The Darwin Conspiracy by John Darnton Read Free Book Online

older than Charles, was worldly wise and self-assured. Thin, with dark hair, long sideburns, an aquiline nose, and a voice accustomed to barking orders, he exuded authority well beyond his age. But he was also spirited and imaginative and, best of all from Charles’s point of view, he was a devotee of the natural sciences. Charles had been well briefed by Henslow. FitzRoy had had a meteoric career in the Navy, aided no doubt by his aristocratic connections—he traced his lineage to the illicit relationship between Charles II and Barbara Villiers. Then, too, his rise had been assisted by what the Admiralty delicately termed a “death vacancy,” a reference to the fact that the previous captain of HMS Beagle had blown  his brains out with a pearl-handled pistol off the God-forsaken coast of Tierra del Fuego after scrawling in the ship’s log the message: “the soul of man dies in him.”
    “FitzRoy was given command of the ship for its return voyage,”
    Henslow had related. “He did a good job of it by all accounts, especially considering that the crew refused to relinquish the belief that the ghost of the dead captain was on board the ship.” Henslow had paused before completing the thought. “And speaking of suicide, you will remember that Lord Castlereagh’s career came to an inglorious end a little more than a decade ago when he slit his throat. He was FitzRoy’s uncle. The poor lad was only fifteen at the time. It seems that self-destruction is a motif in his life. I wouldn’t be surprised if that doesn’t account for his need for some companionship at sea. He can hardly talk to the lower officers, can he?”
    But melancholia did not seem to sit on the man’s shoulders. His long-lashed, almost feminine eyes sparkled and his voice was light as he described the trim beauty of the Beagle, currently being refitted at Plymouth, and the hard freedom of the open seas. The trip was to last two years, but—who could say?—it might extend to three or even four. He said the primary purpose was to chart the coast of South America, and the secondary was to refine the measurements of longitude by taking chronological readings around the world.
    “Why South America?” put in Charles, almost breathless with excitement.
    “The sailing is treacherous, rough currents, uncertain winds. The Admiralty wants up-to-date charts, the finest we can deliver, every cove and shoreline in detail.” His voice dropped conspiratorially. “Trade is increasing, you see, especially with Brazil. The days of Spain are over and we must show the flag, keep the ports open for our vessels. We have the Falklands. Argentina’s in a perennial uproar. The Americans are poking around. We already have a squadron of men-of-war outside Rio.”
    Charles read the turn in conversation as a good sign. But he was taken aback a moment later when FitzRoy abruptly leaned forward and demanded, in a non sequitur, whether it was true that he was the grand-son of Erasmus Darwin, the famed physician, philosopher, and “free-thinker.” FitzRoy emphasized the word “free.” Charles admitted that he was.
    “I do not care for his philosophy,” the Captain said in a tone that brooked little argument. “I could not finish Zoonomia. All that emphasis on natural law and the transmutation of species—it’s Jacobin, if you ask me, and it comes perilously close to heresy. Do you not find that it detracts from the received and unquestionable wisdom that every bug, leaf, and cloud is the work of the Original Creator?”
    “I am certainly not an atheist, if that is your question, sir,” replied Charles firmly. “I do not think that one species can transmute into another, despite the obvious similarities. I believe in the Divine Authority. And I think that a trip such as the one you describe might well serve to give substance to the teachings of the Bible. Though I must add that lately I am tending towards the view that the world we have inherited has traveled