SGB Chapter 274

## Chapter 274: Why Is Eld’s Life Always So Awful? (7K2)

My dearest Arthur,

How are you doing? Haha, life on the Beagle is quite fulfilling, but I still couldn’t resist writing to you and our London friends. Please give my regards to Alexander, Benjamin, Charles, and everyone else, and tell them not to forget their friend who’s sailing on the other side of the world.

Oh, almost forgot, I might be offending Eld by saying this, but if Alexander and the others are willing to consider Eld as a species on the same dimension as themselves, then we can barely call them two friends.

On February 28th, the expedition officially entered the Amazon rainforest from Bahia. Arthur, you can’t imagine how delighted a naturalist would be to see such a lush and thriving forest. Elegant grasses, bizarre parasitic plants, beautiful yet deadly flowers, and emerald-green foliage. The moment I stepped into the Amazon rainforest, I felt that if there is a paradise on earth, it must be hidden within this endless green ocean.

Sadly, my joy didn’t last long. Soon after we entered the Amazon, a tropical downpour began. Following our usual British experience, we all took shelter under a massive tree, about fifteen meters tall. Its branches and leaves were so dense that London rain would have been unable to penetrate. But as it turned out, British experience was completely useless in the Amazon rainforest.

Eld, bored during the downpour, picked up a tree branch and pretended to be an orchestra conductor, trying to find amusement in the midst of the misery. The sailors, happy to cooperate, started a concert right there in the Amazon mud, like they were at the Coburg Theatre. Unfortunately, just as Eld raised his baton, we heard a loud cracking sound from the treetop, followed by a torrent of water rushing down the trunk.

Eld was singing at the top of his lungs at the time, and without paying attention, he was drenched head to toe. Hahaha, Arthur, you know what it’s like to have a flood falling from the sky? Imagine the biblical account: the flood ravaged the earth for forty days and forty nights, the water rose, and even the mountains were submerged. Although the situation we faced wasn’t as exaggerated as in the Bible, it was pretty close.

A deluge of water roared down from all the surrounding trees, sweeping everyone off their feet. We could only hold onto the trunk, supporting each other, and endure the torrent for almost half an hour. Thankfully, the Amazon storms come and go quickly. Otherwise, Eld and I might be feeding the fish in some river right now.

Speaking of which, while we were exploring the Brazilian coast, we discovered several bands of murky water, some chocolate-colored, some pale red or green.

At first, I thought it was silt from the flood washed into the sea, but later I found out that these bands were actually formed by plankton and crustaceans. The seal hunters who live nearby call this stuff “whale bait.” I don’t know if whales really eat this, but seagulls, cormorants, and large groups of clumsy seals living on the coast have definitely included these little guys in their diet.

These colorful bands are truly remarkable. Even ignoring the plankton, just looking at the crustaceans, even Eld couldn’t help but praise them. He said that these small crabs, which look like giant prawns, march in perfect unison, walking more beautifully than a scarlet military formation.

What kind of force drives them to march in such a magnificent manner? The fish eggs, algae, and cilia mixed with them all move randomly. Is this truly the power of God?

If so, then God is too biased. Why did he only teach crabs to march in formation? Did the shrimps do something wrong?

Arthur, if you have time, maybe you can ask the learned and eloquent bishops for me about this. After all, they can explain anything to you. Oh, maybe you should wait until the crab specimens I sent you arrive. If you go to the bishops and tell them that crabs march in formation, you might be kicked out of the church.

Of course, I might be wronging Alexander by saying this, but please remind him about the specimens when they arrive. I’ve tasted these crabs, and they’re not very delicious, and they’re too small. So please, don’t let him cook my hard-earned specimens.

By the way, if the bishops don’t acknowledge the crabs, please forward the specimens to Mr. John Henslow, the beetle expert at the Linnean Society. Mr. Henslow was very kind to me when I was studying at Cambridge. He will surely appreciate these beautiful little things. Incidentally, there’s also a color-changing octopus in the specimens. Unfortunately, it seems to only change color when it’s alive. Once it’s dead, it automatically loses this ability.

Furthermore, I must warn you, there’s also a pufferfish in the specimens I sent back. Not only is its surface prickly, but its spines are also poisonous. I once found this thing in the stomachs of several dead sharks. You have to keep an eye on Alexander and make sure he doesn’t eat this thing.

Okay, next time I write to you, it should be from Argentina or Tierra del Fuego. Speaking of which, the jaguar Eld hunted tasted really good. Unfortunately, meat is not easy to preserve, otherwise, I could send some back for you and Alexander to enjoy. Of course, this is all contingent on the merchant ship sailors who deliver our letters not eating it.

Your friend, witness to the Amazonian apocalypse flood, supporter of crab and prawn equality, renowned gourmand of the Amazon and Andes, Charles Darwin.

