The Honorable Godfrey Blunkett’s Inquiries On Natural Philosophy

By Brian Dunphy

 

“The Royal Society espouses the position that it is far preferable to study nature and her phenomena directly rather than merely pouring over books, however wise the ancients may have been.”

“Oh, I don’t care much for books, sir.”  The boy said with a smile.

The Honorable Godfrey Blunkett, former Professor of Anatomy at Brasenose College at Oxford stood in the late afternoon heat upon the rocky headlands, wishing to push his lesser apprentice off the cliffs into the sea 100 feet below.

“Well, lad, let’s hope that will change.”

Dr. Blunkett felt the sweat dripping from under his oversized periwig.  Warm vapours accumulated under his vest and coat, their escape blocked by the cravat tied about his neck, threatening a most malodorous exit later in the day.

Despite the bodily discomforts, and the difficulty in finding suitable apprentices among the lesser quality of British citizens arriving in the West Indies, Blunkett relished any opportunity to visit the island of San Juan, the southwestern tip of which had been rumored to contain treasures of the natural world.

He let out a sigh of weary, heat-stroked contentment after a fairly productive day of natural inquiry.

“Civilization can be but a covering upon brutality.” He snickered to himself, proud of encapsulating some recent musings in such a modicum of words, as he reflected upon the sweaty nastiness soiling the interior of his finery.

Blunkett walked the contour of the hill, scanning the scrubby salt flats for signs of land pikes whose existence he had doubted.  Given the purported ability of their skins to stop bullets, a well-stocked source of land pikes would make a marvelous contribution to the glory of mother England… A contribution worthy of notice.

“Any land pikes?  Land pikes.”  Blunkett made a crushing motion with his arms, in imitation of jaws closing.  Rodrigo, a local fisherman who had served Blunkett as porter and guide on three expeditions to date, smiled and repeated, “Yes!  Yes!”  This seemed to be his only word of English, serving him well for both the affirmative and the negative. Blunkett tried to think of another way to describe the beast.

“I wonder if he does not understand what you’re asking, Dr. Blunkett,” suggested the apprentice, noticeably absent of sweat in his short coat and breeches.

“Perhaps not.”

A brown mongrel dog, no larger than a suckling pig, with a tail just as bare, nipped at Blunkett’s heels.  The boy grinned inanely at the mutt, and Blunkett reluctantly held his kick.

“I’m going to name him Cabo Rojo.  After this place, Dr. Blunkett.”

“Of course you will.  Is Mister Ellis still in the boat?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Excellent.  Let’s turn our attentions there.”

Blunkett sauntered towards the top of the hill, followed by Rodrigo and the young apprentice, who fought to contain the wriggling puppy in his arms.  Blunkett had first visited the white cliffs of Cabo Rojo six years earlier in 1664; he had been drawn by rumors of a mysterious lagoon and the blood red mountains that surround it.  Nostalgia brought him back to these cliffs as much as the opportunity to make a name for himself and to boost the stature of his family, whose good name did little to stem their dwindling fortune.

A narrow spit of land connected the promontory to the mainland.  At its tallest point, it stood 150 feet above the surrounding forests and salt flats.  To the north ran several ranges of low hills; to the east sat the fabled ‘blood red mountains’, neither quite ‘blood red’, nor quite ‘mountains’.  They did provide a southern boundary for a pretty lagoon; the small lagoon spooked Rodrigo, however, and he always kept his distance.

Beyond the northern hills, a great chain of mountains, draped in thick billowing clouds and seeming to hold up heaven itself, formed a tall barrier that ran the length of San Juan.  Blunkett felt safe from the Spanish here, the bulk of whose forces lie 80 miles away at the other end of the island, behind the tall mountains.

