This Thing Of Darkness (43 page)

‘No inconvenience to the public service, perhaps, but to yourself? It would be more than mere inconvenience ...’ Sulivan’s expression clouded over with worry.

‘I am willing to run the risk. Without it our task cannot - simply

‘I am willing to run the risk. Without it our task cannot - simply cannot - be completed. If the results of these arrangements should turn out well, then I trust I will stand excused for having presumed to act so freely. Besides, I have given my word to Jemmy, to York and to Fuegia that they will be home before the summer. I have given my word, Mr Sulivan, as one gentleman to another.’

The point, Sulivan had to concede, was unanswerable.

 

The little city of Buenos Ayres lay in flat green meadows along the river Plate’s southern shore, hugging the ground, its domes and towers rising cautiously from rough, muddy streets and squares. The brown river washing thickly at its banks appeared richer and creamier than ever, as if it would curdle against the docks and jetties. As the
Beagle
made sticky progress upstream, the river seemed to adhere to her flanks and clog her passage.

The cannon-shot rang out unmistakably across the lapping water. Most of those on deck turned in time to see a white puff of smoke drift languidly up through the rigging of the city guardship. The three Fuegians, poised, alert, froze midway through a reluctant passage of Bible study with Mr Matthews. FitzRoy, on the poop deck, and Mr Sulivan and the master at the wheel, were held in a split second’s limbo of indecision before their training took over. Darwin, confused, spun like a top, attempting to locate the source of the sound. Only the few oldsters on board who had seen action as nippers and powder monkeys in the Great War flung themselves instinctively to the deck. A second later, a faint whistle overhead, accompanied by the ripping of parting ropes, announced that the cannonball had passed harmlessly through the rigging. Only then did the realization dawn, fully, that the
Beagle
was under attack.

‘How dare they?’ exclaimed FitzRoy. ‘How
dare
they? Bring her round, Mr Chaffers, and beat to quarters!’

She was already sailing as close-hauled as she could, some six points off the breeze, which was gusting from the northern shore. It was an easy matter for her to reach across the wind, her sails bellying, and swing into a course that would bring her bearing down alongside the guardship. The drums sounded their intent, and there was a scene of furious activity on deck as the guns were made ready.

‘Damn them,’ cursed FitzRoy. ‘A shot into the works of a steam engine would not do so much damage as a shot too close to our chronometers.’

‘But why did they fire at us?’ asked a panic-stricken Darwin, who had located a safe place to hide, crouched behind the huge Megatherium head.

‘Another revolution, I shouldn’t wonder. Revolutions are the fashion in these parts. When they are not fighting the Indians, they fight each other. Whoever controls Buenos Ayres controls the silver route from Upper Peru. So it is just one
caudillo,
one strong man, after another - except that none is strong enough to hold on to power. They say General Rosas is the strongest, but he will not enter the fray until he is sure of victory’

The
Beagle
was closing rapidly on the guardship now, and Darwin could see the gunners scurrying to their positions on the enemy vessel. The disparity in bulk between the two ships was becoming increasingly apparent as they drew nearer, the
Beagle
giving away a good few hundred tons to her rival. Surely, thought Darwin, we shall not dare to take on a ship twice our size, broadside to broadside? He buried his head as deeply as he could in the Megatherium’s eye-socket.

‘Mr Sorrell, back the fore-topsail!’ ordered FitzRoy. Drilled to perfection a hundred times, the men jumped to their tasks, hauling the fore-topsail yard round in opposition to its fellows, to bring the
Beagle
juddering to a near-stop. The gleaming brass snouts of her new guns bristled aggressively along her starboard side: two six-pounders before the chesstree, a six-pound boat-carronade on the forecastle, and four lone, wicked-looking nine-pounders abaft the mainmast. As they drew alongside the guardship, FitzRoy leaped up on to the rail and, balancing there, shouted across the intervening channel of chocolate-cream water: ‘If you dare fire another shot, we shall send our whole broadside into your rotten uncivilized hulk! Is that understood?’ And then, for good measure, he repeated the statement in Spanish.

