Chapter 232: To Hastings (K4)

Chapter 231 To Hastings (4K4)

The days passed like running water, and after leaping over the 1830’s, when the world was in turmoil and London was in turmoil, the wheels of history stepped into the 1831’s with mud and water accompanied by smoke and dust.

A new year, new weather.

Early in the morning, Arthur walked through the streets of London, looking up and to the east.

There were more factory chimneys in London, public carriages had begun to be accepted by the public as a fashionable new form of transportation, and not far away, the London Bridge train station, which had just been granted permission by the council to build, was in full swing.

Arthur stood at the side of the street holding an umbrella, the black and gray rain slanting against his white gloves, the cold north wind hanging in his face, exhaling a breath of hot air that would soon turn into a puff of white mist.

Open public carriages that could hold seven or eight people drove past him one after another, packed with company employees and skilled craftsmen, some of whom didn’t have a seat and had to lie on the handrails of the carriages, half of their bodies hanging out.

But even so, they didn’t care, because all of them, according to the experience of the past few decades of life handed down from generation to generation, assumed that in the new year, the pace of life in London would certainly become faster.

And as it turned out, they would be right.

Since moving away from the Middle Ages, the concept of time is gradually taking root in the minds of Londoners through work.

The pocket watch was no longer a decorative item used by the upper classes, but its practical value led to an increase in the number of middle-class holdings.

Even among the poor, there were many who had a keen sense of business and who would give anything to buy a pocket watch.

A pocket watch may have been an insignificant gadget for those who didn’t need the money, but for London’s poor, a punctual pocket watch symbolized a job opportunity.

Right now, a career as a window knocker is flourishing in the slums of the East End.

The name “window-knocker” may be a bit of a misnomer, but if you call it a wake-up call, it may be easier for future generations to understand.

Every morning at five o’clock, the window knockers will hold a long bamboo pole and go out in all corners of the East End, knocking on the windows from door to door, reminding the sleeping workers that whether you like it or not, this damn day is about to begin.

The price of the wake-up call was a penny a time, which was not particularly cheap for a working family earning two to three shillings a day, but it was a better bargain than having your wages docked for being late.

Arthur leaned against the corner of the street with his pipe in his mouth, puffing out a puff of smoke in front of him now and then.

The Red Devil accompanied him, leaning out of the glass window and looking back and forth at the array of goods in the store, wondering what he could do to get Arthur to agree to buy him some fashionable novelties.

Suddenly, a familiar figure in a swallow-tailed uniform appeared on the corner.

The young police officer who had just joined the workforce not long ago rubbed his frozen fingers, took out a briefcase from the cowhide bag he was carrying and handed it over.

“Chief, Sheriff Tony asked me to give this to you.”

Arthur took the briefcase and casually asked, “What is it?”

“Sheriff Tony said it was sent to the hall by the Post Office, figured it might be mail.”

Arthur unwrapped the briefcase, and just as the young officer had said, it was indeed two letters, but the address from which they were sent was unusually far away; the letters came from Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.

When Arthur saw the letterhead’s inscription, he couldn’t help but have a hint of a smile on his face: ”It’s been so long since we set off, I thought that the two of them had died at sea, there was no news at all. Now I’m finally relieved.”

Hearing Arthur’s words, the young officer only felt a bit puzzled, but he was not in a good position to pry into other people’s private affairs, so he could only ask for instructions, “Chief, we have already surrounded the house as planned, should we prepare to break in?”

Arthur waved his hand, “There’s no rush, the suspect can’t get away now, let him have one last good night’s sleep before sending him to jail for a meal. It’s just as well that I can take advantage of the endeavor and see how my old friends are doing in a foreign land.”

Hearing this, the young officer simply nodded, then whistled at the end of the street he was leaning against.

The whistle immediately drew a few glances from the end of the street.

Only to see the small police officer wave his hand at them, those few guys who had already put their hands into the inner pockets of their coats and were ready to pull out their guns then skimmed their mouths again, and then leaned against the corner with a yawn.

Arthur unfolded the epistle, and the moment his eyes fell on the envelope, Darwin’s voice seemed to ring in his ears.

Dear Arthur:
By the time you read this letter, the earliest estimate is that it will be two months from now, though given Britain’s poor postal system, I’m inclined to think that this may be even longer.

