance away, observing proceedings.

“Why do you call him Grim the Collier?”

“On account of his big black beard.”

“Oh, I see.”

“And we call your leader Dock.”

“What about me?” said Summerfield. “Have you given me a name too?”

“No,” answered the mule. “We haven’t.”

“Maybe you will after a while.”

“Maybe.”

Again Summerfield glanced towards the camp. Even from this distance it was evident that most of the gear had been packed and loaded. Soon it would be time to leave, yet he was making little headway with the mule.

“Your leader doesn’t allow us any buttered bread,” she said.

“No, he doesn’t,” acknowledged Summerfield. “Nevertheless, your welfare is of great concern to him.”

“But we live our lives dressed in sackcloth!”

“That is a simple matter of expedience; generally speaking you’re not treated badly at all. Mr Johns sees to it you’re sufficiently fed and watered; and as for the sackcloth, you should actually consider yourself fortunate: in some societies mules are made to wear bells around their necks.”

“And that makes me fortunate, does it?”

“Now listen, Gribble!” snapped Summerfield. “I’ve been patient with you so far, but I must tell you you’re seriously pushing your luck. You’ve already won a major concession in not being tethered at night, yet you continue to be troublesome. Now what’s brought this on exactly?”

“My burden is too great.”

“But you already carry less than the others.”

“It’s still too much.”

“Well, it can’t be helped. You must at least shoulder your fair share.”

“For what purpose?” said Gribble. “So that you can take us to the back of beyond and leave us there?”

“How on earth do you know about that?” demanded Summerfield.

“Because I’m not stupid!”

“Summerfield!” came a cry from the encampment. “What’s keeping you?!”

It was Scagg.

“Nothing of importance!” Summerfield called back. “Give me another minute, will you?!”

“All right, but we need to get going shortly!”

“You heard him,” said Summerfield to the mule. “Now do come on or you’ll get left behind.”

“What about my burden?” she asked.

“I’ll do everything I can to get it reduced. It may not be straight away but I promise I’ll try. Now, please, can we make a move?”

“I suppose so.”

“Follow me then.”

Without further debate, Summerfield turned and headed back towards the main group. Gribble trailed in his wake, still clasping her blue pebbles. She passed under the critical eye of Scagg, who shook his head but said nothing when Summerfield selected a few lightweight items for her to carry. Soon afterwards the signal to depart was given. United again, the five mules fell into line one behind the other, and the expedition resumed its northward course. Johns was keen to take advantage of the gradually improving light, which had been of great help recently despite the shortages and the ceaseless gales. The days were brief in length, and chiefly overcast, but compared to the weeks of perpetual darkness the situation had improved no end. In this respect, said Johns, they could commend themselves.

“Our original plan is at last approaching fruition,” he told Scagg that evening. “As you know, the idea of the winter journey was so we would reach our destination at the start of spring: the best time of year to establish any kind of settlement. Obviously the success of that remains in the balance, but at least it now appears likely we’ll arrive when we said we would, which is most gratifying.”

“‘The light at the end of the tunnel’,” offered Scagg.

“Indeed yes,” said Johns. “Day by day we’re getting a clearer picture of the type of landscape we’re set to encounter. A blank canvas, I suppose one might call it, on which we hope to make a mark.”

“I’m sure we will, sir.”

“Thank you, Scagg. Your support has been quite invaluable.”

“Have you come to any conclusions about the settlement itself?”

“Only dim ones, I’m afraid; but we must always live in hope. Now I wonder where Chase has got to. He said he was just going out to stretch his legs, but he’s been absent a good half hour.”

“This sounds like him now.”

Some boots scuffed outside; then the tent flaps parted and Chase entered.

“Sony about the delay,” he said, when Johns glanced at his pocket watch. “I detected a change in the atmosphere, a sort of heaviness, and I’ve been trying to define exactly what it is.”

“The possibility of rain?” enquired Johns.

“Sadly, no, sir,” replied Chase. “Rather a dry element, as a matter of fact.” He held out his sleeve to show them. “The air is laden with dust particles,” he explained. “This is a mere half hour’s worth.”

“Dust!” said Johns. “The last thing we need!”

“Blowing down from the north, too,” Chase added.

They listened as the canvas thudded laboriously in the wind.

“We seem to be under constant siege by harsh external forces,” remarked Johns. “Yet I wonder how we’d feel if we woke tomorrow and heard the gentle pitter-patter of rain on the roof? Homesick beyond measure, I don’t doubt.”

