by Lay, Graeme
She turned away, not bothering to disguise her distress. James said nothing more. This conflict of duties—to his nation and to his family—was repetitive, and irreconcilable, throwing up cross-currents which pulled him in opposing directions. Yet this time he had been home for almost a year, longer than any other leave between voyages, so Beth should take consolation from that, he thought.
From beside the pond, Nathaniel began to shout excitedly, ‘Papa! Mama! Come and look!’
‘What is it?’ asked James.
‘It’s Toby,’ cried little James. ‘He’s climbed onto Zach’s back, like a horse-rider, and won’t get off. He’s stuck there!’
Eight
DURING THE FIRST HALF OF JUNE, James at last sensed an impetus beginning to build about Resolution as she lay berthed at Sheerness. He made several trips downriver to inspect her and observe the constant to-ing and fro-ing of men and materials, dockside and about the ship. He checked the shortened masts and the making-good of the deck restorations, pausing by the bow to admire Resolution’s figurehead—a hound in full cry. He watched over the stowage of the casks of provisions, delivered in cartloads by merchants commissioned by the Victualling Board. On the ship’s foredeck two carpenters were erecting pens for the sheep, pigs and another nanny goat. A tortoiseshell tom cat, donated to the ship by one of the beef merchants, roamed the decks imperiously, as if he was its commander. James’s clerk, Alex Dewar, named the cat Rufus. ‘He’ll make a champion ratter, Captain,’ Dewar predicted.
Watching from the quarterdeck the unloading, hauling aboard and stowage of the provisions, James now felt exhilarated. He had learned so much from the first voyage, he knew what would be fundamental for the coming expedition if crew losses were to be minimised: cleanliness, nourishing victuals, anti-scorbutics and, in the Southern Ocean, warmth. The demolition of Banks’s foolish additions also meant, to his immense relief, that he had regained his own sleeping quarters and the use of the Great Cabin. Moving closer to the rail, he peered over it. More barrels were being rolled aboard by the carters and eased down through the mid-deck hatch with ropes. He moved towards the companionway. He needed to carry out another check on every sail, every cask, every bolt of cloth and other trade goods, every fishing net and line, every crate of knives and axes, every case of fearnought coats for the crew. Preparation was all.
Rations for 118 men for two years included ten tons of sauerkraut; 30 tons of ship’s biscuits; flour, butter and jellied-soup concentrate; 1400 gallons of spirits; 19 barrels of beer, plus wort, a beer concentrate; 624 gallons of wine; 7637 four-pound pieces of salt beef; 15,274 two-pound pieces of salt pork; 1900 pounds of suet; 3102 pounds of raisins; 30 gallons of carrot marmalade …
There were 12 carriage guns, 12 swivel guns, ball, shot and powder. There were Jacks for raising over the lands newly discovered and claimed for King George III. Also delivered to Resolution were items of equipment which Endeavour had never carried—an experimental device for turning seawater into drinking water; a special thermometer to measure the temperature of the ocean’s different layers; and a Gregory azimuth compass, fitted with vertical sights to take the magnetic azimuth of a star or planet. As Resolution would be venturing into partly frozen seas, James had also insisted that she carry two ice anchors. Used in Greenland waters, these were large, hook-like devices for setting into the ice, to anchor the ship or provide a hold for a hawser in warping her.
Most revolutionary, though, were the new timekeepers. These would be priceless in the exact calculation of longitude—the distance east or west from Greenwich—while they were at sea. On Endeavour James had calculated longitude using a sextant and figures from Maskelyne’s newly-published Nautical Almanac tables of lunar distances. This system had been satisfactory, apart from the drawback that the moon had not always been visible. But if the new timekeepers remained accurate while they were at sea, they would enable him to determine the time at Greenwich compared with the ship’s local time and hence allow the accurate calculation of its longitude.
The grandest of the four timekeepers—named K1—was a replica of H4, which had been made by the immensely talented instrument inventor John Harrison. A complex arrangement of springs, weights, cogs and dials, all made of brass, the version Resolution would carry had been constructed by a London watchmaker, Larcum Kendall. The three smaller timekeepers were the work of another English watchmaker, John Arnold. After admiring the beauty of the four timekeepers, James placed them carefully in the cabinet under the stern windows, and locked it.
