The Signature of All Things

éclat to pinch young men of promise away from other institutions and expeditions, and to bring them into the service of Kew. Naturally, he had lost some young men over the years, as well—lured away to safe and lucrative posts as gardeners at wealthy estates. Banks would not lose this one, he decided.
    Henry may have been ill-bred, but Banks did not mind an ill-bred man, if he was competent. Great Britain produced naturalists like flaxseed, but most of them were blockheads and dilettantes. Meanwhile, Banks was desperate for new plants. He would gladly have embarked on expeditions himself, but he was nearing fifty years old and suffering awfully from gout. He was swollen and pained, trapped most hours of the day in his desk chair. So he needed to dispatch collectors in his stead. It was not as simple a task as one might think, to find them. There were not as many able-bodied young men as one might hope—young men who wanted to earn wretched salaries in order to die of the ague in Madagascar, or be shipwrecked off the Azores, or assaulted by bandits in India, or taken prisoner in Grenada, or simply to vanish forever in Ceylon.
    The trick was to make Henry feel as though he were already destinedto work for Banks forever, and not to give the boy any time to ponder things, or to have someone warn him off, or to fall in love with some saucily dressed girl, or to make his own plans for his future. Banks needed to convince Henry that the future was prearranged, and that Henry’s future already belonged to Kew. Henry was a confident young fellow, but Banks knew that his own position of wealth, power, and fame gave him the advantage here—indeed, gave him the appearance, at times, of being the hand of divine providence itself. The trick was to use the hand unblinkingly and swiftly.
    “Fine work,” Banks said, after Henry had relayed his stories. “You’ve done well. Next week I shall send you to the Andes.”
    Henry had to think for a moment: What were the Andes? Islands? Mountains? A country? Like the Netherlands?
    But Banks was talking forward, as though all were decided. “I’m funding a Peruvian botanical expedition, and it departs Wednesday next. You’ll be led by Mr. Ross Niven. He’s a tough old Scot—perhaps too old, if I may be candid—but he’s as hardy as anyone you’ll ever meet. He knows his trees and, I daresay, he knows his South America. I prefer a Scotsman to an Englishman for this sort of work, you know. They are more cold-minded and constant, more fit to pursue their object with relentless ardor, which is what you want in your man abroad. Your salary, Henry, is forty pounds a year, and although it is not the sort of salary upon which a young man can fatten his life, the position is an honorable one, which carries along with it the gratitude of the British Empire. As you are still a bachelor, I am certain you can make do. The more frugally you live now, Henry, the richer a man you will someday become.”
    Henry looked as though he were about to ask a question, so Banks bowled him over. “You don’t speak Spanish, I suppose?” he asked, disapprovingly.
    Henry shook his head.
    Banks sighed in exaggerated disappointment. “Well, you’ll learn it, I expect. I’ll permit you to go on the expedition regardless. Niven speaks it, although with a comic burr. You’ll carry on somehow with the Spanish government there. They are protective of Peru, you know, and they are an annoyance—but it is theirs, I suppose. Though heaven knows I’d like to ransack every jungle in the place, given the chance. I do detest Spaniards,Henry. I hate the dead hand of Spanish law, impeding and corrupting all it encounters. And their church is ghastly. Can you imagine it—the Jesuits still believe that the four rivers of the Andes are the same four rivers of paradise, as mentioned in the book of Genesis? Think of it, Henry! Mistaking the Orinoco for the Tigris!”
    Henry had no idea what the man was talking about, but he stayed silent. He had learned in the past four years to speak only when he knew that which he was speaking about. Moreover, he had learned that silence can sometimes relax a listener into thinking that one might be intelligent. Lastly, he was distracted, still hearing the echo of these words: The richer a man you will someday become . . .
    Banks rang a bell, and a pale, expressionless servant entered the room, sat down at the secretary, and took out some writing paper. Banks, without another