There was silence, and then, across the water, a brief flurry of activity as the Buenos Ayres gunners stood down from their posts. The
Beagle
drifted on past her, into open water, and Darwin drew his head cautiously out from the black depths of the eye-socket.

‘You did not fire,’ he ventured redundantly.

‘I had no intention of doing so. The damage to the chronometers from our own recoil would have been catastrophic. Besides, such a firefight would have been sheer folly. We would have been blown out of the water. He was twice our size, did you not see?’

‘But - but how did you know that their captain would not fire?’

‘Did you see the state of that ship? The sails were mildewed, the paintwork filthy, and you can smell their bilges from here. You can tell a lot about a man from the state of his ship. My dear Philos, I knew he would not fire.’

 

By sundown they had swirled down with the current to Monte Video on the river’s north-eastern shore, where His Majesty’s frigate
Druid
was moored on permanent station. FitzRoy went across in the cutter to pay his respects to Captain Hamilton, and to make his formal report of the insult to the British flag - an incident that would not, of course, go unpunished. As he clambered aboard, he was stopped in his tracks by an apparition: a pale but welcome face he had never expected to see again.

‘My God - Hamond!’

‘FitzRoy!’

‘I thought you drowned - lost with the
Thetis.’

‘N-no, sir,’ replied Hamond, who had not outgrown his stammer. ‘I was b-back in England, taking my lieutenant’s examination - I’m a p-passed mid now. Everybody else d-drowned, sir.’

‘But, my God, you’re alive!’

And the two men threw their arms around each other in a most un-naval fashion.

By the time the Druid had hauled her anchor at sunrise, and had set sail for Buenos Ayres to demand the arrest of the guardship captain, FitzRoy had obtained not just restitution but a new mate: Robert Hamond would chum with Charles Darwin in the library of the Beagle.

The celebratory mood was not to last, however. A stack of mail had been waiting for Darwin in the Druid - he had excitedly unwrapped the latest volume of Lyell, sent by Professor Henslow - but then, lurking malevolently in wait at the bottom of the pile, he had spotted the black seal. Feverishly, he had torn open the letter, almost ripping it in two in his haste to get at the contents. His cousin, his sweet, mischievous cousin Fanny Wedgwood, was dead of cholera at the age of twenty-six. His thoughts flashed back to that perfect afternoon the previous summer when he had sat out on the porch with Fanny and Emma and Hen and Uncle Jos and Aunt Bessie, Fanny teasing him, inciting him to go on the voyage, urging him to take care of himself, Emma’s arm curled about her sister’s waist. Fan had worried for her cousin’s safety,
his
safety, and now it was
her
fragile existence that had been crushed by a heartless or careless or loveless deity. He felt simultaneously lucky, and frightened, and angry at the senselessness of it. This was not some meaningless native whose life had been taken, but a beautiful, intelligent young
lady
in the prime of her life. He knew what FitzRoy would say, that it was God’s wish, that one should not challenge His will, that there were reasons for everything that could not always be revealed to us. FitzRoy would probably be right, but that did not mean he wished to hear him express the sentiments. Damn it, he would follow the man anywhere - what magnificent pluck he had shown in facing up to the Buenos Ayres guardship - but he was always so
certain
of everything.

Darwin’s reverie was interrupted by the crackle of gunfire. At first he thought it must be the
Druid,
laying waste to Buenos Ayres city centre in an orgy of retribution; then he remembered that the river Plate was so ludicrously wide at its mouth that a good hundred miles lay between the two cities on their opposing banks. No, the firing came from the centre of Monte Video itself. Presently a small boat appeared, rowed somewhat inexpertly by four gentlemen in top hats and tail-coats, one of whom stood up and began to wave and gesticulate frantically at the
Beagle.
FitzRoy came to the rail to try to discern what was being shouted, no easy matter as the man’s relinquishing of his oar was causing the little boat to go round in circles.

‘Where is the
Druid
, sir?’ bellowed the slowly revolving figure.

‘Gone to Buenos Ayres,’ shouted back FitzRoy.

‘Then you are our only hope, sir!’

Eventually the little craft was secured alongside, and the portly gentleman and his comrades were helped up into the
Beagle.

