Landfalls (12 page)

In Talcahuano, the road smoothed out and the air grew cooler, with a hint of brine. Lap
é
rouse could see the
Boussole
and the
Astrolabe
, almost elegant in their anchorages, and after another turn in the road could see crewmen he recognized, busy onshore, and several small boats at the water's edge, ready to ferry men back to the ships. He signaled for the carriage to stop and hailed the first officer he saw to take his brother-in-law back to the
Boussole
and place him under arrest for forty-eight hours.

*   *   *

“Do you want to transfer him to the
Astrolabe
?” Langle asked. “He won't have family to take advantage of.”

Lap
é
rouse shook his head. “He's my responsibility. You have your own troubles to deal with, no doubt.”

“Yes, perhaps I have.”

Lap
é
rouse looked over at him. “Anything in particular?”

Langle nodded. “There is one matter.”

“Vaujuas's servant?”

Langle's long, urbane face tilted in surprise. “You know about that?” Lap
é
rouse nodded, and Langle sighed. “That's not what I was thinking of, but yes—Vaujuas's servant is sick. Consumptive,” he admitted. “I doubt he'll make it many more months. I don't know how he passed Lavaux's physical exam in Brest.”

“Vaujuas should never have brought him.”

“Apparently he thought the sea voyage would improve the man's health. He's been with the family for many years. There's an attachment there.”

Lap
é
rouse shook his head. “Let's hope it's our first and only death.” He watched Langle's eyebrows contract with a kind of anticipatory distress. “What's this other matter?”

But at that moment the man on watch called down to say some men on horseback had just arrived in Talcahuano. The two captains turned toward the rail. They were on the deck of the
Boussole
, waiting for O'Higgins. A message from town that morning had told them to expect the governor around noon, and it was now nearly one, but Lap
é
rouse did not mind. In general he preferred guests who arrived late to guests who arrived early. It had given everyone—especially Bisalion, who had worked himself into a state of shrill panic—more time to prepare for the visit. Lap
é
rouse peered shoreward through his glass and watched as a contingent of mounted, uniformed men made their way to the water's edge. They were led by a large, impressive man on the largest of the horses, and followed by several pack animals bearing what were no doubt yet more gifts of food. He watched until they began to load themselves into the small boats. “Well. They're on their way.”

“Good,” Langle said. “It's been two days since I heard an account of the great earthquake of 1751. I am mad to hear it again.”

Lap
é
rouse grinned. He had felt gloomy ever since the ride back with Fr
é
d
é
ric the day before, but standing on his deck with Langle, a light southwest breeze keeping them comfortable even in their dress uniforms, the deck newly swabbed, the crew washed and at the ready, his dark mood proved difficult to sustain, even while they traded complaints about their men.

“You were about to tell me something,” Lap
é
rouse said. “Not another illness?”

“No. It's Dufresne. He says he's bored to death and wants to disembark here, find his own way home.”

“Oh, for God's sake. I didn't want to bring him in the first place!”

“I know.”

“It was clear from our first meeting that the man had no idea what the voyage entailed.”

“None whatsoever.”

“His credentials as a naturalist were hardly impressive!”

“Hardly.”

Lap
é
rouse could not help but laugh. He wished he could soothe his friend's worries in the same easy way, but there was something entrenched about Langle's anxieties—they were more a state of mind than reactions to particular events, hard to read and even harder to address, hidden under his aristocratic polish.

“What did you tell him?” Lap
é
rouse asked.

“I told him to write an official request to you and expect ‘no' for an answer.”

Lap
é
rouse puffed out his cheeks. “God knows the other savants can be demanding and uncooperative. But at least they have some appreciation for the importance of the voyage. What is the matter with Dufresne?”

Langle shrugged. “He's been unhappy from the beginning. The others suspect him of being a spy from the Ministry of Finance.”

Lap
é
rouse snorted. “He'd be treated better if he were an English agent for the Royal Society.”

Everyone on deck now came to attention as the bosun's chair rose into view, revealing a large man, his hat askew, clinging whitely to the ropes on either side of him. O'Higgins had looked imposing seen from a distance on horseback. But no one looked dignified hauled up the side in a chair. Lap
é
rouse stood perfectly still and straight and straight-faced, and his men did the same, suppressing any impulse to laugh. O'Higgins was helped out of the chair and, finding his balance, stepped forward, every bit the impressive brigadier general he had seemed from afar—tall, with a large head and huge hands, his features Irish except for a Mediterranean arrangement of his mouth, no doubt the result of so many years speaking Spanish. He made straight for the two captains.

“Count de Lap
é
rouse, Viscount de Langle,” he said in French. His accent was thick and unplaceable. “Please forgive my tardiness. I welcome you—belatedly—to Concepci
ó
n.”

*   *   *

After introductions, after the obligatory retelling of the earthquake story, after the Frenchmen expressed again their gratitude for the colonists' generosity, after a tour of the frigate, after the Spaniards expressed their profound admiration for everything they saw—a windmill on deck! a cucurbit attached to the galley stove! how justly the French were praised for their ingenuity!—after all of that, O'Higgins and his officers and their hosts repaired to Lap
é
rouse's stateroom for lunch. Bisalion looked as though he had had most of his blood drawn, but the meal was a success, featuring salt cod brandade with toasted triangles of bread, a pigeon tart, a dish of peas and mushrooms in a wine sauce, and fried cream sprinkled with sugar. O'Higgins's entourage included three officers who had been with him at the front. On the French side, Lap
é
rouse and Langle were joined by the expedition's senior officers and by Lap
é
rouse's chief engineer, Paul de Monneron, who was invited when they learned that O'Higgins himself had first come to Chile as an engineer.