This trip he had purchased at the steep price of adopting a brat for apprentice from a merchant family that had enriched itself on cacao, having had the good fortune to have bought a plantation in the hinterlands of Jamaica that God had deigned to spare from the blight striking cacao across the region.   This poor family of rubbish, thrown to the wilds of Jamaica, had subsequently gained control over the entire English cacao market.  Now these weeds that prospered among the wilting flowers of English life, these pigs that rooted among dirt and filth but a generation ago, expected to send their half-witted offspring to be educated by families of good name and breeding – families whose standing diminished upon the ascension of yet another low-brow clan ennobled by wealth.  Only in the wilds of the New World could such weeds take hold, and perhaps it would be here that they would usurp the greatest accomplishment in the long lineage of Man, namely the accumulation of knowledge of God’s will and nature’s secrets through the pursuit of Natural Science.  Such thoughts only strengthened the resolve of this middle son of a poor baron from North Riding of Yorkshire.  He would complete as rapidly as God granted the “Enquiries and Directions for the Ant-Iles”, a set of research priorities compiled for the West Indies by the Royal Society of London.   Such an accomplishment would undoubtedly earn him his knighthood, and free him from the need for upstart swinelike patrons and their vile suckling offspring.

“Have we the locust bark, my good lad?” Blunkett asked with convincing sincerity.

“Yonder comes, my lord.”  The apprentice replied.

Lumbering up the hill, two ogreish bondsmen grumbled and bumped against each other, large brown sacks straining their backs.  Blunkett used his bondsmen for the toughest work, reasoning they would be in his employ for but a few years, and as such, he would need to recuperate his investment in the time they belonged to him.

“Well, that certainly is a good deal of bark.”

The larger oaf, shirt ripped and breeches caked in mud, spoke with shortened breath: “Aye, m’lord.  But only a portion is actually bark.  We mostly gathered these funny pods that were below the trees.”  Barely containing an eager-to-please grin, the oaf bowed again and placed the pod into Blunkett’s impatient hands: it was chestnut brown and a hands-breadth wide.  The shorter oaf, equally displeasing to the eye, simply stared at the first.

Blunkett turned the pod over in his hands, “Somewhat intriguing, but not on the list. We’ll bring a handful, dump the rest, and re-fill those sacks with bark, just bark.”

“But m’lord,” The shorter bondsman implored, “The trees are nearly two leagues away. Have we the time?”

“Yes, we may.  Possibly not.  If we leave before your return, I suggest you make for the town of San German, about three leagues north of here.  Señor Rodrigo could perhaps point the way for you.  The Spanish constables would certainly arrest you- they will likely make the reasonable assumption that you are shipwrecked buccaneers.  But you will fare better in a Spanish jail than in the wilds here.”

“Yes, m’lord.”

The two oafs bowed and just as Blunkett neared the edge of earshot, the smaller one growled at the larger, “I told you we dint need the stinkin’ rocks.”

“They aint rocks, you bastard.”

“Well, they aint bark.”

Blunkett turned in time to see the two lumber into each other, fists swinging wildly.

A few minutes into the melee, another servant rushed up, bowed low, and presented some freshly killed birds, their bodies mangled by bullet holes.  Blunkett stared at the fight across the clearing, expounding on the implications to Rodrigo, who nodded enthusiastically.

“See how the shorter one uses his partially emptied bag as a blackjack.  Most ingenious.  He certainly has compensated for his short stature and should give the larger fellow quite a thrashing.  Not unusual, actually, for nature often provides the smaller creature with compensation against the larger. Take the hedgehog, for instance-”  A broad swing caught the side of the large oaf’s head, sending him to the ground.

“You see that, then.  Just as I said.”  The Spanish peasant nodded, as the small bondsman kept up the barrage on his fallen foe.

The nervous bird-carrying servant stepped closer, turning his eyes to the ground, “Uh, m’lord.  Is your bird among these?”

Blunkett turned and began tossing the birds to the ground, “No… no… no….  No, Mr. Tucker, the bird was green, about the size of a raven, and had a patch of red on its breast. These are all too small.  Tell Mr. Roughbottom to try again.  But do tell him to shoot judiciously.  We needn’t draw any wandering Spanish soldiers to the area.  Isn’t that right, Señor Rodrigo.”

In a rocky inlet below the cliffs of Cabo Rojo, Roger Ellis’ small boat wobbled precariously as the surf rose and fell.

“Mister Ellis.” Blunkett yelled to his senior apprentice. “Have you the depth measurements?”