‘Richard Bathurst at your service, sir,’ gasped the man. ‘British consul-general in Monte Video. Allow me the honour of grasping your hand. May I introduce to your acquaintance Señor Dumas, the police chief of Monte Video.’

Señor Dumas made the position clear. ‘There is mutiny in the city. President Lavalleja is away in Colonia, and the commander of troops here in Monte Video has seized power in his absence. He has opened the gaol and armed all the prisoners. They have occupied the citadel - the seat of government. It is a military
coup d’etat.’

‘What do these soldiers desire to bring about with their
coup d’etat?’
asked FitzRoy.

‘Some wish for the reinstatement of President Rivera, who was overthrown by President Lavalleja. The Brazilian soldiers want the city returned to Brazil. The soldiers from the United Provinces want the city to become part of the United Provinces. The Uruguayan soldiers want it to remain part of Uruguay, although some of them want the country to revert to its old name of “Banda Oriental”. The black soldiers want the slaves to be freed. They want many things. Please, Captain, you must help us. Only you can help us.’

‘I feel for your predicament, Señor Dumas, but you must realize that I simply cannot interfere in South American politics. As captain of one of His Majesty’s ships, I must maintain a strict neutrality at all times.’

‘I don’t think you understand, sir,’ said Bathurst, who was still panting for breath. ‘There are British families in the city whose lives and property are at risk. British women and children, sir, whose honour is at the mercy of these villains.’

‘That changes the position. Then, sir, my forces are entirely at your disposal. How many are the mutineers?’

‘Approximately six hundred, including the freed prisoners.’

‘I can muster some seventy men all told.’

‘We are four, sir, plus perhaps the same number in the city.’

‘All stout men, sir, all stout men,’ volunteered the third member of the party, a brisk elderly gentleman with a fierce military moustache, who had armed himself with a broom handle.

‘I say - Colonel Vernon?’ Darwin came forward, recognizing the voice.

‘Good Lord — it’s young Darwin, isn’t it?’

‘You know each other?’

‘Know each other?’ barked the colonel. ‘More than that, sir! We have ridden to hounds together!’

‘Colonel Vernon is the brother-in-law of Miss Gooch,’ explained Darwin hurriedly, as if that clarified matters. ‘But what are you doing here, sir?’

‘I am making a tour of South America. I intend travelling by land to Lima, and so by Mexico back to Europe. May I introduce Mr Martens, who is the son of the Austrian consul to London? He is an artist travelling independently.’

‘Delighted to make your acquaintance, gentlemen,’ said Martens, a short, fine-boned character with coppery sideburns and a pugnacious expression.

‘Gentlemen, please, time is pressing,’ said FitzRoy, with a trace of exasperation. ‘Where are the British families now?’

‘They have taken refuge in the customs house on the mole.’

‘Then our first task will be to stow them safely in the
Beagle.
They shall have the officers’ cabins. Mr Bennet, prepare the ship’s boats for their passage. Mr Chaffers, you will take charge of the
Beagle.
Trice up the boarding netting, load the guns and aim them at the shore. Should anyone approach who is not of our party, you have my permission to blow them to kingdom come. Mr Sulivan, you will organize a platoon of fifty men to be armed with muskets, pistols and cutlasses. Mr Bos’n, open the armoury, if you please. We shall make the best of our way to the fort, and attempt to secure it. I think it constitutes the key to the city. If we can but hold the fort and the harbour, then we shall be impossible to dislodge, and we shall control the approaches to Monte Video by land and sea. The mutineers will have met no resistance as yet, so they will in all probability have relaxed their guard. They may even, if we are fortunate, have begun to celebrate their success somewhat prematurely. At any rate, we shall give them a substantial argument to convince them that they must not plunder British property.’

Darwin’s admiration for the man redoubled. There are times when certainty is of paramount importance, he concluded, and this is one of them. British women were at risk, British women like Fanny Wedgwood, whose lives he could help FitzRoy to save. He would rather follow FitzRoy with fifty men, he realized, than anybody else with five hundred. And follow him he would, with a musket in one hand, a pistol in the other and a cutlass between his teeth.

‘The very best of luck, sir! Give them hell, sir!’ said Jemmy Button, warmly, appearing at the edge of the group in his morning-coat and kid gloves.