Chapter 3 - The voyage of ....death
richardal...@googlemail.com
his Bible, his source of strength, his support through the ordeals he
had been forced to endure over the past months and years.
When the Beagle set sail he had welcomed the prospect of the company
of an educated. God-fearing gentleman on the long voyage which lay
ahead. At first, he had been attracted to young Charlie, though not in
a way which was in any respect sexual, of course. His first
impression was that he was personable, articulate and of gentlemanly
bearing, though the rather shifty eyes suggested a weakness of
character.
“Still” mused Fitzroy “there’s nothing there that time spent with the
Bible won’t put right.”
Then the was the luggage. Trunk after trunk, taking up valuable space
he had set aside for the Bibles he was going to give to the heathen
savages they would encounter.
“Natural history supplies” Darwin had explained.
But when the voyage had started, Fitzroy discovered Darwin’s mania for
death. Any bird or animal, every living thing in God’s creation was a
target for Darwin’s gun.
“Specimens” he told Fitzroy “I need specimens. I have a ….theory. I
need specimens to prove it”
The slaughter carried on relentlessly. The deck of the ship, whose
cleanliness was a source of great pride to its captain was constantly
awash with the blood of slaughtered creatures, and the stains, which
could not be eradicated, matched the stains on Fitzroy’s conscience.
How could he have so misjudged another human being? And one with a
degree in Divinity who had studied the Bible. The very act of such
study should have cleansed the mind of this …..and Fitzroy hesitated
internally before using the term ….monster.
But this was not the worst of it. There was the drinking. There was
the womanising, and the suspicion of even darker, more evil acts. As
the stinking carcases gathered in the hold, the stinking corruption of
Darwin’s mind became ever clearer.
Being a gentleman, Fitzroy was served his dinner each evening in his
dinning room, separate from the common men and boys who made up his
crew. Darwin, though his pretensions to gentility were severely
compromised by his behaviour, ate with him. He drank throughout the
meal, and few meals did not involve the consumption of a whole bottle
of the brandy to which he seemed addicted.
“Common sense” his words slurred with drink “common sense tells us
that the Bible can not be read as a literal account of creation” he
would say, taunting the Captain, who gritted his teeth as he
suppressed the noble Christian rage which told him to draw his cutlass
and smite this evil offender against God’s words. Many times in his
later years he asked himself how different the world would have been
had he given way to this impulse. Would the canker of heresy been cut
out at source? Or was this part of a wider plot to overthrow True
Christianity (™)? What could the actions of a single individual, no
matter how inspired and to in the face of this awful conspiracy?
But the voyage was almost over now. The ship, it’s hold stuffed with
the carcases of thousands of the beasts and birds of God’s creations,
it’s decks stained with their blood, was nearing the port of Bristol
whence it had set out three years previously. A strange and terrible
cargo, but one which paled into insignificance compared to the utter
depravity and corruption of the mind which lay behind its acquisition.
Fitzroy, in his cabin, clutching his Bible for comfort. ‘The smaller
of the cabins,’ he thought ‘Darwin insisted on occupying the greater.
But I am the Captain. I have responsibilities to the ship and the
crew. It was stolen from me.’
He recalled a scene in South America. For once the bones which Darwin
had collected were not those of living animals, cut from their
bleeding bodies, the poor hearts still beating in the final throes of
agonising death in which Darwin exulted, but those of victims of the
Great Flood, those of strange creatures the like of which no longer
walks the earth.
“I’ll show them to Owen” Darwin had said, “He’ll know what they
are”.
“Yes,” though Fitzroy “Owen will know”.
Richard Owen, whose great intellect outshone Darwin’s as the Sun
outshines the stars of the night sky. Fitzroy took comfort from the
thought that Darwin’s intellectually vacuous musings would be
dismissed by the world of True Science (™) under Owen’s guidance. It
was typical of the weakness of Darwin’s character that he relied so
heavily on the learning of others, though he corrupted and twisted it
to suit his own ends.
Then there was that other time.
Darwin, his clawed hand clutching the naked breast of a young heathen
savage, taunting Fitzroy.
“Come on Fitz” he cried “There’s enough here for both of us”
The naked, wanton savage on his other arm barred her teeth at him in
imitation of a smile of the civilised races. Fitzroy averted his eyes
from this wanton display of heathen nudity. There was not even a
bodice to rip. It was a measure of his despair that even the thought
of a ripped bodice bought him comfort. Why could these creatures not
cover their nakedness in a civilised manner? He had given them Bibles
from his diminishing store in the hope that some semblance of
civilised, Christian behaviour would be gained from the Book, but they
had treated it with bemused contempt. Evidently Darwin had already
planted his corruption in their minds.
