Landfalls (16 page)

Lap
é
rouse set the letter aside. He had no stomach for writing back to Dufresne, and indeed, was not sure how to respond. Losing Dufresne would have little effect on the scientific aims of the voyage, but it set a bad precedent, suggesting that the savants might come and go as they pleased. Lap
é
rouse fingered a scratch on his bust of Jean-Jacques Rousseau. He liked to think of himself as a man unswayed by personal pique, but he could not deny there would be some satisfaction to turning the man down and forcing him to leave Concepci
ó
n and whatever attachments he might have formed there.

An urgent rap on the door ended his introspection: one of his lieutenants requesting that the commander “please intervene right now in a problem on deck.” The problem turned out to be an argument between Bisalion and Langle's cook, Deveau. The two men had not had occasion to interact with each other before, but now they were both charged with cooking for the f
ê
te, and each man wanted nothing more than to feel superior to the other. Deveau, strangely thin for a cook, was older and claimed to have cooked for Bougainville during the American War. Bisalion, high-strung and prematurely bald, believed that his position with the commander made
him
the senior cook. Deveau had rowed over to the
Boussole
that morning to confer with Bisalion, but by the time Lap
é
rouse arrived, a disagreement over the soup course had devolved into shouted accusations of incompetence, drunkenness, pilferage, and, less relevantly, bastardy and impotence. Lap
é
rouse stepped between them just as fists were raised. Both men shrank back in chagrin when they saw him.

Lap
é
rouse dismissed the seamen who had gathered around, then turned to the two belligerents. “You will prepare exactly what Monsieur de Langle and I tell you to,” he said. “Monsieur Deveau, kindly tell your captain that he and I will be settling on a menu for the f
ê
te when I visit the
Astrolabe
tomorrow evening.” He heard Bisalion gulp behind him, ready to protest the unfairness of being left out, and held up a finger to maintain both cooks' silence. “Neither of you will be present at the discussion. We will inform you of our decisions and of who will be making what.”

The men continued to glare past Lap
é
rouse and at each other. “Monsieur Bisalion,” Lap
é
rouse said, addressing his own cook. “You promised me eggs this morning, but I still haven't seen them.” The cook strode off, red-faced with anger and shame. Deveau made the mistake of laughing at his opponent's discomfiture. “You may return to the
Astrolabe
, Monsieur Deveau,” Lap
é
rouse said, then left the deck so he would not have to see the way his men, naturally taking their shipmate's side, harassed Deveau as he clambered gracelessly over the rail and down into the waiting boat.

*   *   *

Deveau may have been physically excluded from Lap
é
rouse and Langle's discussion the following evening, but he took full advantage of the meeting taking place aboard the
Astrolabe
to ensure that he and his skills were not forgotten. The captains-only dinner, an occasional event that alternated between the two ships, was usually a casual affair, but that evening featured plates of Chilean goat cheese, steamed mussels with garlic, a deliciously light onion soup, stuffed pheasant served with mashed potatoes piped into rosettes, and warm fig tarts topped with fresh cream. Surely it was not Deveau's fault if some of these items made it onto the final menu.

Over a second serving of tart, Lap
é
rouse told Langle that he had received a second letter from Dufresne.

“I know,” Langle said

“Why is it that the least valuable men on a ship always take up the most time?”

“Why don't we let him go, sir?”

Lap
é
rouse sighed. They had already discussed the whys and why-nots of the matter. “Is he still staying with the Sabateros?” he demanded.

Langle's eyebrows flicked upward in mild surprise. “I believe so. He was sitting with them in church on Sunday.”

“He
was
?”

Langle looked at him for a moment before speaking. “If you're concerned about it, sir…”

“What do you mean?”

Langle gently set his fork down on the table. “We have an old, not very attentive husband; his very young, very pretty wife; a commander who is—shall we say—
solicitous
of her; and their guest, a dissatisfied but handsome naturalist—”

“Handsome?”
Lap
é
rouse blurted out.
“Dufresne?”
Langle laughed, and Lap
é
rouse found himself covering his embarrassment with a volley of words: “I am surprised beyond measure to hear you describe him so, Monsieur de Langle. God knows I am no connoisseur of male beauty, but to me the man looks sallow and underfed, with that weak chin and eyes that refuse to meet yours. Is that what women like these days?”

Langle was still smiling. “He's also tall, with a full head of thick, dark curls. And a carefully cultivated air of tragedy that some women might find irresistible.”

Lap
é
rouse frowned, annoyed by Langle's mirth.

“I can order him back to the ship tomorrow if you wish,” Langle said mildly.

Lap
é
rouse waved a hand in dismissal, then briskly suggested they have the table cleared so they could consult their Pacific charts. “I need to inform the ministry of our plans from here,” he said. Langle called for Fran
ç
ois to clear the table.

To decide on a plan of sail for the coming months, they needed a firm departure date from Concepci
ó
n. That date depended on the completion of critical repairs, and the work was proceeding slowly. Some tasks took time and could not be rushed, like the caulking. Some things turned out to be in worse shape than they had expected, like the rigging. Some of the men had been diverted from repair work to preparations for the f
ê
te. But the main problem seemed to be an excess of leisure. The long stay in Concepci
ó
n Bay, with its clement weather, ample food, friendly inhabitants, and lack of urgency, had turned even some of the more industrious seamen into idlers.

“We could promise the crew time in town if they complete the repairs more quickly,” Langle suggested.

“We could end up with two frigates full of Fr
é
d
é
rics,” Lap
é
rouse said.

“Yes. Some of the men will debauch themselves.”

“And come back unfit for duty.”

“Or diseased.”

“Or not at all.”

