Landfalls (17 page)

It was true. The sky was brilliant and clear, with the morning chill giving way to a light southwest breeze. “I confess I had not noticed it earlier,” Lap
é
rouse said, “what with all the din and poisonous onion fumes aboard my ship.”

Langle smiled. “I'm happy to report the
Astrolabe
smells like a bakery.”

Lap
é
rouse frowned in mock offense. “Now I understand your cunning in assigning the soup to Bisalion and the bread and tarts to Deveau.”

The party from Concepci
ó
n now made its appearance in Talcahuano. Almost forty people: O'Higgins, the hardier dignitaries of Concepci
ó
n, most of the Basque Society, all of the French savants, hired porters, a few servants, including one woman, and three heavily laden pack animals. Right behind them were the deliveries from Delphin, carts bearing wheat, onions, potatoes, salted meats, and wine for the next four months.

The simultaneous arrival of so many people added to the disorder at the beach, with boats of various shapes and sizes and ownerships coming and going and vying for space at the water's edge. A great deal of gesturing and shouting in both French and Spanish ensued. One misunderstanding resulted in food baskets intended for the trip to the ruins being hauled aboard the
Astrolabe
and another in a barrel of wine falling into the bay. Eventually, however, the people and provisions headed for the ruins were loaded onto three of the expedition's boats to proceed by water toward the site of the old city. The breeze made light work for the rowers, and they seemed to fly across the southern end of the bay. Seated at the tiller of his own longboat, surrounded by men of intelligence and curiosity, the prospect of seeing something new and quite interesting before him, Lap
é
rouse felt the weight of his ill humor and headache lighten.

It returned with some force, however, when he disembarked and was accosted by Dufresne, looking droopily tall and simultaneously languid and anxious. He acknowledged the naturalist with a curt nod, then strode off toward O'Higgins, just disembarking from another boat. Dufresne followed a few paces behind. Lap
é
rouse let him nearly catch up, then turned around. “Monsieur Dufresne, do I understand correctly that you are still at the Sabateros?”

“Yes,” Dufresne said, flushing as he stammered out something about his original host suffering a relapse.

“I see. Se
ñ
ora Sabatero, she is well?”

Was it his imagination, or was there a flicker of suppressed pain at the mention of Eleonora? Dufresne blinked before replying. “She is, and—and sends her regards. Sir.”

“And how are the preparations for tomorrow's spectacle?”

Another wave of color passed over his face. “Fine, I believe,” he said. “Monsieur de Monneron has things well in hand.”

“He always does,” Lap
é
rouse said. “He is a most reliable shipmate.” He turned away and joined O'Higgins; Dufresne did not follow.

The group made its way up from the beach, following the one woman servant, a wizened mestiza who turned out to be their guide to the ruins. She had been maid to a family of some importance, most of whom had died in the disaster, and was herself one of the oldest survivors of the calamity. She carried herself with the dignity of someone used to living among the wealthy and prominent, and walked with the sure gait of a much younger woman. Following her up the dirt path that led from the beach, Lap
é
rouse could see nothing that looked like the remains of a town. The area was utterly overgrown, the forest taking back its own. But the old woman picked her way around trees and shrubs, pointing to this and that and explaining it all in a crackly stream of talk that O'Higgins and Lamanon translated for the others. Here was the main road, she said, and here the old plaza, and there, the cathedral. See, under that vine, one could still make out some of the stonework. The bell tower had fallen right there and killed her mistress's brother. Behind that was the churchyard, buried in mud after the wave. If one were to dig there, she said, one might still find legible tombstones. And right here, she said, her voice going soft, was the home of Se
ñ
or and Se
ñ
ora Gallegos de Rubias, may they rest in peace, whom she had served for many years. She and her mistress had fled uphill before the wave, but alas, her master and most of the household were lost when it came. As for evidence of the wave and its destructive force, she clambered nimbly uphill and showed them, nestled beneath a wind-twisted dwarf pine, a broken statue she claimed had originally been in the Gallegos's courtyard.

Lap
é
rouse was impressed by the woman's memory of the old town and by her ability to find traces of the life that had once bustled in this place. But most of all he was impressed—and unnerved—by the power of nature to undo human endeavor. An entire city, two hundred years in the making, complete with monasteries and schools, gracious homes and craftsmen's shops, erased in a morning. And now, only thirty-five years later, the erasure itself erased, the scars of that violent unmaking hidden under trees and vines. His own endeavor floated upon the high seas on two wooden ships. How much more tenuous their hold on life!

The official tour at an end, the group spread out over the area to explore. Langle joined Lamanon in examining geological evidence of the cataclysm, while some of the other savants made their quiet way through the overgrown ruins, looking for plants or creatures that were new to them, and the porters and servants prepared lunch in a clearing. Lap
é
rouse, wishing to rid himself of the ruins' gloomier associations, wandered toward the shoreline and was cheered to see the frigates, sturdy and whole in the bay. He turned toward approaching footsteps, and was relieved to see O'Higgins, not Dufresne, coming toward him.

“It is perhaps too sobering a place to bring guests,” O'Higgins said.

Not at all, Lap
é
rouse assured him; it had been a most instructive and enjoyable outing. The usual compliments were traded: It is wonderful for our people to have so many men of science with whom to enjoy such an outing. But you and your people have gone far beyond the call of common hospitality for us. The pleasure has been ours, and if there is anything at all I can do in these days before you depart—

“There is one thing,” Lap
é
rouse said. He lowered his voice, though no one else was by. “You are of course acquainted with Monsieur Dufresne, the
Astrolabe
's naturalist who has been staying with the Sabateros?”

O'Higgins nodded yes, of course, a delightful young man.