“Three and a half fathoms, my lord.”  Blunkett, standing atop the tall cliff, high above Roger Ellis, relayed the measurement to a nearby assistant, who rushed to the edge to hear the next measurements himself.

Blunkett spoke to the assistant, “And have we the highest tide and lowest ebb marks?”

“Yes, my lord.”  The assistant replied.  To the south, the Flower of Bristol rode the small waves of the Caribbean, safe from the rougher waters of the Mona Passage to the west.  The crew aboard had already begun to prepare the trip for its return to Port Royal.

“Good.  Now we just need to weigh a sample of sea water and-”

“Dr. Blunkett!” Ellis called from below.  “Dr. Blunkett, please.”

Blunkett looked back over the edge.  “Yes, Roger, what is it?”

“I believe some sharks have moved into the cove with me.”

“Sharks?  Excellent, Roger, they are on the list. Mr. Tucker, bring up a gun… There’s no gun? They’re being used to shoot birds?”  Blunkett moved back to the edge of the cliff.  Far below, he could see the sinuous shapes sliding into the inlet, fins poking above the water, “Oh, Roger…  No gun is available. Do you think you could stun one of the creatures with your paddle?  Killing it would be best.  A few are moving your way.”

“Um, m’lord.  That might prove difficult, might you think.”  Ellis fought now against both the surf and his growing fear, and the battle did not last long- a wave swept broadside over his boat, flipping it and sending him into the water, carrying the boat away as the sea fell.

Blunkett threw up his arms, “Mister Ellis, a bit more care, if you please.  You’ll need the boat to complete your work.”

Roger Ellis, in rather composed panic, looked about him.  After a few moments, he disappeared below the water.

“Mr. Ellis…  Mr. Ellis!”  Blunkett turned around and pointed at two servants who had joined the group at the top of the bluff.  “You two. Get into a boat and rescue him. Make haste!”  Blunkett turned back and saw that Ellis had re-emerged.  A moment later Ellis dropped again below the water only to re-emerge once more.  Down the hill, the two servants ran towards Rodrigo’s fishing boat, beached several hundred yards away from Roger Ellis.

“They’ve attacked me!”

“Be brave, Mr. Ellis.  Help is coming.”

Blunkett turned to an assistant, “The moon waned last night.  Did you record that?  Make certain you do.”

Poor Roger Ellis looked miserably frightened in the water, and Blunkett followed the circling fins with increasing trepidation.  How frightful it must be to endure such an attack. So horrible a fate.  Such a threat to so many British sailors around the world… Strange that so little was known about such a thing…

“Oh. Roger…”  Blunkett yelled.

“Yes, my lord.”

“While we are waiting for your rescue, perhaps you could provide some insight into your current situation.”

“M’lord?”

“Well, yes.  First, did you feel the skin of the beast? Did it feel rough to the touch?  Perhaps enough to draw blood.”  Ellis looked about him, turning to a fin circling closer.

“Rough, M’Lord? I don’t know.  I mean, they drew blood, but I would attribute that result more to their teeth than their skin-”

“Teeth? Excellent!  I mean, that is to say-”

“M’Lord.  Would the boat be coming soon?”

“Yes, Mr. Ellis. The boat is coming.  But let’s not delay.  Did it hurt when the shark first bit you?”

“Hurt?  It certainly did.”

“No, Mr. Ellis. I mean at the moment of attack.”

“Uh, actually, no, I suppose.  But it hurts like the dickens now.”

“Yes, yes, I suppose it would.  Very brave of you, how you endure it so.”  Blunkett edged forward a few steps, knocking some rocks off the edge, which fell through the air for several seconds, before splashing into the water far below.  Blunkett could see the closest shark break the surface…

“Be interesting to compare it to the bite of a land pike; but I suppose you couldn’t appreciate the sentiment at this moment.”

“M’lord.  They’ve pulled most grievously at my flesh.  Any thoughts on how best to prevent further attack?

“Now Roger, You can’t be serious.  Given the size and shape of the beasts’ jaws, you would clearly expect more slicing than pulling.  But would you have any idea of how many seconds- before the pain set in.”

“Seconds.  I’m sorry.  Come again?”