“They are all going to die soon anyway, “ Darwin shouted “they are
lesser races which civilised man has the imperative to extinguish
under my theory”
It was cold, and snow fell from a grey sky, the flakes melting on the
naked flesh of the savage beauties. Fitzroy turned away, the bile
rising in his throat, and returned to his cabin and to his Bible.
But there were darker things even than this. On one occasion Darwin
disappeared for several days, returning with eyes bright, consumed by
an inner fire.
“I have been shown great secrets” he imparted to Fitzroy after dinner,
when the brandy had loosened his tongue. “Secrets which will give me
power over man and nature.”
“What manner of secrets?” Fitroy asked.
“Some call it….witchcraft. Others may call it science. I call
it….power.” He took from his pocket a small package and unfolded it on
the table.
“What is that?” Fitroy asked.
“The natives have a name for it which I may not impart to you.” He
took a pinch of the yellowish powder, and held it up to the candle
flame. “It gives visions”
His breath carried the powder into the flame, which flared with a blue
light. A heady vapour filled the cramped cabin. Fitroy felt his head
begin to spin. He tried to get to his feet, but Darwin’s hand
restrained him.
“Wait” he commanded.
And Fitzroy waited, unable to resist the command, his mind now under
the control of Darwin’s will, and the evil potion he had used.
“ I could turn you into a willing disciple now” he said. “I chose not
to. It will give me greater pleasure to allow your will to remain
free.”
He laughed, a soft, sinister laugh.
“It will make no difference to my mission.”
There were less reprehensible aspects to Darwin’s character. He was a
fine shot, and understood that it is the duty of every True Christian
(TM) to bear firearms and to use them at every opportunity, though
even here his lack of moral fibre showed. When the ship was approached
by a tribe of naked savages, Darwin prevented the Captain from
shooting a few to show them the moral superiority of the Christian
races, and insisted on attempting …intercourse with them.
But his habit of taking showers on deck. Though somewhat twisted by
the internal depravity, the sight of the slim, muscular body wreathed
in a transparent sheen of water, glistening in the tropical sun
brought a sudden swelling to Fitzroy’s throat.
“How dare he” he muttered to himself “how dare he disport himself in
this way. How dare he tempt a True Christian (TM) with this show of
flesh.” He descended to his cramped quarters and sought comfort in the
Book.
But now the voyage was over, and the Beagle was at rest at last. Most
of the contents of the hold had been unloaded and was piled somewhat
untidily as befits the corrupt use to which it would be put ready for
collection. From the vantage point of the window of his tiny cabin
Fitzroy could see and hear what transpired on the quayside.
A coach arrived, drawn by four black horses, it’s livery black, driven
by a coachman in a black cape. It moved with unnatural quietness, an
ungodly stealth in its movements, the wheels coated in some unnatural
substance which suppressed the noise natural to that of a coach on
cobbles. A tall, black-clad figure descended from the coach.
“Lyell” cried Darwin “capital to see you.”
“Darwin,” the response was a single word, the tone level and
chilling.
“Mission accomplished” Darwin’s voice descended to a quieter tone, and
Fitzroy had to strain his ears to hear what followed.
“So you have collected that which we agreed,” Lyell, though composed,
sounded strained. “Your grandfather and I placed much trust in you
when we sent you on this voyage.”
“How is my grandfather?”
“He died last year,” Lyell responded.
“Oh? Was it a painful death?” Darwin’s voice sounded indifferent.
“Whatever pain he suffered in his death is as nothing to the pain he
is now enduring.”
“Good” Darwin responded. “I hated the old man”
“You are more alike that you think” Lyell sounded amused. “He hated
you, as he hated all men, and is why he sought to corrupt mankind.
Smith may have started this business, but the name of Erasmus Darwin
will go down in history as the one who took Smith’s heresy and
fraudulent conceptions into the full light of the sun and it’s place
in the downfall of mankind.”
Lyell looked at the mound of cases.
“So where are they?” he asked.
“Where are what?”
“The finches”
There was a silence.
“The finches?” Darwin’s voice trembled.
“You fool!”
Fitzroy watched as Lyell stepped towards Darwin, his hand upraised,
and strike the young man across the check. Darwin fell to the cobbles,
holding his hand to his bleeding lip.
“You forgot the finches? Were you too preoccupied with whoring and
drinking to remember the purpose of this mission?”
Darwin rose to his feet, his eyes fixed on the older man.
“My grandfather is dead” he said in a clear and level voice. “You were
never more than his lieutenant.”
