The Shadow of Great Britain

302: Chapter 195 To Hastings (4K4)_2 302: Chapter 195 To Hastings (4K4)_2 In this process, we encountered a series of unfavorable weather and sea conditions, and twice we had to return midway through our journey.

However, thanks to Colonel Fitzroy’s determination and the wholehearted effort of the crew, we finally succeeded in crossing the Atlantic Ocean on our third attempt and officially arrived in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, a week ago.

Speaking of which, I must mention an interesting incident that happened during our second return.

We encountered waves more than ten meters high in a storm.

At that time, Eld was once slammed onto the deck by a wave, but fortunately, perhaps God felt that Heaven was already noisy enough and didn’t immediately call him to serve there.

The lad clung desperately to the ship’s trawling net just a moment before being washed overboard.

Unfortunately, all of Eld’s beloved pornographic magazines were confiscated by the ocean without a single one left.

There he was, hanging on the Beagle’s trawling net, swearing at the tumultuous and dark Atlantic, while behind him, towering waves rolled and thick white lightning lashed like a python.

My God!

It’s such a pity our painter’s paints and brushes were also washed into the sea at that time; otherwise, if this painting had been sent back to London, it would certainly have become an immortal masterpiece.

I even had a name in mind while clinging to the mast—how does “Monkey and the Sea” sound?

Hahaha, better not make that joke.

If Eld found out, he would surely come running to pluck my hair out.

I must have eaten too much spoiled food on the ship lately, as my hair loss has become much worse than usual.

Of course, Eld, that bastard, is also significantly to blame for this.

Lucky for you that you didn’t come aboard as a naturalist.

Otherwise, you could experience what it’s like for seventy to eighty men crammed on a small ship.

It’s tolerable when there’s work to do, but when there’s none, they really can come up with some fucking ridiculous games.

At first, when everyone just got on the ship, it was relatively normal—playing cards, betting money, gambling for canned food and such.

But after a month, money and canned food no longer satisfied them, and these imbeciles began to compete in pulling out hairs from their heads and legs.

For a while, Eld was so unlucky that his entire leg was plucked clean as a Greek marble column.

However, though days on the ship can be pretty boring, the scientific expeditions when we dock are quite interesting.

Just last week, we conducted our first exploration towards the Amazon Jungle and witnessed many fascinating landscapes and animals and plants we had never seen in Europe.

Maybe the next time I write to you, I could consider sending you some scientific specimens I’ve made.

Hmm…

there’s actually something else I’m not sure I should tell.

While researching in waters near Argentina, we discovered six different species of birds on two adjacent islands.

God’s creations are indeed marvelous, aren’t they?

Hehe, perhaps I’m overthinking this, but it might be a little too marvelous.

Regardless, may God bless you, Arthur.

Perhaps what you’re doing now needs God’s care even more than the Beagle’s scientific expedition.

Your friend, Charles Darwin.

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

Arthur looked at the letter in his hand, his face wearing an unstoppable smile.

He murmured, “Charles, you’re getting ahead of yourself.

But you’re right, maybe I do need God’s blessing now more than ever, only then, when you return from your voyage, I’ll have enough strength to bless you.”

After Arthur finished this phrase, he turned to the next page of the letter.

But this time, before he could set his eyes on the paper, he seemed to hear the incessant chatter of monkeys in his ears.

First send my regards to Oxford, then to Cambridge, and finally to my best friend Sir Arthur Hastings and my beloved alma mater:

Phew!

Finally at sea, I’m going to show everyone what the Royal Navy is made of.

Just a few years, and I’ll be grateful for this experience at the end of my life!

Watch out, Arthur.

By the time I return to London, you may have to call me Sir Eld!

…

Damn it!

Arthur, though I know the fate of the Royal Navy is to die at sea, has my time come too soon?

Bloody Atlantic, you weren’t there when I almost got washed away, so you might not know how high those damn waves were, one after another, just like mad dogs.

I used to be jealous of those old undying captains of the Royal Navy; why do they earn so many British Pounds after a few decades at sea?

But now I see that all that money is fucking earned with their lives.

The damn Navy Department doesn’t even get us a bigger ship; the Beagle is like an ant in front of those huge waves!

Just a few months at sea and almost every sailor has injuries, including a severe one on my leg.

Damn it, we even ran out of pale ale these past two days, leaving me wondering what to do tonight.

…

A couple of days ago, in Cape Verde, I traded poker cards for an ivory with the locals, thinking I made a great deal.

But now, it seems like the dumbest trade I’ve ever made in my life.

With no cards to play at night, I’m about to go insane with this lifestyle.