On 10 June the First Sea Lord came aboard to inspect the ship. After James gave Sandwich a thorough tour of the lower decks, holds and officers’ quarters, the Sea Lord gave the preparations his approval. Then, when he and James climbed the companionway and were back on deck, Sandwich placed his admiral’s hat back on his head and announced loftily: ‘Other important appointments have been approved by His Majesty and the Admiralty, Cook.’ He adjusted the hat. ‘The artist replacing Zoffany will be one William Hodges, who was trained by the landscape artist, Richard Wilson. And the astronomer to the expedition, replacing Lind, will be William Wales.’
James hadn’t heard of Hodges, but he knew of Wales. ‘He observed the ’69 transit of Venus at Hudson Bay, did he not?’
‘That’s the one. He’s a colleague of Maskelyne, the Astronomer Royal, who recommended him highly.’
‘A suitable choice, then, my lord. And I believe Wales is also the brother-in-law of the late Charles Green, my astronomer on Endeavour.’ James looked across the estuary to where clouds were building. ‘And who is to be our naturalist to replace Banks?’
‘Johann Reinhold Forster.’
James frowned. ‘Not an Englishman, by the sound of the name.’
‘No. Prussian by birth, but with English antecedents. His scientific skills are highly recommended by those who have worked with him, in particular Judge Daines Barrington.’ Sandwich stepped closer to the taffrail. ‘He’s also a Lutheran pastor.’
There was a thoughtful silence, then James said, ‘And who will assist him?’
‘His son, George Forster. He’s just 17, but already an accomplished scientific draughtsman.’ Leaning over the rail, Sandwich made beckoning gestures to the coachman waiting on the wharf below. ‘Stephens has arranged for the Forsters to meet you tomorrow afternoon at the Admiralty.’
As he watched the Earl’s coach being drawn away from the wharf, James did his best to come to terms with these developments. William Wales he was confident about, but a Prussian pastor?
‘James Cook, Johann Reinhold Forster. And George Forster.’
‘Cook, I am pleased to be making our familiarity.’
‘Likewise, Forster.’ He turned to the son and shook his hand. ‘And you, too, young man.’
Although they were to become the objects of artists, neither man was an oil painting. The father, at 43 just a year younger than James, had a large nose, a narrow chin and bulbous, rheumy eyes which were now fixated on him in a way he found unsettling. The son had a much more open countenance, although his jaw was undershot and his eyes too were protuberant. His brown hair was long and thick. Both were dressed very formally in dark jackets and trousers, the father wearing a large round collar beneath the jacket. The elder Forster waved his hand at the lad. ‘My son is a linga-vist, as well as a nature-a-list,’ he told James proudly.
James turned to the son. ‘Indeed? Which languages do you speak?’
‘Russian, German and French.’ The young man smiled bashfully. ‘And English, naturally.’
James smiled. ‘Well, we will have little need of the European languages where we are going. But the tongues of the native peoples you will find of interest, I’m sure.’
The young man nodded. ‘I cannot wait to depart,’ he said, his eyes shining.
Before the father and son climbed into the coach outside the Admiralty, the elder Forster bowed to James and said, ‘We will see you in Plymouth, Captain. In the meantime, may our good Lord be
with you.’ His son, colouring slightly, just said, ‘Goodbye, sir.’
Watching the Forsters’ coach depart, Stephens flicked up his eyebrows. ‘An interesting appointment, Cook,’ he observed, wryly.
‘He comes with strong recommendations, Sandwich said.’
‘Scientifically, yes.’ Stephens’s eyes twinkled. ‘But I also have the feeling that your spiritual needs will be well cared for on the voyage by the devout Herr Forster.’
There remained just one more shore duty for James to carry out. One which he had been dreading.
20 JUNE 1772
The boys’ bedroom was upstairs, a small room in one corner of the house. A candle burned in its holder on the wall. James tucked them into the bed they shared, then sat at its foot. Nathaniel still clutched the piece of soft cloth he always held when sleep was near; young James just lay on his pillow, his eyes fixed on his father’s face.
