As the sun rose above the island the Beagle awoke. Lawson and Jolly slaked their thirst with mugs of water, and ate bread basted with lard. FitzRoy spoke to Wickham who was about to protest when the Captain’s glare defied him to utter a single syllable.
Lawson and Jolly thanked FitzRoy and descended the ladder to the dinghy and the waiting Wickham. Jolly eyed the lieutenant with an infuriating smile.
When the two men were deposited on the beach the lieutenant gave a perfunctory salute but in pushing the dinghy off the sand, slipped and fell into the water. Lawson held back his laughter with some difficulty, but Jolly let fly with a guffaw that was heard on the Beagle. Wickham waded back to the beach holding the bow of the dinghy. By the time he was rowing back to the Beagle he had caught the attention of every sailor on the bark, their jokes yelled with unrelenting intensity on his approach. Wickham climbed onto the deck, stomping past the jeering crowd gathered to watch him, hurrying below to a final rousing cheer. FitzRoy did not disapprove.
Darwin and three men readied themselves for another excursion onto the island. They carried two tents with the intention of camping overnight.
Prior to the Beagle’s departure, Vice Governor Lawson and Jolly were again on the beach. With the help of the prisoners they had carried twenty-one tortoises down the mountain, amongst them Lazarene.
‘These will be a good supply of meat across the Pacific, Charles,’ Lawson said, happy to be of assistance.
‘Surely not Lazarene,’ Darwin said.
‘Unless you are marooned on a desert island, I hoped you could settle her in the London Zoo. We are most grateful for the salt supplies and the goat,’ Lawson said.
Several of the crew loaded the tortoises into the dinghy, transferring them to the Beagle in two trips. When all the reptiles were stored in the ship’s hold the dinghy returned to collect Darwin.
‘Charles, it has been a pleasure to meet you. I trust your treks into the interior have been productive and I wish you every success on your voyage. After I relinquish my post on Charles Island perhaps we can meet in London. I have a cellar filled with wine to rival any drop in Europe and I’ll be itching to drain a glass or two on my return. Perhaps you could assist me in such an onerous task,’ Lawson said.
‘Certainly, that will be an occasion to savour, Nicholas,’ Darwin said.
Lawson withdrew two envelopes from the breast pocket of his shirt.
‘Charles, would you do me the favour of delivering a letter in London? And this one is for you from Sir Geoffrey Cantwell. Something to do with the Society I’d say. Sorry I didn’t mention it earlier.’
Darwin tucked the letters in his own shirt pocket.
‘Thank you, Nicholas, for your hospitality. Jolly, I hope the term of your sentence passes with great speed.’
He shook the hands of both men and climbed into the dinghy. Syms Covington pushed it off the beach, jumped in and took the oars. Darwin turned to wave goodbye, but the Governor and Jolly were already climbing the tortoise track up to the colony.
At first light the following day, the Beagle set sail from Charles Island. With a full head of canvas, she surged across the waves with the wind at her stern. In mid-morning Darwin sat at his desk perusing a copy of Lyell’s Principles of Geology, making notes in a leather field book, glad the bark was moving on an even keel.
He took a sip of tea from his tin mug and pulled out the top drawer of the desk, feeling for the letter from Sir Geoffrey Cantwell. Enthralled by Lyell’s sketches, he unconsciously tore open the envelope, removed the letter and leaned back in his chair to read it then realised his mistake. The letter was addressed to Governor Michael Archer, Head of Prisons; London. Nicholas Lawson’s signature was scrawled across the bottom of the page.
Dear Michael,
It is with the deepest regret I inform you of the untimely death of a British subject imprisoned on Charles Island. Mr Roger Pride, better known as Jolly, was found floating in a lagoon on the west side of the island on the last Sunday in October, 1835. On that same morning, he had been entrusted with a dinghy with which to ply the waters close to shore for fish. The dinghy was not suited for the open water, and Jolly would not have entertained thoughts of escape in so small a craft. It seems he may have been capsized by a rogue wave and struck his head, rendering him unconscious, thus causing his drowning. Indeed, a large bruise was evident above his left eye. The dinghy was found just beyond the shore break, on the sea bed. Prior to his death, Mr Pride was of robust health and a fine contributor to island life. He endured his sentence with great stoicism considering he faced six more years of confinement.