July 5th, 1831, written on the eve of departure from Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.

The firewood in the fireplace crackled, and the coldness in the room had dissipated somewhat.

Everyone held their coffee cups, listening to Arthur read the letter while taking a sip of hot coffee, feeling warm all over.

Dumas, upon hearing Arthur read the end of the letter, suddenly felt the potato pie in his mouth no longer tasted good.

He mumbled, “It’s just a crab! What’s the big deal with me tasting it? Can’t Charles send some more? As for the jaguar, it can be made into smoked meat or pickled meat! Haven’t Charles and Eld ever eaten bacon? The methods are the same. As for the pufferfish being poisonous… heh, how will I know unless I try it?”

Dickens sat on the rug, hugging his knees and sighing, “We’re both Charles, but the Charles in Cambridge has seen more of the world than I have. Ocean storms, the Amazon jungle, even a color-changing octopus and crabs that march in formation and line up. If I didn’t know Charles, I would have thought he was making up stories. My God! Who would have thought all this was real!”

Disraeli’s eyes darted around. He suddenly suggested, “Arthur, these incredible stories are very newsworthy. Our ‘Briton’ magazine is lacking content. If we slightly edit Charles’s letter and publish it in the magazine, it will definitely help increase sales. This way, we can also properly explain to our readers why ‘The Monkey’s Tale’ has been on hiatus. Since Charles and the others left, almost every issue has readers complaining about him dropping the story and running away.”

Arthur furrowed his brow slightly upon hearing this, “Are you going to tell the readers that the author is on hiatus because he’s working on ‘Evolution’? Hmm… but it’s true, this reason sounds pretty convincing. And Charles’s letters are truly fantastic. We can publish them under the name ‘The Voyage Journal of the Beagle,’ add a few illustrations of the specimens Charles sent back, and they’ll be a huge hit.”

“Yes…” Disraeli nodded, “That’s right. And we need to use the best illustrators. We can afford a few specimen illustrations now. When you have time, come with me to the Royal Academy of Arts to find some.”

Arthur, upon hearing this, took out another letter hidden under Darwin’s letter, “Then what about Eld’s side, are we going to publish that?”

Disraeli immediately opened his glasses case, took out the fake-intellectual, rimless gold-rimmed glasses frame and put them on his nose.

He said, “We need to carefully review Mr. Carter’s manuscript. Publishing erotic literature is illegal in Britain. I’m about to run for election, and I can’t repeat Bernie Harrison’s mistakes.”

Dumas simply waved his hand, “That’s no big deal. We can just set up a Paris edition. We French don’t really care about that. And in my opinion, Eld alone is enough to carry the weight of the Paris edition.”

Arthur agreed, “That’s right, Benjamin. If your ‘Briton’ magazine, where you’re a major shareholder, explodes with a scandal involving erotic literature, you might not be able to be elected in Britain. But if you can change your constituency to Paris in time, you’ll probably win big.

Or if you can persuade everyone to change the voting method to secret ballot, then I think you can still win in London. But there’s no way. The current voting system is named, so gentlemen can’t vote as freely as they want.”

Dumas nodded, “That’s a fair point. Parisians are not used to hiding things, but London is different.”

Dickens laughed, pointing at Eld’s letter and urging, “Since it’s just us here, there’s no need to hide anything. So Arthur, just read it.”

Arthur unfolded the letter, greeted by the scent of the sea. Just as he was about to narrate it vividly to everyone, the first sentence on Eld’s letter almost choked him.

Arthur, goddamn it, I almost got raped by a dolphin!

I bet you a penny, this dolphin must have dropped out of Oxford! And after dropping out, he received further education at Cambridge!

What a goddamn bad luck, Rio de Janeiro is truly my nemesis!

First, I was scammed by two whores and lost all my money, then I almost got swept into Eden by the flood during my Amazon jungle expedition, and now even leaving Rio de Janeiro isn’t going well!

On our voyage from Rio de Janeiro to La Plata on July 5th, I was enjoying the salty sea breeze while sunbathing on deck. Suddenly, white waves appeared on the blue ocean, followed by hundreds of dolphins leaping out of the sea, jumping and rolling, showing off their agile forms.

Our ship’s speed was around eight to nine knots, but these dolphins could not only keep up with us, but they could also weave in and out of the Beagle’s bow and stern with ease. It seemed they were having fun, treating it as a form of entertainment.

What a magnificent sight! Arthur, you know me. When I see this kind of scene, my classical literary cells start to stir. Seeing the sunrise over the sea and these sea sprites, I couldn’t help but applaud and write a poem!

I immediately thought of Lord Byron’s ‘Maid of Athens,’ and finally understood the feelings Lord Byron had when he wrote this poem.

Facing the surging golden sea and these beautiful creatures that were gradually leaving us, I couldn’t help but recite.