‘Lads, while I’m gone you are to do whatever your mother tells you to do. You understand that, don’t you?’ They both nodded quickly. ‘When the new baby comes, there will be much to do in the house, so you are to help whenever you can, doing man’s work. Chopping the kindling, bringing up the coal from the cellar, lighting the fire, drawing the water from the well.’
The boys nodded again, then Nathaniel said in a low voice, ‘We will miss you, Papa.’
Little James said, firmly, ‘Be careful, Papa, please.’
James came forward, took them both in his arms and hugged them, hard. ‘I will. Bye, lads,’ he said, softly. ‘Be good. And take care of your mother until I return.’ Then he released them, drew up their bedclothes and blew out the candle, hurriedly, so that his sons would not see him blinking away tears.
He slipped into bed beside Elizabeth. The bedroom was in total darkness. She had her back towards him and he put his face to the back of her neck and one arm around her. Such warmth, such softness, whenever would he feel it again? Listening to her hesitant breathing, smelling the lavender water she had dabbed on the pillow, he knew that on this night sleep for both of them would be some time away.
Turning her head slightly, she said softly, ‘James, the native women in Otaheite, and other places—’
‘What of them?’
‘Do you ever … go with them?’
He felt himself tense. She had never raised this question with him before. He turned slightly. ‘Do you mean carnally?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then the answer is no. I have never done so. Why do you ask?’
She turned, so that now she was looking up into his face. ‘I was reading the newspaper reports, about Mr Banks in Otaheite, and your other men, and the way they carried on with the women there. And I could not help but wonder, after reading of such lasciviousness, does my James participate too?’
He gave a low, dry laugh. ‘As always, Banks exaggerates his own prowess. There is much coupling with the native women, it is true. But I have never participated, and I never will. As commander, I must set myself above such base matters.’
She gave a long sigh, in which he could detect her relief. But how strange, he thought, to raise this matter now, on the very eve of his departure. It must have been preying on her mind, he realised. Now, given the assurance of his fidelity, one source of her concern at least had been removed. He put his arms around her, drawing her towards him. Aroused now, he was aware too that because of her advanced condition the time for proper love-making had passed. Hearing his deep breathing, feeling him pressing hard against her thigh, she put her hand down, took him, held and caressed him. Until with a mixture of pleasure and sorrow, she heard his cries of relief.
Being mid-summer, it was light very early, and James was washed, shaved and dressed by five-thirty. Susan had risen from her bed next to the scullery and made him tea and a boiled egg. He carried his two sea trunks outside, at the same time instinctively scrutinising the sky. Overcast but still warm, and no wind. He placed the trunks beside the step, then went back inside and climbed the stairs.
‘James?’
‘Yes?’
‘What time is it?’
‘Nearly six.’
He went to the bed, bent down and put his face next to hers. She had wept in the night, quietly, and her eyelids were puffy. ‘I must be gone, Beth,’ he said, willing his mind to commit every feature of her face to memory.
Her eyes were fixed, and penetrating. She nodded, reached up and hugged him fiercely. ‘Take care, James, please take care,’ she whispered.
Releasing her gently, he nodded. ‘I will. You must not worry. And I will again share everything with you, upon my return.’
Minutes later he was in the coach, bound for Wapping dock, where the ferry to Sheerness was waiting. It was the summer solstice, and the weather was still favourable.
Nine
‘WALES, WILLIAM. PLEASED TO MEET YOU, Captain Cook.’
‘Likewise, Mr Wales. Welcome aboard.’
The astronomer was 37, short and thick-set, with a plump face and prominent lips. While their trunks and equipment were taken below by the servants, he and James sat in the Great Cabin and chatted, about the 1769 transit observations, and the late Charles Green. ‘He died at sea, between Batavia and Cape Town,’ James said, flatly.
‘From an outbreak of dysentery on the ship, it was reported.’
‘Yes, it was a terrible business.’ James shook his head sorrowfully. ‘Your sister’s husband was a fine astronomer. And willing to share his knowledge with others. On Endeavour he taught several on board the skills of astronomical observation.’