As you are aware, due to the excellent performance of the Beagle’s crew in the high seas chase, the Admiralty believes the crew is ready to go to sea. Coupled with the effects of the monsoon changes at the end of last year, the Beagle’s sailing program was ultimately brought forward after collective agreement.

Since departing Plymouth Harbor in Britain in December, we have passed through the English Channel, Tenerife in Spain, and arrived in the Cape Verde Islands in Africa, and after a short period of resupply, we intend to make our way across the Atlantic.

In the process, we had encountered a series of unfavorable meteorological and sea conditions, and returned twice, but thanks to the insistence of Colonel Fitzroy, and the united efforts of the crew, we finally succeeded in crossing the Atlantic Ocean on our third voyage, and arrived in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, a week ago.

Speaking of which, I have to mention to you one interesting thing in particular. During the second return voyage, we encountered waves more than ten meters high on a stormy day. At one point Elder was slapped on the deck by the waves, but fortunately, perhaps God decided that heaven was noisy enough and was in no hurry to call him over to serve right away.

The kid had a death grip on the trawl net at the side of the boat before he was washed overboard, but unfortunately, all of the pornographic magazines that Elder had relied on for his livelihood were confiscated by the sea without a single copy.

The guy dangled from the Beagle’s trawl while cursing at the raging black Atlantic Ocean, while behind him were the rolling waves and the python-like net of white lightning.

My God! It’s a pity that the paints and brushes of the artist we were accompanying on the ship were washed overboard with us at the time, otherwise the painting would have been an immortal heirloom if it had been sent back to London, and I even had the name of the painting in mind as I was hugging it on the mast at the time. What do you think of Monkey and the Sea?
Hahaha, I’d better not joke about it, if Elder finds out later, he’ll have to come running to grips with my hair again. I must have eaten too much rotten food on the ship these days, and my hair loss is much worse than usual. Of course, Elder, the asshole, was also responsible for my hair loss.

It’s a good thing you didn’t come on board to be a museum man, or you’d realize what it’s really like to have seventy or eighty men crammed into a small boat. When there’s work to be done it’s fine, but when there’s no work to be done, they’re really capable of coming up with any kind of fucked up game you want to play.

When they first came on board they were relatively normal, playing cards or gambling on money and canned goods. But after a month, the money and canned goods weren’t enough for them anymore, and the idiots actually started competing in hair and leg pulling contests. Elder had some bad luck for a while, and his whole leg was plucked bare, like a Greek marble column.

But the days on the ship, while pretty boring, were pretty interesting during the scientific expeditions that stopped the ship and docked. We just made our first exploration last week in the direction of the Amazon jungle, and on the way saw a lot of fascinating landscapes with flora and fauna not seen in Europe. Perhaps the next time I write to you I might consider sending you back some of the scientific specimens I have made myself. Well …… there is actually one more thing that I’m not sure if I should tell you or not. When we were exploring the waters off Argentina, we found six different species of birds on two neighboring islands… God’s creations are truly marvelous, aren’t they? Oh, maybe I’m thinking a little too much about it, I always think it’s maybe a little too marvelous.

Whatever the case, God bless you, Arthur. Perhaps what you’re doing now is more in need of God’s care than the scientific expeditions of the Beagle.

Your friend, Charles Darwin.

Written February 25, 1831, in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.

Arthur looked at this letter in his hand with just a smile on his face that he couldn’t stop.

He muttered, “Charles, where is this going. But you’re right, perhaps I need God’s blessing more than anything else right now, and only if he blesses me will I be able to have enough strength to bless you when you return from your voyage.”

Arthur finished this paragraph and turned to the next page of the letterhead.

This time, however, before his eyes fell on the letter paper, it was as if a chattering monkey’s cry rang in his ears.

Greetings first to Oxford, then to Cambridge, and finally to my best friend Mr. Arthur Hastings and my beloved alma mater:

Whew! Finally out to sea, and now I’m going to show everyone what it really means to be in the Royal Navy! It’s only been a few years, and I’ll be thankful for it at the end of my life! Look out Arthur, when I return to London, you might just have to call me Sir Elder!
……

FUCK! Arthur, while I know it’s the Royal Navy’s destiny to die at sea, has my destiny come too soon?
What a son of a bitch Atlantic, you weren’t there when I was about to be washed overboard, so you probably don’t know how high that donkey’s day’s waves really were, one after the other, just like fucking rabid dogs.

