at midnight, a very long service indeed with the full nocturn, lessons and Te Deum, and the second so that its middle psalm coincided with the rising of the sun.
He was in a half sleep, thinking of Condorcet, a very, very much larger man than Dutourd but equally foolish in his regard for that silly villain Rousseau, when his ear caught a footstep in the passage and he was wide awake when Sam came in, holding a shaded candle.
He was about to make some remark in Jack Aubrey's style, such as, 'Have you come up to the monastery, Sam?' when Sam's gravity quenched his smile. 'Forgive me for waking you, sir, but Father O'Higgins begs he might have a word.'
'Certainly he may,' said Stephen. 'Pray pass me my breeches in the corner there. As you see I lie in my shirt.'
'Doctor,' said the Vicar-General, rising and placing a chair, 'you know there is a clandestine French mission to the independentists here?' Stephen bowed. 'They have recently been joined or rather sought out by a noisy talkative enthusiast who has already thrown much discredit on them - I believe they will slip out of the country - and who has almost directly asserted that you are a British agent. It is true that the Holy Office has taken him up for some shocking blasphemies in the style of Condorcet uttered in public, but Castro has already seized upon the event to ingratiate himself with the Viceroy. 'Heretical foreign gold' he cries: he has had one small mob bawling outside the British consulate and another has broken the windows of the house where the Frenchmen were staying. Until the Viceroy comes back he can do no more, and General Hurtado will probably knock him on the head tomorrow - I mean reduce him to silence. But the General is not to be found in Lima, nor is he at his brother's: he is much given to gallantry. We shall not see him until the conference at noon, and although I think it is weakness on my part I feel somewhat uneasy. A man of Castro's stamp is incapable of doing much good but he may do a great deal of harm, and I think we were unwise in rejecting him. I tell you these things, because if you share my weakness you may wish to take your measures, in the event of our being right.'
Stephen made suitable acknowledgements and observed, 'As far as regretting the rejection of an unreliable man is concerned, I think you may be mistaken. He could never have been trusted, and he would have come into the possession of a great many names.'
He returned to his cell carrying pens, ink and a quire of paper; and as he went he reflected on the unsoundness of his words. The rest of the night he spent writing. At sunrise, still not at all sleepy, he folded his papers, put them into his bosom, and walked into the chapel to hear the Benedictus.
In the later part of the morning large numbers of people began to arrive at the two monasteries, many of them pilgrims coming early for the exposition, some of them members of the league, among whom there was a general tendency to silence and anxious looks. Messengers had been posted on the road to intercept General Hurtado with a letter telling him of Castro's activities so that he should be prepared to reassure the meeting and to take instant decisive measures.
He did not come. In his place there appeared Gayongos, old, grey, his face destroyed: he told Stephen, the Vicar-General, Father Gomez and Sam that Hurtado, extremely moved, had declared that with these cries of foreign gold abroad, repeated on every hand, and in this atmosphere of corruption he could not, as a man of honour, consider any further action at this moment.
They wasted no time in expostulation. Stephen asked whether Castro could possibly seize the ship. 'Certainly not,' said Father O'Higgins. 'Not until the Viceroy returns, and even then it is extremely improbable. But he may well risk a provisional arrest of your person on some pretext or other. You must go to Chile. I have prepared a letter to my kinsman Bernardino for you. He will take you to Valparaiso, where you can go on board your ship.'
'Eduardo will show you the way,' said Father Gomez. 'You will be in no danger with him,' he added with a curious smile.
Turning to Gayongos Stephen asked whether any of the actual treasure had been transferred. 'No,' said Gayongos. 'Apart from a few thousands, nothing but drafts on the provisional government. The gold was to have been distributed tomorrow afternoon.'
'Then pray retain it in a readily movable form until you receive word,' said Stephen, and to Sam, 'Father Panda, here is the merest note for Captain Aubrey: he will be in quite soon I am sure and you will explain things far better than I could do.' They all shook hands, and in the doorway Gayongos said, 'I feel so much for your disappointment. Pray accept this parting gift.' Silent tears, utterly astonishing on that grey, dewlapped face, ran down as he handed Stephen an envelope.
Chapter Nine
Early on Wednesday the east wind, which had been dying all night, at last expired in a peaceful calm: no more whirling dust, no more banging shutters, falling tiles; a blessed quietness. By the time the sun had risen ten degrees or so the sea-breeze began to waft in and by mid-morning it was blowing a moderate gale from the south-west: the Surprise could have carried full topsails, but Tom Pullings, less given to cracking-on than his Captain, would have had a reef in them.
It blew steadily all that day and the next and on Friday Tom pulled over to San Lorenzo once more, walked across the island and so up to a point below the beacon, from which he commanded an immense stretch of ocean bounded by a hard, unusually distinct horizon.
He swept this clear line with his glass, and there indeed, due west, was what he had been looking for yesterday afternoon and evening, slowly drinking cold tea as he did so - a remote fleck of white in the sun between sea and sky. He climbed up to the beacon itself, sitting where a rock-fall gave him a firm rest for the telescope and focused with the utmost care. At this height she was already topsails up, with another ship behind her; and well before likelihood became certainty his heart was eased, filled with happiness. She was surely the Franklin, and she was bringing in a prize.
Presently, when the sun was hot on the back of his head, she was hull up, and he was wholly satisfied, head and heart. He had commanded her, and now he could not be mistaken. He might go back to the Surprise with an easy mind and sit in peace, admiring her new rigging, all fresh-rove and set up, all blacked where blacking was called for; yards likewise. And he could tell Father Panda.
For days now Tom had been growing more and more worried, with the Doctor away and the Reverend coming every night for news of the Captain, clearly anxious, clearly aware that something ugly was up, bringing the sick back, advising him to close with the men bargaining for the prizes, to get the barky out of the yard, watered, victualled and ready to weigh, all shore-leave stopped. And certainly there was something very odd about the town, with people running about and behaving strange. Some who had always been civil and more than civil had grown rather shy. The master of the rope-walk for example: all smiles and a glass of vino on Sunday, reserved, if not downright chuff, on Monday. The ship-chandlers and the dockyard people had become very eager for their money. On the other hand three considerable merchants had come to see him after dark (most visiting took place by night at present) and had asked him to carry treasure down to Valparaiso. Mr Adams, who spoke