Wales nodded. Then he looked rueful. ‘When I received word of his passing, I assumed it was from the grog.’
‘An understandable assumption. Charles and the port decanter were closely acquainted.’ James smiled. ‘Yet it did not impair his cosmic observations.’
There was a knock on the cabin door. ‘Come,’ James called.
The face of First Lieutenant Robert Cooper appeared around the door. ‘Everything is in order, sir,’ he announced, gravely.
James stood up. ‘Good.’ He beckoned the astronomer. ‘Time to be on deck, Mr Wales. Adventure awaits us, in Plymouth and thereafter.’
Mr Hunt, the builder of the yard, and some of the other officers attended us to the Nore, where we tried the sloop upon a wind (having a fresh breeze at south) and found her to answer exceeding well: her draught of water at this time was 15 foot 10 inches in fore and abaft, a foot lighter than when she first went into Sheerness, one great point gained by cutting her down.
Elizabeth opened her eyes. The room was completely dark. What had woken her? She lay very still, on her back, hands flat on the mound of her stomach. James had been gone a fortnight now, but she was still not used to the absence of his bulk in the bed. These last 11 months were the longest time they had ever spent together, and she had become well used to his presence. She and the boys loved having him home. She did not now begrudge his voyaging: what distressed her was that he was never here when she gave birth. Just then the noise from downstairs came again—an almighty crash. The door to the garden, she thought. Had Susan not secured it properly? Clicking her tongue in annoyance, still only half awake, she threw back the covers and eased herself from the bed. There was no moon and the bedroom was as black as a coal hole. One hand supporting her back, she shuffled across the room and through the door. Out on the landing, she felt for the railing, found it, held it. Through the night’s blackness came a low moan of wind, then the crashing came again. Yes, it must be the back door. Why didn’t Susan get up and shut the accursed thing? She slept like the dead, that girl. Taking her hand from the railing, Elizabeth took another step forward.
Her bare right foot dropped into space. She pitched forward, flailed for the banister with her left hand, but did not connect with it. Falling, falling, crashing, crashing, from one tread to another, crying out as she pitched forward, thumped onto one staircase tread, then another, until she came to a halt in a heap at the foot of the stairs
. She tried to move her arms, but could not. Tentatively, she moved her right leg, then stopped, abruptly. A sharp pain ran along the left side of her face, and out from her elbow, which had taken the brunt of the fall. Turning her head, she tried to cry out for Susan, but her voice was feeble, seeming to be someone else’s, and coming from far away. Dragging herself forward, she felt for the parlour rug, found it, gripped it. Then she lay still for some time, inhaling deeply. Other pains came, not just from her face, not just from her elbow, but from somewhere lower, somewhere deep within her. Trembling, eyes shut fast, she put her hand between her thighs. There was a thick, wet stickiness there. Withdrawing her hand sharply, she rolled over onto her back. She began to convulse, uncontrollably. Trying to ignore the waves of pain, finding a little strength, she cried out in the direction of the scullery. ‘Susan! Susan! Susan!’
On 12 July Sir Hugh Palliser and Lord Sandwich were piped aboard Resolution in Plymouth harbour. Adventure was moored a short distance away. Tobias Furneaux had joined them, after giving Sandwich and Palliser a tour of Adventure. With Furneaux was his servant, a stocky Negro named James Swilley. Furneaux, the 37-year-old commander of Resolution’s support vessel had an oval face, dark eyes, a prominent nose and thinnish lips. Unusually, he was wigless, and his dark hair was flecked with grey.
From the quarterdeck, Lord Sandwich’s eyes roamed over the midship area, where seamen on their knees were giving the decks a final scrubbing. Nodding approvingly, he turned to James. ‘All is in complete order I trust, Captain?’
‘Yes. She’s a fine vessel, my lord. Answered well to the helm all through the Channel.’
Smiling wryly, Palliser said, ‘Better than on her previous outing, then.’
James returned the smile, but Sandwich did not. He looked away, clearly discomfited. Banks’s folly obviously still rankled with him. Partly to assuage the Sea Lord’s embarrassment, James said, ‘Thanks to you both, Resolution is well fitted and well provisioned. Adventure likewise, I believe.’