He was carried up to the colony, summarily prepared for burial and interred at the top of the island beneath a palm tree. I am unaware if Mr Pride has family in England. Perhaps, Michael, you could make inquiries along these lines and inform any next of kin of the circumstances of his death and his final resting place.
I trust you will endure the winter with the same patience I suffer the boredom of this place. The London cold would be a welcome respite.
Good health, Michael.
Yours in service to God and King,
Vice Governor, Nicholas Lawson.
Darwin re-read the letter in disbelief, churning over the motives for the deceit. Jolly was undoubtedly alive when he left him at the beach. Perhaps Lawson conspired to dispose of Jolly, though for what reason Darwin could not fathom. They were good if not great friends and it seemed illogical to suggest any animosity between them. A far less disturbing thought occurred to him. Perhaps Lawson decided to free Jolly, and the letter was a ruse. But Darwin was certain Lawson’s small enjoyment of the island was in part due to Jolly, and he baulked at the contradiction.
He folded the letter back into the envelope and locked it in a cigar box.
A week later, just after dawn, Captain FitzRoy made a quick tour of the ship’s deck, assessing the prevailing weather conditions, sweeping a keen eye over the sea. Satisfied, he returned to his cabin where Darwin was waiting.
‘A fair wind today, Charles, and the barometer readings show no sign of dropping. I estimate landfall within a week at our current speed,’ FitzRoy said.
‘I am glad to report my instances of seasickness have greatly reduced since we left the Galapagos. Whatever the reason, I am grateful, for at times death seemed a welcome alternative,’ Darwin said.
FitzRoy lit a stubby cigar from his own humidor, puffing a bluish cloud at the ceiling as Darwin continued.
‘My mind is constantly revisiting the sights of the Galapagos and there is a mountain of cataloguing to complete on our return to London. We have thousands of plant and animal specimens on board in addition to the numerous crates we forwarded from South America. I feel most blessed by the marvellous experiences befallen me during this voyage, however the more I see, the more questions I have. Sometimes I think it’s easier to be more accepting and less inquisitive about the world.’
‘There is no doubt science and religion will eventually converge, Charles. I have a simple philosophy. God gave us science and science will give us God. If we disregard the afterlife and a creator, faith is worthless and our souls but hollow vessels. Anarchy will eventually consume us and we’ll live as wild animals without affection for anyone but ourselves.’
FitzRoy was warming to a thorough espousal of his beliefs when a loud shout came from the crow’s nest.
‘Man overboard!’
Lieutenant Sullivan spun the ship’s wheel, the Beagle swerving in a dangerous broadside. Darwin and FitzRoy gripped the desk as the hull listed under the flapping sails. Two sailors hoisted a pair of white barrels over the gunwale then helped attack the rigging until the mass of canvas punched tight. The Beagle tacked into the wind. When the barrels were sighted bobbing together, she continued on past them, then the sails were hauled down and she drifted on the swell.
The longboat dropped off the rear deck. Darwin, saw it fall past his cabin window beneath a fizz of ropes. It smacked against the wat
er and two sailors climbed down after it. They pulled back the canvas in the bow to find a man curled up, hands over his head, moaning in pain. Ignoring him they fitted the oars, rowing the longboat away from the Beagle, listening to directions shouted from the crow’s nest. They arrived at the bobbing barrels but the deep troughs and feathering peaks made it difficult to search the waves. On the lengthening swells the prospects of finding the sailor were rapidly fading.
The man in the bow of the boat sat up holding his ribs as the Pacific sun beat down and the wind strengthened. With the longboat now well ahead of the Beagle, the man yelled out and pointed at the sea.
The longboat rolled off the top of a wave into a valley where the lost sailor appeared, waving madly. Deserting the oars, the two sailors dragged him over the gunwale into the boat.
‘Thanks, lads. What took you so long?’ the rescued sailor said through chattering teeth.
‘How the hell did you fall into the drink, Jono?’ one sailor said.
