“Yes, I suppose so.”
Rolling out of his bunk, Cook padded over to the stove. “Oh well, if it helps keep the blinking cold out I’ll give anything a try. I heard the mercury dropped to fifteen below last night.”
“That’s nothing,” said Sargent. “We’ll be losing the sun in a week or two. Then we’ll really know about it. Put some fuel in there, will you?”
“All right.”
In the corner stood a coal bucket, which Cook grabbed and swung upwards, emptying the contents into the stove. He did this in a careless manner, allowing black dust to spill on to the floor. Closing the lid, he adjusted the flame before seizing a broom to sweep up. Sargent, meanwhile, had pulled a sheet from his bunk and was giving it a shake.
The door opened and Scagg looked in. “Spring cleaning, gentlemen?”
“Not really, no,” Cook answered.
“What are you doing then?”
“Nothing.”
“Why not?”
“We thought it was a rest day,” said Sargent. “There was no work posted this morning.”
“That’s because you’re supposed to be carrying out voluntary tasks.”
“Well, no one told us.”
“You shouldn’t have needed telling!” declared Scagg. “Mr Johns expects people to just get on with things without being ‘told’. At the moment, for example, Blanchflower and Firth are outside this very blockhouse, applying a new coat of whitewash. Summerfield’s helping Medleycott gather driftwood, and Seddon’s gone out in the cutter to see if he can catch some fish.”
“What about Plover?” enquired Cook. “What’s he doing?”
Scagg came inside, closed the door, and spoke with a lowered voice. “Don’t concern yourselves about Plover,” he said. “I’m keeping my beady eye on him, you can be sure of that. But for your own sakes get on with something useful. You don’t want Mr Johns to catch you slacking, do you?”
“Of course not.”
“Well then.” Scagg glanced at the stove. “Tell you what, why don’t you bring in the rest of the coal?”
“All right,” said Cook. “Can we have a bit of breakfast first?”
“Certainly you can.”
“Like some?”
“No thanks. I had mine hours ago.”
By this time, Sargent had finished making his bed. He tucked in the final corner, then turned round to face Scagg. “Don’t mind my asking,” he said. “But when are we going to get moving?”
“As soon as the survey’s complete,” Scagg replied. “Could be tomorrow; could be the day after.”
“But all the time we spend here Tostig’s forging ahead.”
“That has nothing to do with us. Mr Johns won’t hear of leaving until he’s got the full lie of the land. I’m afraid you’re going to have to be patient, that’s all.”
“Well, I only hope he knows what he’s doing.”
“Of course he knows what he’s doing!” Scagg snapped. “Now get on with your work and don’t let’s have so much of it!”
He marched outside, slamming the door behind him. This caused the flames briefly to flare up inside the stove. Cook glanced at Sargent and shrugged. “You’d better be careful what you say to him in future.”
“All right I will, but I must say I don’t like the sound of all this volunteering for extra work.”
“I suppose it’s meant to be a chance for us to show willing.”
“But we volunteered to come on this trip, didn’t we? Wasn’t that showing willing enough?”
“Well, to be truthful, I don’t really mind getting the rest of the coal in. It’ll only take an hour or so, the two of us together.”
“That’s not the point,” replied Sargent. “If the job needed doing then someone should have said!”
§
On the evening before the journey began, Scagg went out alone. Sometime after supper he slipped unnoticed from the blockhouse, crossed the headland, and began walking westward. The moon was down. There were no landmarks along that deserted coast; no trees or bushes; and only a few stars to light his way. From time to time he paused to glance at the sea, or to pick up a stone whose shape caught his interest. This he would examine momentarily in the gloom, before casting it aside and continuing again in the same direction. Eventually he came to the dry river bed, where he headed inland, following its course between gradually rising banks. After another minute he arrived at a thin wooden pole stuck into the ground. At the top fluttered a small pennant. Here Scagg halted and stood for a long while gazing into the darkness beyond. Then he turned and retraced his steps back to the blockhouse. Inside, all was quiet. He opened the door and saw Johns sitting by the stove. “Ah, Scagg,” he said. “Just in time for ‘lights out’.” The rest of the party had retired for the evening, though none of them were yet asleep. They lay on their bunks writing diaries, or making minor preparations for the days ahead, replacing lost buttons and so forth. Only after Johns said good night did they try and get their heads down, but even then few slumbered properly. There was much to do next day, and long before dawn the whole company was up and about once more.
Cook had been instructed not to raise the flag that morning, and instead his first duty was to make some boiled mash for the mules. They were to be given extra portions to nourish them for the arduous journey that lay ahead, though Cook was careful not to be too generous.
“Don’t want them getting fat,” he muttered to himself, as he carried the steaming pot round to the rear of the blockhouse.
Meanwhile, his companions busied themselves with sundry tasks, getting the supplies ready for carrying and making sure nothing had been forgotten. The hour’s work before breakfast passed quickly. Then, when everyone came outside again, Johns asked them to gather round him.
“So we have,” he said, reading from a list, “Blanchflower, Chase, Cook, Firth, Medleycott, Plover, Sargent, Seddon and Summerfield. All present, Scagg?”
“All present, Mr Johns.”
“Very good. Now it’s far too cold to stand here making speeches. I’ve no time for such flummery, so without further ado I think we’ll make an immediate start. I just want to say, however, that I believe you have all been well chosen. I could not wish to begin an expedition such as this with a finer set of fellows. In Chase, for instance, we have one of the best navigators of our age. As you know, his excellent guidance brought the Centurion to this forsaken shore without a single fault, and I am relying fully on his judgment over the coming weeks as we head for the interior. Likewise, I regard Scagg as a most able deputy, and if anything should happen to me he will, of course, take command. As for the rest of you, well you are competent individuals without exception. You all know where we’re going and why we’re going there. It may take a good while, but I am confident that we’ll achieve our goal as long as each of us pulls in the same direction. Now, Scagg, the blockhouse has been left in a fit state, I presume?”
“Yes, Mr Johns. Everything’s in order.”
“All right then. Lock the door, will you, and we’ll go.” During the past few days Johns had taken to wearing his woolly helmet, a practice swiftly adopted by the majority of the party. Plover, alone, persisted in sporting a high-peaked cap. The rest of the men, their faces hidden, could easily be distinguished from one another by their various gaits as they began their long march. The twenty-three mules, now fully laden, were led in train by Blanchflower and Firth, with the remainder of the group following in the rear. Johns was ‘last man’. He paused for a moment to gaze out to sea, and then, after a final glance at his ship, he set off in pursuit.
§
The leading mules were over the headland and on to the vague trail that had been established as far as the dry river bed. When Johns caught up, he sent Chase forward to help conduct them to the other side. It was an easy crossing, during which not one member of the party drew attention to the pennant fluttering on its pole a hundred yards inland. Instead, they all helped drive the mules up the far bank and on to the start of the ‘westerly’ route. “The wind has swung ahead,” observed Chase, as they regained level ground. “We’re going straight into it.”