Blunkett saw that the number of sinuous forms in the cove had doubled to nearly a dozen.

“Oh, dear.”  Ellis announced, “Here they come again.”

“Where’s the bloody boat?”  Blunkett yelled, turning to see the fishing boat trudging slowly through the choppy surf, several hundred yards from its destination.  His spirits sank as dawning realization revealed that poor Mr. Ellis would never be rescued.  He would be eaten by the sharks, and Blunkett would be powerless to prevent it.  How strange this world, how strange indeed. All worked within God’s plan, yet what a strange plan indeed that it should include the devouring of Mr. Ellis by sharks, so far from home.  Blunkett had devoted his life to unraveling God’s plan, and he marveled at how frequently he found himself baffled by the Plan.

Yet, as he watched the last moments of Mr. Ellis, he felt a strange sense of spiritual breakthrough- a breakthrough arriving with even stranger rapidity, which Blunkett attributed to the dwindling time that Roger had left.  He felt, just fleetingly, what can even be described as a moment of grace.  For he now contemplated the possibility that the ingestion of Mr. Ellis’ by sharks may have been ordained to serve a higher purpose.

Don’t dillydally, dear Blunkett.  Carry on!

“Mr. Ellis.  They’re on their way with the boat, lad. But, in the name of discovery, did you feel pain within a few moments, or did it take some time.”

“Um, well, perhaps a minute, half one, half a minute. What do I do?”

Half a minute? Fascinating.   “Mr. Ellis, They’re on their way with the boat.  But, Roger… Are the beasts really grabbing your flesh and pulling at it, or would cutting actually be more- oh, watch it now, right there, behind you.”  A furious boiling of swirling fins swallowed poor Roger, and he disappeared from view.

“Damn!” Blunkett kicked a pair of scales that had been laid at his feet for the weighing of sea water, and they tumbled in the air for a few seconds, before splashing into the cove below.

 

“Had I been quicker with the questions!”  Blunkett muttered aloud. “Or had my questions been more to the point.  So much precious time on questions of slicing and pulling.  Good Lord, dear Blunkett.  Did they strike with noses first, or go at it with teeth from the start.  That would be good to know!  Perhaps you could dive in and ask Mr. Ellis. But you best be quick, for he’s in a dozen bellies by now, and they’ll be going their separate ways soon enough.”

Blunkett’s anger at himself lessened, as thoughts of poor Roger Ellis crossed his mind.  Roger had followed a life of honor and virtue, as much as Blunkett could tell, and had displayed a sincere devotion to the advancement of natural philosophy.  He would be sorely missed.

Does anyone have the time on that?  From the attack until now.  No one?”  Blunkett looked around at the handful of assistants.

“I will give meaning to your sacrifice, dear Roger.” Blunkett mumbled under his breath.

“Did no one think to look at the watch when the attack commenced?”  Blunkett shook his head. “Oh, well. I suppose I could have looked just as easily.  What would you say? Three minutes, four perhaps?”  The ashen-faced assistants nodded dumbly, mumbling incoherently.  “Yes, I would say four minutes at the most.  Hello, down there. See you anything at all. Remains of any kind?”

Down in the water, the two servants kneeled at the edge of the fishing boat, staring into the water.  Only a few of the sharks remained in the cove, apparently indifferent to the new boat.  Frustration welled up in Blunkett once more.  How could he continue his work without a senior apprentice? And what a miserable waste: to lose such a valuable assistant when cheap servants are in such large supply.

“We see nothing at all, my lord.”

Nothing at all… Four minutes. Quite remarkable.  That of course, was on empty stomachs… With full stomachs, on the other hand…

Blunkett moved close to the edge of the cliff.

“Um, lads.  Yes.  Good work.  Well done, indeed.  Now, perhaps one of you would like to earn an extra shilling or two.  A set of scales fell into the water right about your present position.  If you would dive in, it should be a simple matter to recover them.”

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Brian Dunphy did graduate work in botany in several parts of Tropical America, sites which he uses as settings for his stories.  “The Honorable Godfrey Blunkett’s Inquiries on Natural Philosophy” is a chapter from The Duke of Port Royal, a novel set in the late 17th century Caribbean.