‘A giant octopus plucked me off the rigging, swallowed me whole then spat me out, too pickled with whisky,’ he said, stripping off his shirt and warming his back to the sun.
‘You can thank our stowaway for spotting you.’
Still shivering the rescued sailor shook hands with the man nursing his ribs. None of the sailors recognised the now bearded Jolly.
‘And who do I owe the pleasure?’
‘Roger Pride,’ the man said.
‘Where did you board us?’
‘Charles Island.’
‘You must be starving. We’re more than a week away,’ the rescued sailor said.
‘I had a small supply of bread and tortoise and collected some rainwater off the canvas,’ he said, grimacing on account of his sore ribs.
‘FitzRoy will be mighty pleased to see you.’
The longboat rode the following swell until it drew level with the towering Beagle and the four men climbed a rope ladder onto the deck. FitzRoy and Darwin were waiting for them.
Wickham stood at the top of the ladder, surprised but perversely elated to see Jolly. As the stowaway passed him in obvious pain, he said, ‘It seems the last laugh is on you, Mr Pride.’
FitzRoy marched straight to Seaman Norrish. ‘Great to have you back, Jonathon. Get some warm clothes on and I’ll have hot food brought to you. Mr Sullivan will fetch you to my cabin in a couple of hours. You will resume watch at first light tomorrow.’
Seaman Norrish returned a shivering salute and hurried off below deck.
FitzRoy faced Jolly. ‘It is a serious offence to stowaway on a ship in the King’s employ, and even worse for an escaped prisoner.’
Wickham licked his lips in anticipation.
Darwin whispered into FitzRoy’s ear, who in turn instructed Wickham to bring the Beagle to full sail, then directed Darwin and Jolly to his cabin.
Wickham flushed with anger as they walked away.
‘Sit down, Mr Pride,’ FitzRoy said as the Beagle, loaded with canvas, pulled out of its slumber and rode high on the swells.
Darwin took the letter from the cigar box, handing it to FitzRoy who read it in silence.
‘This letter, from Vice Governor Lawson, explains what you might be doing on my ship. Now you must relate your version of events so I can come to my own conclusion.’
‘Captain, the Vice Governor gave me my freedom. The Beagle would never have left Charles Island if it was known I was missing. Nicholas arranged for me to leave secretly because he had no authority to officially quash my sentence. He felt indebted to me. I saved his daughter from a snake that fell into her cot, nearly strangling her while he and his wife were swimming out from shore.
‘The day he received word his tenure on the island was just seven more months he told me of his decision. The new Vice Governor will take over in less than a month from now and Nicholas will soon be on his way to London. When the Beagle, not being a whaler or pirate ship, arrived on the island, Nicholas deemed it the perfect opportunity to see me away. In the middle of the night I swam out to the Beagle, stowing aboard. He hoped a ship in the service of His Majesty might be lenient toward me.
‘I wish for your generous consideration, Captain. My only crime was to protest at a government’s injustice against its people. The authorities singled me out for the lightness of my skin,’ Jolly said.
‘Regardless, Vice Governor Lawson’s decision to release you is invalid. Without this letter your story might be deemed implausible, so it is fortunate Mr Darwin opened it accidentally. It may interest you, Mr Pride, that Vice Governor Lawson described your unfortunate drowning on Charles Island, meaning you are officially dead. Do you have relatives in England?’
‘No. It is the main reason I left London. Both my parents, God bless their souls, succumbed to the plague.’
‘Then you are a lone fish in a giant ocean, Mr Pride. You will sleep in the brig and work at whatever I see fit during your stay on the Beagle. If you wish to leave at any of our landfalls you must inform me so I can bid you farewell and conclude this episode in my own mind,’ FitzRoy said.
Jolly broke into a grin, standing out of his chair to shake hands with FitzRoy and Darwin.
‘Thank you, Captain FitzRoy. As much as I prefer not to ask any other favour, I may have cracked a rib or two,’ Jolly said.
‘Charles, take Mr Pride to the surgeon.’
As they left, FitzRoy leant over the chart spread across his desk. He marvelled at the great expanse of the Pacific, feeling immediately at peace with his decision.