“I am sorry our other savants are not on board to join us,” Lap
é
rouse said. “They are still in town, eager to take advantage of their furlough on land.”

“But I have met them,” O'Higgins said.

“Indeed?” Lap
é
rouse said.

O'Higgins dabbed at his lips with a napkin. “A group of them came to see me as I was setting out this morning. A Monsieur—Lamanon, is it?—a man of great intelligence, he was their—how do you say it?—their speaker. They asked permission to explore the interior.” He caught Lap
é
rouse's eye as if to gauge whether or not this was news to the French commander.

“I see.” So
that
was what had made O'Higgins late today—their own science delegation! Acting entirely on their own, ignoring the chain of command, not deigning to consult with their commander. Lap
é
rouse said none of this aloud, but he could tell from the way Langle and the other officers shifted in their seats that he had not succeeded in hiding either his surprise or his annoyance.

“Unfortunately I had to turn them down,” O'Higgins said.

“You turned them
down
?”

O'Higgins nodded. “I understand their desire to explore, of course.” He took an appreciative bite of dessert, then went on: “A few years ago I myself went with two of our naturalists—Don Hip
ó
lito Ruiz and Don Jos
é
Dombey—you have heard of them perhaps?—on an expedition to the interior. But today I cannot guarantee your men's safety outside of the area between here and the B
í
o-B
í
o River.” His officers nodded in agreement.

Lap
é
rouse said nothing, torn between grim pleasure that the troublesome savants had been rebuffed and dismay that the scientific mission of the voyage could be so easily dismissed.

Langle leaned forward. “We understood you had concluded an accord with the Indians.”

“Indeed we have.”

“It is still not safe to venture into the frontier?”

O'Higgins sat forward. “The Araucanians may not distinguish between a group of curious naturalists armed for their protection and settlers invading their territory and violating our agreement.”

Lap
é
rouse felt certain that, had he been inclined, O'Higgins could avail them of an armed escort for the savants, Indian guides, interpreters, introductions to tribal leaders. But he was apparently not so inclined, and Lap
é
rouse was not sure what would be gained by pressing the point. The colonists had already done so much for them; the French would continue to need their cooperation while the frigates underwent repairs; and for all the secretiveness of the Spanish empire, Chile was already discovered—a land mapped, named, and conquered.

“We understand,” he said, then looked over at Langle to secure his agreement. Langle nodded just once; it was a maddening way he had of signaling acknowledgment without acquiescence.

O'Higgins watched the exchange, then addressed himself to Langle. “There is still much to interest your naturalists within our borders,” he said. “I know that the gentlemen of our Basque Society will lend every support to botanizing and other scientific endeavors proposed by your people.”

Langle thanked him, and the conversation moved on. As if to compensate for his refusal of the savants' request, O'Higgins spoke very openly about the colony and the town. Lap
é
rouse was left with the impression of a land of enormous bounty that profited almost no one. Isolated from the rest of the world, beset by the long-running and costly conflicts with the Araucanians, restrained by trade policies that favored Peru over Chile, and bloated by a large idle class that filled its convents and monasteries, the colony produced much, consumed much, and wasted much. “Every year we slaughter hundreds of bullocks just for their leather and tallow,” O'Higgins said. “The meat has no buyers, you see.”

“I fear we've taken advantage of your plenty and your lack of trade opportunities,” Lap
é
rouse said, thinking of the embarrassing quantities of food they had been given.

O'Higgins shook his head in reassurance. “You and your men have more than repaid us already. You may not understand how”—he searched for the right word—“how big, how
momentous
, your visit is for our people. Most of them live long lives of comfort and boredom. They will speak of this for years to come. They will tell their children and grandchildren that they met the great French explorers Lap
é
rouse and Langle.”

Lap
é
rouse felt his face warm with pleasure, and a grand notion suddenly formed in his mind. “Then we mean to make our stay truly memorable for all,” he said. “I would like to invite you and all of Concepci
ó
n society to a f
ê
te on the beach. French food, French music, and”—he looked pointedly at Monneron here—“a French spectacle.” Monneron looked puzzled for a moment, but then his eyes widened with sudden understanding. “Say, in eight days' time?” Lap
é
rouse concluded.

O'Higgins's face spread into a broad grin. “I accept with pleasure,” he said.

*   *   *

They watched the small boat pull away from the
Boussole
, bearing O'Higgins and his party back to Talcahuano.

“I'm going to put Monneron in charge of the entertainment for the evening,” Lap
é
rouse told Langle.

“A good choice. He's a resourceful young man.”

“Yes, he is,” Lap
é
rouse agreed. “He also happens to possess something that may serve well for the promised ‘spectacle.'”

“I wondered what you meant by that,” Langle said. “May I ask what it is?”

“You may not. It's to be a surprise.” Lap
é
rouse smiled, then let his face grow serious again. “I have to return to Concepci
ó
n tomorrow,” he said.

“To put Lamanon in his place?”

“Well, yes—to remind Lamanon and the others that they are sailing on His Majesty's frigates and bound by the rules and customs of His Majesty's Navy.”

Langle pursed his lips for a moment. “Shall I go instead?”

Lap
é
rouse frowned, unsure whether he welcomed or resented the suggestion. It was no secret that Langle got along better with the savants than he did. Langle was a man of science in his own right, a mathematician and member of the Royal Marine Academy; he had published papers on the longitude problem. The savants saw him as one of their own. Lap
é
rouse was not jealous of these advantages; indeed, he was usually grateful for them. But today he felt Langle's suggestion was born of disappointment over Lap
é
rouse's lukewarm advocacy of the savants over lunch. He was reminded of the rumors he had heard before they left France—that the ministry had been torn between offering him or Langle command of the expedition. Langle must have heard the same rumors. They had never spoken of it.