Lap
é
rouse cleared his throat. “Yes, well. He wishes to be released from the expedition and stay here until he can find passage back to Europe.”

“I see.” O'Higgins looked at Lap
é
rouse as if trying to gauge what it was the commander wanted. “I can, of course, speak with Captain de Postigo. He sails for C
á
diz—”

Lap
é
rouse shook his head. He looked up toward the ruined town and could make out a few of the savants, though not Dufresne, clambering over boulders. “Governor, I hope I may speak frankly.”

But of course.

“He is not an especially gifted naturalist nor a particularly amiable shipmate. Our scientific mission would not be much affected by his departure.”

“And yet.”

Lap
é
rouse nodded. “I am concerned about establishing an unfortunate precedent among the scientific delegation, of—”

“Of surrendering too easily to their demands.”

“Yes. And allowing them to take the expedition too lightly.”

O'Higgins nodded. “Monsieur Dufresne
will
need official permission to disembark and remain here,” he said.

“Ah.”

“The Spanish empire can be rather jealous of its borders.”

“Indeed,” Lap
é
rouse said, remembering the day of their arrival, and how they had looked in vain toward this exact spot for a city that had been gone for a generation.

“This permission may prove difficult to obtain.”

“I understand.”

“I will try, of course.”

“I would be much obliged, sir.”

After lunch, he found Dufresne, standing alone and staring moodily out toward the bay, and informed him he could leave the expedition. “As long as you get the local authorities' permission to remain here,” he added. “I have made your case in person to Governor O'Higgins.”

“Oh, thank you, sir!” Dufresne cried.

Lap
é
rouse frowned, more irritated by the man's cheerfulness than by his petulance. “I cannot promise you'll get a favorable response, Dufresne. You know how these Spaniards are—quite jealous of their borders.” He walked away before Dufresne could begin thanking him again.

Back in Talcahuano, Lap
é
rouse and Langle and the savants thanked their hosts again and again, promised to see them all on the morrow, and watched them make their way through the village and back toward Concepci
ó
n. When Lap
é
rouse turned toward the water to return to the
Boussole
, he found Lieutenant d'Escures in earnest conversation with Monneron and the older La Borde brother. “What is it?” he called.

D'Escures broke away from the group and approached Lap
é
rouse and Langle. “Apparently in all the chaos this morning, two men from the
Astrolabe
stole off, hidden in one of Monsieur Delphin's emptied carts.”

*   *   *

The next day, while the late-afternoon sun cast longer and longer shadows across the beach, Lap
é
rouse and Langle stood and watched as the colorful procession of people and conveyances descended from the hills above Talcahuano. It looked like most of Concepci
ó
n was coming for the f
ê
te. Governor O'Higgins, splendid in gold stitching, red brocade, and starched ruffles, led the way, and the rest of Concepci
ó
n society followed, each rank in its proper order. Most of the ladies rode in carriages and most of the men on horseback, but some of the younger caballeros came on foot, while a few of the older ones, like Sabatero, arrived in sedan chairs carried by Indian servants. Close on the heels of these worthies were the common people of Concepci
ó
n, hundreds of them, bearing baskets of food and drink, prepared to claim a bit of beach and enjoy the event in their own way.

Langle had been nearly silent while they awaited their guests, and Lap
é
rouse had the uncomfortable sense that he had somehow caused offense. They had last seen each other the previous afternoon, right here, when they had returned from the ruins and learned of the deserters.

“Your runaways—have they returned?” he asked.

Langle shook his head. “I sent three officers into town this morning to look for them, but they couldn't find them. O'Higgins has promised to help, of course, but”—he inclined his head toward the stream of colonists approaching them—“most of his people are on their way here.”

“Who
were
they, the men who left? Just sailors?”

Langle paused before answering. “One was, yes,
just
a sailor. The other was a fusilier. Both quite able men, actually. I'm sorry to lose them.”

“Of course,” Lap
é
rouse said. “But perhaps it isn't worth forcing unwilling men on a trip of this duration?”

Langle turned to Lap
é
rouse. “This morning I received an official letter from some clerk in Concepci
ó
n denying Dufresne's request to remain here or find a berth on a Spanish ship returning to Europe.”

Lap
é
rouse felt his face warm. So that was it. Well, O'Higgins certainly did operate with dispatch. “I see,” he said. “How did he take it?”

“Very badly. I've had to confine him to his quarters.”

The first guests were arriving, with all the commotion that entailed, as horses were secured, carriage doors opened and closed, and servants rushed about fixing mussed dresses and hair and reapplying powders and rouge. The only thing Lap
é
rouse could think of to say was of a practical nature, and not likely to ease the tension between them: “We may have to cancel the day off we've promised everyone.”

“Yes,” Langle said. “What a way to repay the men.”

“We still have our all-hands feast tomorrow.”

“It's not the same.”

“Perhaps there's some way to give them their day in town
and
discourage deserters.”

“What do you suggest?”

He hardly knew, but now there were guests to greet and direct toward the dining tent. Many of the faces were familiar from the ball at the Sabateros', but he had not seen them out of doors, in the sun, and it was interesting to note how the daylight improved some people and not others. For some, the exertion of the three-league trip had brought out a healthy, windswept look that the hasty ministrations of servants had not been able to undo, while in others, the light revealed the thinning skin around a woman's eyes, the pallor of lingering illness, or the frayed fabric that spoke of genteel poverty. And then Eleonora stood before him. He had not seen her in nearly a week. She was dressed much as she had been at the ball, but her cheeks were flushed and her face framed by wisps of hair that had escaped their braids. A jaunty and somewhat mannish riding hat sat atop her head. Lap
é
rouse laughed aloud in frank delight at the sight of her.

“Do
ñ
a Eleonora,” he cried, “did you ride out from town?”