There were seven books in all, illustrating every spider known to science on the seven continents. Thomas was determined to memorize their names by spring and to recognise them on sight. The light of the fire caught the spark in his eyes.
‘This is the best Christmas present ever.’
‘Take good care of those books, Thomas. I had them commissioned especially for you. Every plate is hand painted. Three years in the making and priceless,’ Grandpa Cantwell said.
‘Grandpa, tell me about the time the Hercules ran aground on that reef off Australia.’
Grandma Cantwell kissed Thomas on the cheek. At seventy-four she was as beautiful as ever, straight backed and blessed with undimmed grace and elegance. Her greying hair was up in a high pony tail and her skin was unblemished with barely a wrinkle. She trailed her cool hand off Thomas’ face and left the drawing room, knowing Geoffrey had more than a tale of high-seas adventure on his mind.
‘Thomas, I received a letter from your Uncle Andrew this morning,’ Grandpa Cantwell said.
The blood drained from Thomas’ face.
‘He remarked what a fine Christmas Day the family spent together. I expected to hear some mention of your visit since you were kindly invited to lunch. I trust you thanked Aunty Mary for her hospitality for I’m sure she put on a magnificent spread.’
Thomas wouldn’t meet his grandfather’s eye. Gazing into the fire he spilled the truth.
‘Grandpa, I have lied to everyone at Wilsbury. I’m truly sorry for what I have done. I have been to Plymouth and back in the time you thought I was collecting trapdoors north of the Cam. My idea ended in a catastrophe you will be hurt to hear.’
Thomas related the events of the past week to Grandpa Cantwell who listened to his grandson’s adventure with inward admiration at his guile and ingenuity. Outwardly, he put on a stern face while the loss of the ornament rekindled memories of its discovery in the fields of Nazareth. Now, one of the great archaeological prizes was gone forever. However, Cantwell decided he had heard worse in his eighty-five years. When Thomas finished, he spoke to him in a measured tone. ‘Show me that arm.’
Thomas unbuttoned the cuff of his sleeve, exposing the cut. A brown scab had formed but the edges were still purple and angry.
‘That cut is going to be fine, Thomas, but expect a good scar to remind you of your escapade. What are we to do with you? If only you knew the Royal Society had presented Mr Darwin with the ornament from the British Museum you’d have saved yourself a lot of trouble. Thomas, have you considered your punishment?’
‘No, Grandpa,’ Thomas said.
In Thomas, Sir Geoffrey saw himself as a young boy, single minded with an unbridled sense of adventure, and understood his good intention.
‘Well, Thomas, it’s pointless to drag you by the ear to the police since there is no hope of retrieving the ornament and I could do without the scandal of you being branded a thief. But be certain this is a serious offence against the university and the memory of Sir Timothy Sivewright.
‘So, Thomas, this is what I propose. Tell no one of this secret, ever. Not even your mother and father. Put this whole episode behind you and pursue your studies with renewed vigour. Perhaps one day you will also make an important discovery to remind people of the beauty and wonder of this world. Now grab that box of books and take them up to your room. Your parents will be home for lunch. Get ready to greet them with a smile and true joy in your heart. All is forgiven.’
Cantwell drew him into his arms and hugged him. Thomas wiped the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand.
‘See you at lunch.’ Sir Geoffrey ruffled Thomas’ hair and he ran from the drawing room carrying his box of spider books.
26
1835
The dinghy nudged the dark sands of Charles Island. Darwin stepped up onto the bow and jumped off onto dry ground, accompanied by three members of the Beagle’s crew with enough equipment for a day trip to the island’s interior. The sun was ascending, but not yet hot enough to heat the lava-rock along the beach where hundreds of great black lizards warmed themselves. Darwin observed them graze the weed beds on the edge of the tidal wash, some of them diving under the surf, disappearing for minutes at a time.
Darwin located the wide track leading to the colony at the top of the island. Ahead, pushing up the steady incline was a large tortoise. When the party approached, it quickly withdrew its head and legs under its shell, dropping to the ground with a thud. Darwin sat on the wide carapace and the tortoise rose again and continued up the hill. Darwin quickly lost his balance, slipping off, much to the crew’s amusement.