“So who is to be our leader in that case? A stripling who is more
interested in whores and brandy than our sacred cause?”
“Better that than an old man who has lost respect for his betters.
This ‘stripling’ is taking over the family business.”
“Over my dead body.”
“Very well.” Darwin raised his arm. “Give my regards to Erasmus”
A single shot rang out.
“I’ll deal with the finches later.”
The man turned and looked up, his eyes on Fitzroy’s.
“Fitz, old man.” His voice carried a quiet authority which it had
lacked previously “just in case you are thinking of reporting this
matter to the Runners, be aware that Lyell was never here. Several
important men of science and business will tell them that he was
attending a dinner in Edinburgh this evening. Tragically he was set
upon by footpads and murdered.”
“God will punish you!” cried the Captain. “he sees all, and judges
all.”
Darwin winced, but then shrugged his shoulders. He spat on the ground.
“So much for God.” His voice was flat and emotionless. “ I reject him.”
Lizzardwoman
<richardal...@googlemail.com> wrote in message
news:1174220862.5...@l75g2000hse.googlegroups.com...
| Captain Fitzroy leaned against the door of his tiny cabin. He clutched
| his Bible, his source of strength, his support through the ordeals he
| had been forced to endure over the past months and years.
(snip page-turner)
I wish there was some contest for clever parody. You would be in the
running for sure. : )
sharon
Desertphile
wrote:
> Captain Fitzroy leaned against the door of his tiny cabin. He clutched
> his Bible, his source of strength, his support through the ordeals he
> had been forced to endure over the past months and years.
(Snip riviting tale)
Good gods, you are sick. Sick, sick sick! FUNNY sick!
--
http://desertphile.org
Desertphile's Desert Soliloquy. WARNING: view with plenty of water
Tiny Bulcher
> Captain Fitzroy leaned against the door of his tiny cabin.
<snip>
Marvellous stuff. I'm only worried Ray will believe it all, and put it in
his paper.
Mike Dworetsky
news:1174220862.5...@l75g2000hse.googlegroups.com...
[snip]
Bristol? As far as I am aware, HMS Beagle was a Royal Navy survey vessel
based in Portsmouth. Bristol was a commercial port.
The rest, of course, is correct. :-) But I could have wished for at least a
few ripped bodices, or a strategically loose thread.
--
Mike Dworetsky
(Remove pants sp*mbl*ck to reply)
Inez
>
> read more »
When you publish and become rich and famous I want credit as the muse
who got you started. At least enough to get me on Oprah with you.
John Wilkins
> On Mar 18, 5:27 am, richardalanforr...@googlemail.com wrote:
> > Captain Fitzroy leaned against the door of his tiny cabin. He clutched
> > his Bible, his source of strength, his support through the ordeals he
> > had been forced to endure over the past months and years.
...
> >
>
> When you publish and become rich and famous I want credit as the muse
> who got you started. At least enough to get me on Oprah with you.
Will you rip your bodice on air?
--
John S. Wilkins, Postdoctoral Research Fellow, Biohumanities Project
University of Queensland - Blog: scienceblogs.com/evolvingthoughts
"He used... sarcasm. He knew all the tricks, dramatic irony, metaphor,
bathos, puns, parody, litotes and... satire. He was vicious."
Alexander
> Captain Fitzroy leaned against the door of his tiny cabin. He clutched
> his Bible, his source of strength, his support through the ordeals he
> had been forced to endure over the past months and years.
>
Snip rather excellent narrative - I'm only glad that finally the truth
can be told.
So much better than UD's attempts at parody:
http://www.uncommondescent.com/evolution/uds-first-suck-up-to-darwin-contest/
We should have a series of similar yarns for other great names - the
real story of bible-believing Einstein's discovery of a deterministic
non dice playing God perhaps.
J.J. O'Shea
(in article <1174379687.9...@n59g2000hsh.googlegroups.com>):
My only question... I've seen chapters one, three, and four. Where's chapter
two? Me want. Me must have.
--
email to oshea dot j dot j at gmail dot com.
J.J. O'Shea
(in article <1hva3ry.1m4iwzo14a7h4rN%j.wil...@uq.edu.au>):
> Inez <savagem...@hotmail.com> wrote:
>
>> On Mar 18, 5:27 am, richardalanforr...@googlemail.com wrote:
>>> Captain Fitzroy leaned against the door of his tiny cabin. He clutched
>>> his Bible, his source of strength, his support through the ordeals he
>>> had been forced to endure over the past months and years.
> ...
>>>
>>
>> When you publish and become rich and famous I want credit as the muse
>> who got you started. At least enough to get me on Oprah with you.