I used to be jealous of those old skippers in the Royal Navy, why do they make so many pounds for a couple of decades at sea?
But now it seems that all that money is in exchange for their fucking lives. The bloody Admiralty didn’t know to give us a big ship, and the Beagle looked like an ant in front of those big waves! It’s only been a few months since we sailed, and almost every sailor on board is injured, even my leg is seriously injured.

Fuck it, I’ve run out of light beer on the ship in the last two days, so I don’t know what to play tonight.

……

When I was in Cape Verde two days ago, I took a poker and traded it with the local natives for a piece of ivory, and at the time I thought I was making quite a profit, but now it seems like the dumbest deal I’ve ever made in my life. I can’t even play poker at night, I’m really going crazy with this life.

……

Hahaha, the ivory was sold by me in Bahia, I knew I was a genius! Arthur, when I return to London after my voyage, perhaps your Scotland Yard should consider making me head of purchasing.

……

Fuck that! Arthur, I let two bitches rip me off in Rio de Janeiro! Didn’t leave me a penny from the ivory sale! Shit, I thought that was a London service, why is there a Brazilian industry? Fuck, those little bastards mustn’t let me catch them, or I’ll make sure they get it. Lol, Arthur, if only you were in Brazil, with your skills you could surely help me get my money back.

……

Arthur, I am so fucked! I saw a twenty-foot python in the Amazon jungle today, and I used to think Greek mythology was all a lie, but now it looks like Medusa’s son might be alive in the Amazon rainforest. Do you think if I brought one of these back to London, someone would pay a premium for it?

……

Arthur, I feel I must give you a word of advice, Medusa’s children and grandchildren seem to have a generally bad temper. Perhaps I should have brought Alexander along when I first set out. My small frame would probably have been swallowed by it in one bite, but Alexander’s size might have been able to struggle for a while. Do you think there’s a possibility that Alexander agrees to be tied to a tree as bait by me, and after capturing Medusa, I’ll split the money with him forty-forty-six times, what do you think?
……

Hahaha, those idiots actually said that there are cannibals in the Amazon jungle, what age is it that such lies are believed.

……

Arthur’s eyes swept over Elder’s letterhead, this senior student of the Department of Classics is obviously not as logical as Darwin, completely in accordance with his own interests wherever he thought of writing, although not inherited the rigor of the classical school, but quite the spontaneity of the romantic school.

What worried Arthur most, however, was the very worrying position in which Elder stopped writing.

According to the usual logical order and law of cause and effect of his writing, after Elder had finished mocking the cannibals, something would surely happen later.

The only question now was whether the cannibals preferred barbecue or sashimi, and whether the London University senior would head for heaven or hell afterward.

Arthur shook his head, trying to clear his mind.

While he didn’t mind saying a couple of prayers for Elder, if something did go wrong, Elder would probably be done being digested by this point.

He received the letterhead in his arms, put away his umbrella, and walked through the early morning mist toward the houses at the end of the street.

The plainclothes detectives on standby saw him coming and pressed their hands to the flintlock pistols in their arms.

Only a few knocks on the door were heard.

The front door of the house at the end of the street was pulled open, and floating behind it was a middle-aged male in slippers, pajamas, and slightly puffy eyes.

Arthur took one look at his size and opened his mouth to ask, “Mr. Bernie Harrison is it?”

The man stared at his words before nodding slowly.

Arthur pulled a light yellow paper out of his pocket and displayed it in front of him.

“Arthur Hastings, head of the Criminal Crimes Investigation Department of the Greater London Police Department, according to the search warrant presented by the local magistrate’s court in London, you are suspected of violating a felony murder and attempting to bribe the coroner in order to change the results of the coroner’s examination, for the purpose of safeguarding the personal and property safety of the general public of London as well as to promote the fairness of justice, I announce that you are now officially under arrest. You have the right to remain silent until the results of the secondary toxicology tests on the body organized by the Royal Society are available, but everything you say will be used as evidence in court.”

(End of chapter)