Lazarene rested on the deck of the Beagle, soaking up the sun. Jolly had filled a copper bath with fresh water to dip her head to drink. Wickham was livid at the concession, even though there were thousands of gallons in the metal holds below deck.
To preserve his broken ribs, Jolly was assigned light duties which also riled Wickham. The mere sight of Jolly was a reminder of his humiliating incident on Charles Island.
Darwin emerged from his cabin, propping against the mizzenmast. ‘Good afternoon, Jolly. How is Lazarene faring?’
‘She’s maintaining her condition. She ate the last of the cactus yesterday and the water is keeping her plumped and healthy. Perhaps when we make landfall she can go ashore to sample some of the local vegetation.’
‘And stretch those stumpy limbs,’ Darwin said.
The Beagle sat on a mirror, drifting in the doldrums, the pale blue sky reflecting perfectly onto the sea. Stifling hot on deck, some of the crew leapt off the rigging into the cooling ocean. FitzRoy suggested they launch the longboat to swim off.
Lazarene rested under the shade of a listless sail. When Darwin and FitzRoy dived off the ship’s bow Jolly slipped into their cabin to steal a look at Lawson’s letter. In the desk drawer, he noticed an unusual ornament, and from the cabin window he saw FitzRoy and Darwin swimming on the glassy pond below.
Seaman Norrish watched a giant fin carve through the water. It closed in on Lieutenant Wickham who turned to see it as Norrish screamed a warning. The water boiled with panicked sailors. Wickham froze and braced for impact but the fin sank under the surface and the gigantic shadow slipped beneath him, heading for the Beagle.
As Norrish swum toward the bark’s stern ladder he was pulled under water. Staring up, eyes wide with terror, he mouthed a scream then in the jaws of the beast he descended into the lightless abyss.
A cloud of blood bubbled to the surface. Wickham thrashed toward the Beagle in the sinister sea. He scrambled up a rope ladder over the gunwale, excrement clearly visible down his thighs, and plonked himself in Lazarene’s copper bath. After a quick wash, he dragged the tub to the stern and tipped the fouled liquid overboard. Tears stained his face as he hastened below deck.
At the warning shout, Jolly had left the cabin. He saw the shark change course, dive under the Beagle and haul Seaman Norrish to his death. In his haste, he still held the ornament, so quickly stuffed it in the top of his trousers beneath his shirt.
The heat on deck was ferocious. Jol
ly enlisted two sailors to carry Lazarene to the brig. Alone, Jolly took a sharp knife from under his bed mat and felt along the edge of the tortoise’s shell for the smooth patch of skin above its tail. He bent it downwards, making a cut, prising the skin apart with his fingers, pushing the ornament inside until it disappeared into the fatty tissue beneath the carapace. Lazarene groaned with pain, clawing at the floorboards as Jolly stitched the wound with needle and twine. He hid the bloodied knife, then lay down and slept.
When he woke, it was evening and he ventured onto the moonlit deck. The inanimate Beagle wallowed on a black sea under a sky thick with stars. The wind had abandoned the sails for a second day, the only joy the sinking of the blistering sun.
The following morning, with the Beagle still becalmed, FitzRoy stayed in his cabin and wrote a letter to Jonathon Norrish’s mother. He planned to deliver it personally on his return to London.
Darwin took Sir Geoffrey Cantwell’s letter from the drawer, not noticing the ornament was missing.
Dear Charles,
I trust your voyage is proving to be one of great discovery. I made a discovery of a different nature shortly after you left Plymouth. Young Thomas informed me, after some coercion, of the incident at the Beagles’ departure. If you were wondering at his urgency on the dock, it underlined an attempt to convey an item he thought would be a fine accompaniment and reminder of your tenure at Cambridge, particularly Trinity College.
For reasons, best known to a young boy with honourable intentions, Thomas saw fit to remove the Harlequin ornament from its receptacle in the college hall by less than subtle means. His effort at getting it to you was heroic, however the said item is now residing in the sludge at the bottom of Plymouth Harbour where I fear it is eternally lost. Unfortunately, Thomas was unaware you held the ornament from the British Museum. His knowledge of this solitary fact would certainly have prevented his involvement in this luckless event.
The Jesus Germ Page 12