Carefully, Chase brushed his clothes and swept the dust outside; then he clambered into his own corner of the tent and got ready to go to sleep. “It’s the morning dew that I miss,” he said.

“Really, Chase?” said Johns. “So you’re a bit of a romantic at heart then?”

“Not really, sir,” came the reply. “But normally when it’s dewy in the morning it turns out nice later.”

“There’s not much chance of that happening round this place,” put in Scagg. “The weather’s always horrible.”

“I suppose it’s why no one’s bothered coming here before us,” said Johns. “Apart from our friend Tostig, of course.”

“Tostig?” said Chase. “Oh, yes: I’d forgotten all about him. I wonder how he’s getting on.”

“Same as we are, probably,” murmured Scagg.

Thereafter the discussion subsided. Chase and Scagg settled down quietly beneath their blankets, and within minutes the forlorn roar of the night had lulled them both into deep slumbers. Johns, though, stayed awake a little longer. For a while he sat motionless, his journal in his hand, gazing at the flickering lamplight. Along with the rest of his comrades, he had now grown a beard: not a grizzly one like Scagg’s, but, nonetheless, one that showed he’d been travelling for many weeks. It had been an arduous time. Behind him were stacked the depleted remains of his once vast range of equipment. His men were tired. The fabric of the tent was worn thin, and, outside, the flag was in tatters on its flimsy staff.

Johns’s reverie ceased when a sudden draught of air caused the lamp to flare up momentarily. He glanced down at his journal. Then, opening it on a new page, he took his pen and wrote:

Morale very good despite worsening conditions. Latest hazard has arrived in the form of flying dust. Most unwelcome.

Inadvertently mentioned Tostig this evening during talk with men. Hope it does not prove to be an unlucky slip. Feel we are nearing our goal and should hate for them to be disappointed.

At the close of the following day, just after supper, Johns asked for Summerfield to come and see him in the command tent. He arranged for Scagg and Chase to make themselves temporarily absent, then sat and awaited his visitor.

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 hoped 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.

“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 litter 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 anywhere 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?”

“I’ve been visiting Gribble at night,” Summerfield explained.

“You mean…?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I see.” Johns regarded Summerfield for a long moment before continuing. “Well, Summerfield, I’m sure I’m not alone when I say this comes as a great shock. Heaven knows how I’m going to explain it in my journal. All the same I must admit your scheme does have its merits. It offers the chance to test the Theory of Transportation at an empirical level, thus achieving far more than our original goal. What’s your opinion, Scagg?”

“I’d prefer to reserve judgment, if you don’t mind, sir,” Scagg replied. “But I should point out that this delay is costing us valuable time. There’s hardly an hour of daylight remaining.”

“You’re correct as usual,” said Johns. “Yes, we really must hurry if we’re to arrive before nightfall. All right, Summerfield, I think we can accept these demands in principle, although, of course, the details will have to be ironed out later. Now can you please ask ‘Princess Gribble’ to board her carriage immediately?”

“Yes, sir.” Summerfield lowered his voice. “By the way, sir,” he added. “The royal title wasn’t my idea, nor the bit about bearing her aloft.”

“Never mind that now,” said Johns. “Let’s just get moving, shall we?”

After a word from Summerfield, Gribble returned to the litter and stepped gracefully inside, closing the canopy behind her. Then she was raised to shoulder height and the journey commenced once more. It took a while for the men to adapt to the new posture, but fortunately the ground was flat and before long they’d got into their stride. The sky had begun steadily to darken, investing this final march with a sense of mounting urgency. Already Johns had gone to the front of the column, and with every step his lead increased further. In his hand he carried the battered flagstaff. Soon he was a good fifty yards ahead, pressing forward with a marked determination. He appeared to be counting his paces, and at a certain point he abruptly stopped and turned to wait for the rest of the party. Amidst the swirling dust he stood like a statue until the others joined him.

“Here we are at last,” he said, smiling.

The litter was laid down, Chase verified their position, and the men gathered around Johns to give him three cheers.

“Success indeed,” said Scagg. “It looks as if we’re first after all.”

He shook hands with Johns, followed in turn by each of the others.

Then, as night hastened on, the wind abated. Suddenly the dust cleared, revealing a mound of freshly dug earth with a flag stuck in the top. When Johns caught sight of it, he fell to his knees.

“Oh no!” he cried. “No, no, no, no, no!”