But it
would
get the work done sooner, as they both knew. Lap
é
rouse sighed. He wished they could do something other than appealing to the men's animal appetites, something that fostered the finer virtues—camaraderie, pride, loyalty. “What if,” he began, toying with the edge of the chart, “on the night after the f
ê
te, we were to use the same location to feed everyone from both frigates? Someone in town will be only too happy to sell us an ox or two for the occasion.”

“An all-hands dinner on the beach,” Langle said, nodding his appreciation. “One is less likely to desert ship captains who treat you to such things.”

An hour later, their course was decided: In two days, the f
ê
te. The day after, an all-hands feast in the same place. Meanwhile, they would make it known that everyone would be granted leave for one day if all the repairs were completed by March 12, five days hence. On March 15 they would set sail. As for their itinerary thereafter, they would head west for Easter Island, then north to the Sandwich Islands, and still farther north for the coast of North America, where they would spend the summer exploring. Tinian by year's end, Manila in February, Kamchatka the following summer. New Holland the spring after that, then islands and more islands in the South Seas—hopefully some of them new—and through the Endeavour Strait for
Î
le de France by the end of 1788, and finally back into the Atlantic and north for home.

“We should be back in France by July of 1789,” Lap
é
rouse said.

Langle's forehead was furrowed, betraying his ordinarily better-concealed disquiet. “It looks so easy on paper,” he said.

“It won't be easy,” Lap
é
rouse said, “but I have no doubt we can accomplish it.”

Langle cast his eyes over their scrawled notes and ran one finger down the expanse of the Pacific, still open on the table between them. “I keep wondering where the unforeseen calamity will strike.”

“Well, that's the thing about unforeseen events, isn't it?”

Langle's lips twitched upward in a half smile. He gathered up the notes strewn across the charts. “Do you never lie awake at night with thoughts like this?”

Lap
é
rouse considered for a moment. “No,” he said. “I have my sleepless nights, of course. But they usually concern problems already present or about-to-be.” Or lonely young wives and their mysterious buttons, he thought with a rush of private embarrassment. “Surely it's not a foregone conclusion that we'll experience a calamity,” he said.

“Isn't it?”

“I should hope not.” Lap
é
rouse stood, rolled up the charts, and handed them to Langle.

Langle returned the maps to a drawer under the table. “It was your optimism, you know.”

“What?”

“
Optimism
. That's what the philosophers call it. A basic faith in the goodness and rightness of life and the world.”

Lap
é
rouse disliked it when Langle waxed philosophical on him. “Well, what about it?”

Langle opened the door to show him out. “It was why
you
were chosen to lead the expedition.”

*   *   *

The next day they visited the ruins of old Concepci
ó
n. Lap
é
rouse had awoken with a headache. The promise of time ashore had indeed produced the predicted effect, and at first light men were running up and down the deck and ladders and rigging, shouting up to men aloft or down to men below, and wielding adzes, mallets, caulking irons, and other clamorous tools. It made his head ring, but he could hardly order them to stop. When Pierre brought his breakfast, Lap
é
rouse barked at him to go away, then remembered the outing to the ruins and bellowed at him to come back. He would have to get properly dressed again, put on his affable French captain face, and decide which of his officers could be spared for the day (none of them could be spared, really, but that would not do; he would have to bring
someone
along). Oh, he thought, with an audible groan, to be at sea again, without these social obligations!

Stepping out of his cabin, he was greeted by a stinging aroma. “What the devil is that?” he cried.

Pierre sniffed. “Onions, sir, for tomorrow's soup. Bisalion and a couple of hands are cutting up a barrel of them right now.”

Lap
é
rouse blinked the tears from his eyes, ordered the small boat to be made ready, and called for Lieutenant de Clonard to join him.

“I really cannot, sir,” Clonard protested. “Monsieur Delphin's delivery is coming this morning. I have to—”

“Where are the other officers?”

“They're all ashore, sir, requisitioning chairs and dishes in Talcahuano for the f
ê
te.”

At the landing area he saw Monneron, but it was quite out of the question to ask him to join the outing. He was running back and forth along the shore overseeing three sets of men: the ships' carpenters and sailmakers, whose job was to construct the tent for dinner; half a dozen men charged with clearing and setting up a platform for the spectacle; and an even smaller group, selected for their ability to wield a brush, who were secluded inside a temporary palisade with Duch
é
de Vancy and pots of blue and gold paint.

“Do you have enough men to help you, Monsieur de Monneron?” Lap
é
rouse called after him.

“Yes, sir, I think I have.”

“Is Monsieur Dufresne still assisting you?”

Monneron stopped short. “I believe he's going to see the ruins today.”

“But he
has
been assisting you?”

Someone called to Monneron from the tent-building site, and he began edging toward it. “He was quite helpful at first,” he said, “but he seems to be busy with other matters now.” A loud crash and volley of cursing from the carpenters, and Monneron broke into a run. “Enjoy the ruins, sir!” he called over his shoulder.

Lap
é
rouse felt an unpleasant return of suspicion and jealousy. “You're coming with me,” he said, collaring the first officer he saw, a man barely visible behind the tall column of wooden bowls balanced in his arms. Fortunately it was Lieutenant d'Escures, an impulsive and cheerful man who rarely said no to an unexpected turn of events and was undaunted by his commander's brusque tone. He happily bequeathed his armload of borrowed bowls to a junior officer and joined Lap
é
rouse at the shoreline. They were soon joined by Langle, accompanied only by young Lesseps. Apparently
none
of the
Astrolabe
's officers could be spared. Lesseps's services as Russian speaker would not be needed for months—perhaps a
year
—but he was an affable shipmate, always willing to participate in the expedition's activities.

“A perfect late-summer morning,” Langle said by way of greeting.