Further inland the climb was arduous through low thickets. But when they crossed the ridge of the island they met a cool breeze and the vegetation turned lush with grasses and ferns. They came across small wooden houses nestled amongst banana groves and beds of sweet potato. Dark-skinned people tended the gardens, paying the exploring party no attention.
Darwin observed the Beagle at anchor in the turquoise waters far below as a white man approached him, offering his hand.
‘Welcome to the infamous Charles Island colony,’ the man said, through a smile of rotting teeth.
‘My name is Roger. Jolly to most. We have fresh water and if you care to lunch with us, we are roasting a tortoise.’
Jolly bowed, showing the way with a sweep of his arm.
‘Thank you,’ Darwin said.
Jolly led them to a house comprising a single room and a veranda with shuttered windows to direct the breeze. They sat on chairs around a table and Jolly brought tin cups and a pitcher of water.
‘Where’ve you been and where’re you headed?’ Jolly said, with the lilt of a pirate.
‘Since leaving England in late December of 1831 we have surveyed the east and west coasts of South America, undertaking journeys to the interior to observe and record the wildlife. With help from the native peoples we exhumed large fossilized bones some of which have been sent on to the British Museum. From here we sail to Australia and home via the cape of Africa. Our planned two-year voyage will be five by the time we reach Plymouth Harbour,’ Darwin said. ‘And what of you, Roger, what brings you to Charles Island?’
‘I was found guilty, with others, of political demonstration and violence against the government in Quito. I have been here four years and my sentence requires I spend a further six. It is not an intolerable existence. We have abundant food and water and the run of the island. We even have a small row boat for fishing. It is but a short detour on life’s journey and I am a young man, Charles. When I have finished here I will carry on with my great adventure. Like you, Australia could be my next port of call,’ Jolly said.
‘No thought of escape?’ one of Darwin’s men said.
‘It’s almost impossible. The little row boat wouldn’t last long in the open ocean and there is a head count when visiting ships leave the island. The Governor is strict on that,’ Jolly said.
‘How do you spend your days?’ Darwin said.
‘Tending the crops and catching tortoise, mainly. I clean the Governor’s house on Tuesdays and read books in my spare time.’
‘Were all the children here born on the island?’ another of Darwin’s men said.
‘There are some farming families and artisans from the mainland that have elected to live here for a time. Most of the children arrived with them but there have been a few liaisons among the prisoner population,’ Jolly said.
‘Tell us about the tortoises,’ Darwin said.
‘The Governor believes there are a dozen different species throughout the archipelago. Did you see any?’ Jolly said.
‘Only one,’ Darwin said, remembering his cumbersome attempt to hitch a ride.
‘They travel between the springs at the top of the island and the beaches. At the turn of the century they were plentiful. One whaling ship reputedly filled its hold with seven hundred from this very island. They are an excellent source of meat and can survive without food or water for man
y months in the holds below deck,’ Jolly said.
‘Can we take any with us?’ Darwin said.
‘I’m sure we can come to an arrangement, Charles. Why don’t you see how it tastes?’
They drained their cups and followed Jolly into a grassless yard. Lying on a bed of coals, corralled by lava-rocks, was an enormous upturned tortoise with its head and limbs removed. The lower carapace had been prised off exposing a broad bowl of simmering meat. Darwin’s men helped lift it onto the ground, Jolly wedging stones around it to prevent it tipping. He handed Darwin a fork and a sharp knife.
‘Start carving, Charles, thinnest strips possible.’
When Jolly rang a bell that hung from the veranda, people arrived and stripped banana leaves from a nearby tree to hold their food.
‘Generous servings, Charles. There’s plenty for everyone,’ Jolly said.
The meat was white and succulent.
Vice Governor Lawson joined the line unannounced, clearing his throat to attract Darwin’s attention. Darwin saw that the man was neither prisoner nor farmer. He wore khaki trousers, a cotton shirt, sandals and a safari helmet reminiscent of the British Raj.