“Maid of Athens, ere we part, Give, oh give me back my heart!

Or, since that has left my breast, Keep it now, and take the rest!

Hear my vow before I go, Ζωή μου, σ᾿ αγαπῶ.

By those tresses unconfined, Wooed by each Aegean wind;

By those lids whose jetty fringe Kiss thy cheek’s ambrosial tinge;

By those wild eyes like the roe, Ζωή μου, σ᾿ αγαπῶ.

By that lip I long to taste; By that zone-confined waist;

By the heart whose pulse I know, Ζωή μου, σ᾿ αγαπῶ.”

However, just as I finished reciting these lines, the railing I was leaning on must have been rotten from the sea waves. I slipped and fell into the sea.

Those dolphins were about to leave, but when they saw me fall into the sea, they turned around. Several dolphins squeezed me between them, lifting me to the surface, preventing me from drowning. But before I could thank them, I suddenly felt something pushing me from behind.

I turned my head back, and the scene was too much for me to describe.

At that moment, I finally realized that they were not gentle and charming Athenian maidens, but the most brutal, rude, and savage sea Spartans!

Although they didn’t succeed in the end, I was really screwed. Not only was I humiliated by the dolphins, but everyone on the ship was on deck watching! But they were far away, so they shouldn’t have seen what happened to me.

I didn’t even tell Charles about this. When the people on the ship pulled me back up, they just saw me speechless.

Captain FitzRoy thought I was too shocked, so he had the ship’s doctor prescribe me some medicine and sent me back to my cabin to rest.

But how can someone recover from such an ordeal so quickly?

I lay in the crew’s quarters, looking out the porthole at the scenery, feeling that life had become bleak, as if I had aged decades overnight. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw myself falling into the sea, like a nightmare that haunted me.

I couldn’t sleep for almost the entire night. I lingered on the ship until three o’clock before I finally felt a bit sleepy.

But I had only fallen asleep for a short while when I suddenly heard a series of mournful cow calls. I opened my tired eyes, thinking I had already sailed to the deepest and darkest abyss of hell because of my unpardonable sins.

With Charles’s support, I walked onto the deck with a cane. It was a pitch-black night, with no stars or moon visible. Captain FitzRoy ordered the lights to be raised, and the searchlight illuminated the coast. Only then did I see who was making those mournful cow calls. It was a group of seals and penguins.

The plump seals twisted their bucket-like waists, holding their bellies high, rolling on the beach. They would occasionally slap their bellies, making a sound. To be honest, they looked just like Alexander.

As for the penguins, their skin was black and white, and they seemed very polite to each other. When they met a companion, they would bow slightly as a sign of respect.

Arthur, you won’t believe this, but these penguins looked like you at Lord Codrington’s banquet. Of course, they are still different from you. They lack a monocle and a suitable top hat. If they could be given a cane, I think no one at a London social gathering would be more gentlemanly than these penguins.

Seeing these scenes, I felt a pang of sadness in my heart. Why did a young, strong, and knowledgeable British youth have to come to such a place? Did I come to see these seals and penguins? I could have seen them in London!

And you and Alexander are better than seals and penguins!

At that moment, I thought: Oh, my God! Why are you punishing your most faithful believer? Do you want me to be Jesus? If you really want me to enlighten the world, to be the Messiah, then please nail me to the cross, please use my dried blood to stain this blue ocean red! But please don’t humiliate me in this way. Why did you use dolphins to be my Judas?

I stared at the deep, dark sky, clutching the crucifix on Charles’s chest, pressing it against my chest and praying to God.

In the silence, I couldn’t sense anything. Charles’s neck was uncomfortable from me pulling it, he wanted to scold me, let him scold.

These earthly noises could no longer hinder my firm belief.

Suddenly, I felt like I received an answer from God. A light drizzle began to fall from the sky, thunder and clouds gathered, and suddenly, a bolt of lightning struck the sky. Even though my eyes were closed, they were still illuminated by the brilliant light.

Then, in the wind and rain, I heard Charles’s exclamation. He shouted, “Look! It’s St. Elmo’s Fire!”

I opened my eyes, and I will never forget it. It was perhaps the most magnificent and beautiful sight I have ever seen in my life.

On the Beagle’s mast, a network of lightning connected, a brilliant blue-white flash like flames, slowly blooming and blossoming. Arthur, at that moment, I suddenly remembered the Eastern myth you told me before.

That must be the sacred lotus under Buddha’s seat, right?

I don’t want to hide it from you, Arthur, that night, I cried.

Who are you?

Where do you come from?

Where are you going?

I have been asked these three questions countless times on this journey around the world.

It’s just that I didn’t understand the meaning of these three questions before.

But now, I understand.

From this moment on, I finally understand.

I am an Eastern monk.