>
> Will you rip your bodice on air?
>
It's difficult to do that when you're wearing a Princess Leia Gold Bikini.
John Wilkins
The attempt is worth it.
richardal...@googlemail.com
> On Tue, 20 Mar 2007 04:34:48 -0400, Alexander wrote
>
>
>
> > On Mar 18, 12:27 pm, richardalanforr...@googlemail.com wrote:
> >> Captain Fitzroy leaned against the door of his tiny cabin. He clutched
> >> his Bible, his source of strength, his support through the ordeals he
> >> had been forced to endure over the past months and years.
>
> > Snip rather excellent narrative - I'm only glad that finally the truth
> > can be told.
>
> > So much better than UD's attempts at parody:
>
> > We should have a series of similar yarns for other great names - the
> > real story of bible-believing Einstein's discovery of a deterministic
> > non dice playing God perhaps.
>
> My only question... I've seen chapters one, three, and four. Where's chapter
> two? Me want. Me must have.
>
> --
> email to oshea dot j dot j at gmail dot com.
J.J. O'Shea
(in article <1174390403.2...@l75g2000hse.googlegroups.com>):
> /ff18aa8dd691cd17#ff18aa8dd691cd17
>
>
Thanks.
Inez
> Inez <savagemouse...@hotmail.com> wrote:
> > On Mar 18, 5:27 am, richardalanforr...@googlemail.com wrote:
> > > Captain Fitzroy leaned against the door of his tiny cabin. He clutched
> > > his Bible, his source of strength, his support through the ordeals he
> > > had been forced to endure over the past months and years.
> ...
>
> > When you publish and become rich and famous I want credit as the muse
> > who got you started. At least enough to get me on Oprah with you.
>
> Will you rip your bodice on air?
> --
That would not be in the spirit of the thing; a girl isn't supposed to
have to rip her own bodice.
John Wilkins
Inez
> Inez <savagemouse...@hotmail.com> wrote:
> > On Mar 19, 10:01 pm, j.wilki...@uq.edu.au (John Wilkins) wrote:
> > > Inez <savagemouse...@hotmail.com> wrote:
> > > > On Mar 18, 5:27 am, richardalanforr...@googlemail.com wrote:
> > > > > Captain Fitzroy leaned against the door of his tiny cabin. He clutched
> > > > > his Bible, his source of strength, his support through the ordeals he
> > > > > had been forced to endure over the past months and years.
> > > ...
>
> > > > When you publish and become rich and famous I want credit as the muse
> > > > who got you started. At least enough to get me on Oprah with you.
>
> > > Will you rip your bodice on air?
> > > --
>
> > That would not be in the spirit of the thing; a girl isn't supposed to
> > have to rip her own bodice.
>
> You want Richard to do it?
I hadn't made plans along those lines. Perhaps Justin Timberlake
would do it, since he's already had practice with Janet Jackson.
> Surely your SO won't like that...
Then he shouldn't have slammed me into a wall during an argument,
causing me to break up with him.
John Wilkins
Lizzardwoman
"Inez" <savagem...@hotmail.com> wrote in message
news:1174397261....@b75g2000hsg.googlegroups.com...
This guy was born to rip bodices off...
http://caroleannlee.com/index.htm
And for those who don't know that insouciant grin of a chick magnet... there
you go.
sharon
Inez
Yes, yes, I had a Jerry Springer moment. Rub it in if you must.
Mike Dworetsky
news:1174220862.5...@l75g2000hse.googlegroups.com...
>
> the carcases of thousands of the beasts and birds of God’s creations,
> it’s decks stained with their blood, was nearing the port of Bristol
> whence it had set out three years previously. A strange and terrible
> cargo, but one which paled into insignificance compared to the utter
> depravity and corruption of the mind which lay behind its acquisition.
>
Looked this up from "The Voyage of the Beagle". She set out from Devonport
(adjacent to Plymouth, in Devonshire, on the south coast of England) and
returned some years later to Falmouth, a fine natural harbour on the south
coast of Cornwall and a major Royal Navy base, about 50 miles southwest of
Plymouth. Nowhere near Bristol, however.
richardal...@googlemail.com
<platinum...@pants.btinternet.com> wrote:
> <richardalanforr...@googlemail.com> wrote in message
I'm writing this from a creationist perspective, and you want me to
get all the facts right?
Bristol suits my narrative purpose better. Why let dry facts get in
the way of a deeper truth?
RF
John Wilkins
He's using Spencer's view of tragedy: a beautiful hypothesis spoiled by
an ugly fact.