‘Welcome to my island. I’m Nicholas Lawson, Vice Governor of the Galapagos,’ he said, extending a hand that Darwin warmly shook.
‘I’m Charles Darwin and these men are crew from the Beagle. Perhaps I should have sought your permission to avail ourselves of lunch.’
‘Not at all, Charles, glad you have arrived. I expected you sooner or later. Not many boats pass this way, especially those from the homeland. Jolly is my unofficial representative. A fine chap. Sorry to see him caught up in that revolution business in Quito. Wrong place at the wrong time I’m afraid. I’m hoping the government will review his sentence and he can soon be away from here. If it was up to me I’d have him on the first boat home even though he is marvellous company.’
Darwin served Lawson’s portion of meat but the Vice Governor offered it back to him and insisted on finishing the carving. To the men from the Beagle the sweet meat was a welcome change from salted beef and soon they were returning for second helpings.
‘I never dreamt tortoise tasted so good,’ Darwin said.
‘It is our favourite meat here but their numbers are dwindling,’ Lawson said.
Two islanders produced shovels, scraped away the hot coals and dug up a wire basket filled with steaming sweet potatoes.
‘This is a most welcome diversion, Mr Lawson,’ Darwin said.
‘Nicholas, if you please,’ Lawson said.
‘Nicholas, you and Jolly must join us for dinner on the Beagle this evening. Perhaps we could exchange supplies for tortoise,’ Darwin said.
‘A pleasure,’ Lawson said.
‘We’ll have the dinghy on the beach at sunset to row you to the bark,’ Darwin said.
When Darwin and his men had eaten their fill, Lawson and Jolly led them on a tour of the colony. They picked ripe bananas and followed a track that led away from the plantation, ending in a muddy clearing at a spring. A large tortoise rested there with its head buried in the water.
‘She’s a beauty, you’ll agree. Two years ago, we discovered her on a beach with a fist-sized hole in the top of her shell, probably from a rock-fall from the nearby cliffs. Jolly and two other men carried her up the hill to the colony to try and fix the damage. Jolly will explain,’ Lawson said.
‘We put her in the shade of a tree and I scraped around the edge of the injury with a knife, removing pieces of broken shell and the putrefying flesh underneath. I flushed the wound with water and rubbed it with crushed leaves from a plant we use to prevent infections. Finally, I crafted a piece of wood to cover the hole.
‘For three weeks, she sat motionless without accepting food or water. We thought she would die, then one morning she propped up on all four legs and walked off into the bush. We didn’t see her for two months until I found her here at the spring. You can see where the broken shell has regrown, slightly misshapen and lighter in colour.’ Jolly said.
‘Is it a female?’ Darwin said.
‘Charles, we watched her lay eight eggs and bury them in her nest down the mountain the year after we discovered her. Unfortunately, they were dug up and eaten by wild pigs.’
‘How old is she?’ Darwin said.
‘Around thirty years. You count the rings on the shell plates just like growth rings on a tree,’ Lawson said.
‘We call her Lazarene in light of her recovery. She is readily identified by her old injury and all of the islanders know she is not to be taken for food,’ Jolly said.
‘Has Lazarene laid more eggs?’ Darwin said.
‘Probably, though we haven’t seen her recent nests, and now is the peak of the breeding season,’ Jolly said.
‘We wish her well,’ Darwin said.
‘Truth is, she will likely outlive all of us,’ Lawson said.
‘We should return to the ship. It has been a most informative afternoon, Nicholas. I look forward to this evening. Tomorrow we plan to explore further into the island’s heart. Thank you, Jolly,’ Darwin said.
They left Lazarene to quench her thirst, and walked back through the banana plantation into the settlement. Darwin and his men farewelled Lawson and Jolly and descended along the tortoise track where ugly yellow lizards scurried through the thick undergrowth. The sun at the beach was scorching. The crew stripped to their under shorts and dived into the water. Soon refreshed, they rowed back to the Beagle.
