The lecture theater was filling up quickly, and long before the clock below the gallery chimed eight times, a number of members and their guests found themselves having to stand in the aisles and at the back of the room. On the eighth chime, the committee, crocodile-like, entered the room and took their places in the front row, while a short, elegantly dressed gentleman wearing a white tie and tails strode up onto the stage, to be greeted with loud applause. He raised the palms of his hands as if warming himself by a fire, and immediately the applause died down.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,” he began. “My name is Sir Francis Younghusband. I have the honor of being your chairman this evening, and I believe that tonight’s lecture promises to be one of the most exciting in the Society’s long history. The RGS prides itself on being a world leader in two different, but not unrelated fields: first, the surveying and drawing up of maps of previously uncharted territories; and second, exploring those distant and dangerous lands where no white man has ever trodden before. One of the Society’s statutes allows us to support and encourage those single-minded individuals who are willing to travel the length and breadth of the globe, risking their lives in the service of the British Empire.
“One such man is our lecturer tonight, and I have no doubt,” continued Sir Francis as he glanced up at the portrait of the King, “that we are about to learn of his plans to make a second attempt to be the first of His Majesty’s subjects to reach the South Pole. It is a well-worn phrase to suggest that a speaker needs no introduction, but I suspect there isn’t a man, woman, or child in our land who does not know the name Captain Robert Falcon Scott RN.”
The audience rose as one as a clean-shaven, stockily built man with fierce blue eyes and in a naval uniform marched out from the wings. He took his place at the center of the stage, his legs thrust apart, giving the impression that he did not intend to be moved for some time. He smiled down at his audience and, unlike Sir Francis, made no attempt to quell their enthusiasm, ensuring that it was some time before he was able to speak.
George was captivated from Scott’s first sentence. He spoke for over an hour, never once referring to notes, while dozens of slides projected on the screen behind him brought dramatically to life his previous expedition to the Antarctic in his ship the
The audience learned how Captain Scott went about selecting his team, and the qualities he demanded: loyalty, courage, and unquestioning discipline were, it seemed to him, prerequisites. He then went on to explain the deprivation and hardship his men would have to take for granted if they hoped to survive for four months in the Antarctic trekking four hundred miles across a frozen wasteland on an uncharted journey to the South Pole.
George stared in disbelief at images of men who had been on his previous expedition, some of whom had lost not only fingers and toes to severe frostbite, but ears and in one case even a nose. One of the slides caused a woman in the gallery to faint. Scott paused for a moment before adding, “Each of the men who accompanies me on this enterprise must be prepared to undergo such suffering if he still hopes to be standing when we eventually reach the South Pole. And never forget, my most important responsibility is to ensure that all my men return home safely.”
George only wished that he could be among those who would be invited to join Scott, but he knew that an inexperienced schoolmaster whose greatest achievement to date was conquering Mont Blanc was an unlikely candidate for Scott’s team.
Scott ended his lecture by thanking the RGS, its committee and fellows for their continued support, aware that without their backing he couldn’t even consider raising anchor at Tilbury, let alone docking in McMurdo Sound fully equipped and ready to carry out such an ambitious enterprise. When the lights came up, Scott gave a slight bow and the audience rose as one to acknowledge a very British hero. George could only wonder what it must feel like to be standing on that stage receiving such plaudits and, more important, what would be expected of him to prove worthy of such adulation.
When the applause eventually died down and the audience resumed their places, Scott thanked them once again before inviting questions from the floor.
A gentleman rose in the front row.
“That’s Arthur Hinks,” whispered Geoffrey Young. “He’s just been appointed secretary of the RGS.”
“Sir,” Hinks began, “rumors abound that the Norwegians, led by Amundsen, are also planning an assault on the South Pole. Does this concern you?”
“No, it does not, Mr. Hinks,” replied Scott. “Let me assure you and the Society’s fellows that it will be an Englishman, not a Viking, who will be the first to reach the South Pole.” Once again these sentiments were greeted with loud applause.
From the dozen hands that shot up, Scott next selected a man seated in the third row. The left breast of his dinner jacket was adorned with rows of campaign medals.
“I read in
Several cries of “Shame!” emanated from the body of the hall. “May I ask what your response is to this blatant disregard of the amateur code?” Finch looked at the questioner in disbelief.
“I shall simply ignore them, General,” Scott replied. “My enterprise remains a challenge of man’s superiority over the elements, and I am in no doubt that I have assembled a group of gentlemen who are more than ready to face this challenge.”
Cries of “Hear, hear!” came from every quarter of the packed hall, although Finch did not join in.
“And allow me to add,” continued Scott, “that I intend to be the first
Laughter followed, before several more hands shot up, George’s among them. However, Captain Scott answered three more questions before he pointed in George’s direction.
“A young gentleman on the end of the fifth row is showing the sort of determination I look for when selecting my team, so let’s hear what he has to say.”
George rose slowly from his place, his legs shaking. He felt five hundred pairs of eyes staring at him.
“Sir,” he said, his voice quivering, “once you have reached the South Pole, what will there be left for an Englishman to conquer?” He collapsed back onto his chair as some of the audience burst out laughing, while others applauded. A puzzled expression appeared on Finch’s face. Why would Mallory ask a question he already knew the answer to?
“The next great challenge for any Englishman,” said Scott without hesitation, “will undoubtedly be the scaling of the highest mountain on earth, Mount Everest in the Himalaya. It stands at over 29,000 feet above sea level- that’s almost five and a half miles high, my boy-and we have no idea how the human body will react to such altitude, as no man has yet been above 22,000 feet. And that’s before you consider temperatures that can fall below minus forty degrees Fahrenheit, and winds that will cut your skin to shreds. But of one thing I am certain: dogs and motorized sledges will be of little use up there.” He paused and, looking directly at George, added, “But whoever succeeds in that magnificent endeavor will be the first man to stand on the roof of the world. I envy him. Let us hope that he will be an Englishman. However,” Scott concluded, turning his attention to a lady seated in the front row of the gallery, “I have already promised my wife that I will leave that particular challenge to a younger man.” Scott looked back down at George as the audience burst once again into spontaneous applause.
Finch’s hand immediately shot up, and Scott nodded in response. “Do you consider yourself to be an amateur or a professional, sir?”
An audible gasp could be heard around the hall as Finch stared defiantly at the speaker.
Scott took his time before replying, never once taking his eyes off Finch. “I am an amateur,” he eventually replied, “but an amateur who surrounds himself with professionals. My doctors, engineers, drivers, and even my cooks are all fully qualified, and would be insulted were you to describe them as amateurs. But they would be even more insulted if you were to suggest that their presence on this expedition was motivated by a desire for financial gain.”
This reply was greeted by the loudest applause of the evening, and prevented anyone other than Young and Mallory from hearing Finch say, “If he really believes that, he has no hope of coming back alive.”
After two or three more questions, Scott once again thanked the RGS for sponsoring the lecture and for their wholehearted backing of his latest enterprise. This was followed by a vote of thanks from Mr. Hinks on behalf of the Society, after which the audience stood to attention and lustily sang the National Anthem.
