The Shadow of Great Britain

416: Chapter 238 Why Are Things Always So Bad for Eld (7K2) 416: Chapter 238 Why Are Things Always So Bad for Eld (7K2) Dear Arthur:

How have you been lately?

Hehe, life on the Beagle is quite fulfilling, but I can’t help but want to write to you friends in London, please say hello to Alexander, Benjamin, Charles, and let them not forget that they still have a friend floating on the sea at the other end of the Earth.

Oh, I almost forgot, I might offend Eld by saying this, but if Alexander and the others are willing to consider Eld as a species on their same dimension, then let’s reluctantly count two friends.

On February 28, the expedition officially entered the Amazon Jungle from Bahia.

Arthur, you can’t imagine how delighted a naturalist is to see a lush and thriving forest.

Elegant grasses, a myriad of parasitic plants, beautiful yet deadly flowers, and dripping green foliage—the moment I stepped into the Amazon Jungle, I felt that if there is a Heaven on Earth, it must be hidden in this endless ocean of green.

Regrettably, my delight didn’t last long.

Not long after we entered the Amazon, a tropical storm erupted from the skies, and we took shelter under a tree that was over a dozen meters tall, following our British experience.

The branches and leaves of this tree were so dense that a London rain would hardly penetrate.

But as it turned out, British experience was of no use in the Amazon Jungle.

Eld was bored while taking shelter from the rain, so he picked up a stick and began to conduct like a band leader, and the sailors, trying to make the best out of a bad situation, played along happily with him—it was like we had opened a concert similar to those in the Coburg Theatre right in the mud of the Amazon.

However, as Eld’s conducting stick just went up, we heard a huge crackling noise from the canopy, and then a torrent of water rushed down the trunk.

At that time, Eld was belting out a song, and unfortunately, he was caught unawares and got completely drenched.

Hahaha, Arthur, do you know what it’s like for a flood to fall from the sky?

Imagine what’s described in the Bible: the flood was upon the earth for forty days and nights, the waters increased and lifted the ark so that it rose above the earth.

Although what we encountered wasn’t as exaggerated as the Bible describes, it was nearly the same.

The floodwaters were sweeping down from the nearby trees, throwing everyone around, unable to even stand.

We could only hold on to each other and cling to the tree trunks, enduring in the rush of water for nearly half an hour.

Fortunately, the storm in the Amazon arrives fast and leaves just as quickly—otherwise, Eld and I might already be at the bottom of some river feeding the fish.

Speaking of which, when we were inspecting the coastal waters of Brazil, we discovered several bands of murky sea water formed from different colors, some were chocolate-colored, while others were light red or light green.

At first, I thought it was the mud and sands washed into the sea by the flood, but I later found out that these bands were made up of plankton and crustacean animals.

The seal hunters living nearby call this stuff—whale bait.

I don’t know if whales truly feed on these, but the coastal seagulls, cormorants, and large clumsy seals definitely have these little guys on their menu.

These colorful bands are indeed worth paying attention to, even ignoring the plankton, just looking at those crustacean animals, Eld couldn’t help but praise, saying these little crabs, which look like large shrimp, moved in such a tidy and uniform manner, they marched prettier than the light red formations of the Army.

What kind of force is driving them to march so splendidly, when the fish eggs, diatoms, and ciliates mixed among them move randomly?

Is this truly the power of God?

If it is indeed so, then God is also quite partial, why only teach crabs to march?

Could it be that the shrimp have done something wrong?

Arthur, if you have time, perhaps you can go to the church and ask those learned and eloquent bishops about this issue.

After all, they can make sense of any question.

Oh, maybe you should wait until the crab specimen I sent you arrives before you go.

If you speak to the bishops about crabs marching without the specimen, you might well get thrown out of the church.

Of course, although I say this, it may be somewhat unfair to Alexander.

But still, after the specimen arrives, please remind him that I have already tasted this crab, it’s not delicious, and besides, it’s far too small.

So please make sure he doesn’t cook my hard-earned specimen.

And if the bishops don’t acknowledge the crabs, please help me forward the specimen to Mr.

John Henslow, the beetle expert at the Linnean Society.

When I was studying at Cambridge, Mr.

Henslow was very kind to me, and he will certainly appreciate these beautiful little things.

Incidentally, the specimen also includes a color-changing octopus, regretfully it seems to lose this ability and doesn’t change colors once it’s dead.

Lastly, I must warn you, among the specimens I’m sending back there’s a type of pufferfish, which is not only prickly to the touch but also has poisonous spines.

I’ve found this creature inside the bellies of a few dead sharks, so be sure to keep an eye on Alexander and don’t let him eat it.