I came from the Tang Dynasty of the East.

I’m going to the West to get the scriptures.

Amitabha, Arthur, is that how monks call it?

By the way, this conversion of mine is a secret, don’t spread it around, or it will cause trouble for me.

By the way, one last question. The Eastern story you told me before, the protagonist is called Wukong, right?

Yes, this Dharma name is not bad, I’ll borrow it for now.

Last but not least, if you have time, remember to help me find out if there are any monks from any sect who are allowed to marry.

Your friend, the Beagle traveler, Royal Navy lay Buddhist, the first monk of South America, Eld Wukong Carter.

Written on July 8th, 1831, at the mouth of the La Plata River, Argentina.

Arthur looked at the end of the letter, pondering for a while before finally understanding Eld’s thought process.

His eyes twitched uncontrollably. Even Arthur, with his calm demeanor, couldn’t help but mutter, “Why is Eld’s life always so awful?”

As for the Red Devil, he had already been laughing so hard he couldn’t stand straight, “If I don’t go to hell, who will? This kid Eld has found a goddamn shortcut to hell!”

The rest of the group, after listening to Eld’s letter, were all silenced by their eccentric friend.

Dickens asked, “So, he’s a Buddhist monk now?”

Arthur shook his head gently, “Come on, Charles, Eld’s understanding of monks is limited to knowing that there’s something called a monk. He doesn’t even know that monks have to shave their heads.”

“Can you be a monk just by shaving your head?” Dumas took a puff of his cigarette, “Then there must be too many fake monks in Britain.”

Disraeli emphasized, “Alexander, we just have more bald people here, but even bald people have some hair!”

Dumas nodded slightly, “Then let me correct myself. There are quite a few fake monks in Britain.”

Dickens looked at Eld’s letter and thought for a while, then asked, “So, can this letter be published? It feels more explosive than erotic literature.”

Arthur also felt that Eld’s letter was a bit hot to handle. He hesitated for a long time, then finally sighed, “Let’s just change the second half. We’ll also change the dolphin incident as much as possible, turning it into an encounter with the Amazon cannibals. But Eld, the determined Royal Navy warrior, endured the test of life and death, witnessed the divine St. Elmo’s Fire after his depression, and in the presence of this magical lightning that sailors have passed down through generations, Eld seemed to see the spirit of the Royal Navy, Admiral Horatio Nelson, beckoning him. Finally, Eld’s heart was untied, and after experiencing life’s hardships, Eld Carter’s faith in God became even stronger. Finally, add a concluding sentence, ‘God Save Britain.'”

Dumas couldn’t help but complain, “Isn’t ‘God Bless America’ the American slogan? Arthur, you’re plagiarizing!”

But Disraeli obviously disagreed with Dumas’s opinion. He replied, “The Americans are all British-made. If God blesses America, then God must have blessed Britain first, Alexander. You have to understand the cause and effect.”

After speaking, Disraeli couldn’t help but give Arthur a thumbs-up, praising him, “This story sounds very politically correct. If this story spreads widely, Eld might be able to sneak into the church and become a bishop when he returns.”

Dumas also winked and teased, “Should we canonize him as a saint or something?”

“Indeed.” Arthur took a sip of tea to calm down, “Wukong is the Fighting Buddha after all. Of course, no matter what saint or Buddha, in the end, they are still just monkeys.”

While everyone was talking, Dickens had already drafted the outline of the story on the manuscript in front of him.

He chewed on his pen and asked, “What do you think we should call this story?”

Dumas thought for a while, “How about ‘Conquering the Dolphins’?”

Dickens shook his head, holding his teacup, “But Mr. Carter wasn’t conquered, was he? And to protect his reputation, dolphins can’t appear in this story.”

Disraeli pondered for a while, “How about ‘The Sea Crusaders’?”

Dickens thought about it for a moment, “It’s not bad, but it might not be a good fit for the theme.”

Just as everyone was hesitating, Arthur sighed and said, “Let’s call it ‘The St. George’s Flag Flies High.’ The St. George’s Cross represents the Royal Navy, and ‘flies high’ means Eld has overcome his depression. Although I feel like this guy never really experienced depression, he was just bored. But whatever, it’s for publicity. Charles, just write it like that.”

Dickens nodded slightly, picked up his pen and wrote the title at the top of the manuscript. Then he snapped his fingers, “Good! I think this title is good too. That’s settled. Next issue of ‘Briton,’ we’ll be featuring ‘The Voyage Journal of the Beagle’ and ‘The St. George’s Flag Flies High.'”

Disraeli also clenched his fist and cheered the group on, “This is a good opportunity to test how far our ‘Briton’ magazine has progressed! Guys, let’s all put in the effort! During the Beagle’s voyage, let’s see if we can create two new sea gods in Britain!”

(End of Chapter)