Darwin informed FitzRoy of his invitation to Vice Governor Lawson and explained the arrangement with Jolly.
Captain FitzRoy insisted on rowing Darwin to the beach. The bay was becalmed, rippled only by jumping fish and diving gulls. As the sun melted through the clouds, the water turned pink, bathing the Beagle in a wonderful light.
Lawson and Jolly emerged from the tortoise track late in the day, the Vice Governor resplendent in white trousers and matching long-sleeved shirt, hatless with his dark hair slicked back. His long straight nose sat well on his angular face and he was clearly the master of his realm. Jolly wore clothes of a less fancy cut but gave Darwin the impression that his confinement on the island was not the struggle one might have imagined.
The Captain and the Governor greeted each other, but FitzRoy acknowledged Jolly with an ill-disguised degree of scepticism that Lawson noted and instantly put to rest.
‘Jolly is a good friend, providing me with hours of intelligent conversation when my wife is away in Quito. I sympathize with his predicament but I have no say in his internment here. We are the only white men on the island and the only English speaking inhabitants. I regard Jolly more as a colleague than a prisoner,’ Lawson said.
Reassured, FitzRoy offered his hand to Jolly who gripped it firmly.
FitzRoy rowed the men to the bark where they followed Darwin up a rope ladder onto the Beagle’s deck. Below them, hundreds of colourful fish darted about in the crystalline water.
Most of the crew were enjoying the vibrant sunset after a solid day of maintenance and repairs. Two sailors leapt off the gunwale into the ocean for fun.
A table at the stern was dressed in a white cloth and set with eight places. Lieutenants Wickham, Sullivan and Darwin’s servant, Syms Covington, were already seated. Finally, the ship’s surgeon arrived, somewhat embarrassed to be the centre of attention on account of his lateness.
The sun withdrew into the distant waves and the oil lamps slowly took over in the encroaching darkness. Later, a silver full moon irradiated the deck and rigging, casting shadows onto the shimmering sea.
Dinner progressed with great energy and enthusiasm. Tales of the Beagle’s voyage were embellished with the help of Captain FitzRoy’s whisky stocks. The cook had engaged some of the crew to catch a basketful of lobster and crab. It was satisfying fare, English etiquette abandoned as the men cracked open shells and legs, sucking them clean.
Lawson stood unsteadily to propose a toast to the Beagle and its continued safe passage. Jolly
led the charging of whisky mugs. Despite his social standing, he knew he was as worldly as any of them.
An unexpected thump against the port bow had everyone hasten to peer over the gunwale. At first, they saw nothing, then like an upturned hull, the gleaming back of a whale broached the surface, air bursting from its blowhole. Longer than the Beagle, it was menacing in the dark water. With a push of its mighty tail it rolled, thrusting a fluke out of the sea that slapped down, showering the side of the boat with a wall of spray. As it moved past the bow it made a low wave. A sad eye fixed on Darwin, looking into his very soul. The whale sank, leaving eddies, whirlpools and an eerie silence. Darwin had a black thought, imagining the behemoth launching from the depths, splintering the Beagle into a thousand pieces. Instead, the bark rocked gently and the giant headed into open water before Darwin had closed his awestruck mouth.
‘My goodness, Captain, how spectacular. Whales sometimes rest in the bay but to see one at such close quarters was breathtaking. My heart is thumping and not just from the whisky,’ Lawson said.
FitzRoy was also clearly excited by what he had just seen. ‘I can hardly comprehend an animal bigger than the Beagle!’
Near midnight the moon rode high as a midday sun. The sea sparkled in every direction, accompanied by the sound of falling waves against the shore. To accommodate Lawson and Jolly, bunks and netting were brought on deck. A drunken Lieutenant Wickham intimated the Beagle was now a convict ship on account of Jolly’s presence, and FitzRoy made a mental note of the unwarranted comment.
Jolly stared through the yardarms and the rigging into the night sky. He smelled freedom as his mind harked back to the day he was strapped in leg irons and brought to the colony. He fell asleep quickly with Lawson already snoring.
The Jesus Germ Page 11
