James Cook's New World

by Lay, Graeme

  Furneaux nodded. ‘Indeed she is. And now eager to be away.’

  The inspection over, the men went below to the Great Cabin. There Sandwich presented James with a case containing gold medallions which the Royal Mint had struck especially for the voyage. Handsome, weighty objects, they bore the profile of George III on one side, and Resolution on the other. ‘For presentation to those of consequence whom you meet, Captain,’ the Sea Lord declared. Then he drew from his briefcase two long, sealed envelopes. They contained the Admiralty’s Instructions for the voyage, which James was ordered to open just before the ships left. Palliser smiled sardonically as James accepted the identical briefs, knowing that both men were already well aware what the primary motive for the expedition was. James handed the other set of Instructions to Furneaux, who nodded respectfully as he accepted them. Both commanders knew that the envelopes’ contents would dominate their lives for at least the next two years. Although there had been the usual speculations among the lower deck crew—‘Otaheite, I reckon, luds!’; ‘Van Diemen’s Land, for sure, I’ve heard it said’; ‘The cannibal islands, Noo Zea-land, that’s where we’re bound!’—only James and Furneaux knew just where the voyage would take them, and for what reasons.

  One of the final duties before departure was to set and calibrate the Kendall and the three Arnold timekeepers. Two of the latter were sent down to Adventure; the other was installed in Resolution’s Great Cabin along with the Kendall. The boxes in which the timekeepers were kept were locked and the keys held only by James, Furneaux, their respective first lieutenants, Robert Cooper and Arthur Kempe, and the astronomers, Wales of Resolution and William Bayly of Adventure. The officers and astronomers were always to be present when the watches were wound, and any differences between them recorded. James noted with satisfaction that the Kendall, when put in motion, was only seven-tenths of a second ahead of Greenwich Mean Time.

  The other locked cabinet in the Great Cabin was below the escritoire, next to the bookshelf cabinet. In it James carefully placed the several large notebooks which were to be his official journals of the voyage, and a smaller marbled notebook—his personal journal for Elizabeth. No one else, whether officer or not, was to have a key to that private compartment.

  The last of the supernumeraries to board was the landscape and portrait artist, 28-year-old William Hodges. Delivered by coach to the dock, he was a man of medium height with a pallid complexion, wide upper lip and pointed chin. As he lugged his equipment up the gangplank, James went down to greet him. ‘Captain,’ Hodges gasped, looking around nervously. ‘This is, ah, my first time on a ship. I was working as a scenery painter for a theatre in Derby when I was invited to join your expedition.’

  James smiled sympathetically. ‘Well, the scenery is certain to be dramatic where we are going, Mr Hodges. Welcome aboard.’ He directed George Forster to show the artist to his berth in the gentlemen’s quarters.

  Officers, crew, scientists and the other supernumeraries gathered on Resolution’s deck to bid farewell to Palliser and Sandwich. The mood throughout the decks was now buoyant: the officers and crew on both ships had been paid their back wages, and, unusually, the midshipmen and sailors had received a two months’ advance on their pay, a goodly portion of which had been happily transferred over the last few days to the proprietors of the taverns and brothels of the Plymouth waterfront. From the quarterdeck, flanked by Palliser and Sandwich, Lieutenants Clerke, Pickersgill and Cooper behind him, James read the 35 Articles of War to the assembly below, and the dire consequences of any transgression. His audience listened soberly, most eyes cast down deckward. The reading of the articles was a stark reminder that from now on their master and commander’s powers were absolute.

  The reading completed, the mood lightened. James gave Palliser and Lord Sandwich a farewell handshake. Then, when the two luminaries stepped from the gangplank onto the wharf and turned to face the ship, Lieutenant Pickersgill on the quarterdeck removed his hat and yelled, ‘Three cheers for Lord Sandwich and Captain Palliser! Hip-hip—’

  From the decks and shrouds of Resolution came a lusty chorus of 118 voices. ‘Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!’

  13 JULY 1772, 0530 HOURS

  Cloudy skies, a brisk north-west wind.

  The Jack and Ensign were broken out and raised, the Jack from its pole on the bowsprit, the Ensign from the stern post. Men on deck stood at the halyards, ready to haul; the top men waited aloft; all assigned their duties by bosun James Gray. Half a dozen dock workers gathered around the bollards on the wharf, awaiting the command to cast off from Resolution’s master, Joseph Gilbert. Standing ready at the helm were quartermaster Anthony Atkin and John Cave, quartermaster’s mate. The scarlet-jacketed marines lined the larboard rail, muskets shouldered; the marine drummer prepared to beat a tattoo.

  A crowd had gathered dockside to watch: Admiralty officials, provisioning merchants, a few wives, lovers and children, a gaggle of strumpets. Deckhands stood by the bollards, ready to cast off. As was always the case when a prolonged voyage was imminent, an atmosphere of lively expectation pervaded the waterfront. Suppressing his own rising sense of anticipation, James stood on the quarterdeck, falcon eyes flicking from dockside to foredeck, from midship to masthead, watchful for any man—able seaman or midshipman—not attending closely to his assigned duties. How different it is this time, he thought. Four years ago in this position on Endeavour, departing Plymouth Sound, he had been largely an unproven commander upon whom the Admiralty had taken a gamble; on this day he had the confidence derived from his earlier success. Now, if a Great Southern Continent existed, then he would discover it, circumnavigate it and chart it.

  Just as Lieutenant Clerke was about to signal Resolution’s master to give the order to cast off, a horse and rider came cantering down the wharf, a black stallion carrying a hatless but caped young man. Bulging saddlebags hung from the horse’s sides. Bringing his steed to a halt behind the crowd, the rider tossed the reins over the horse’s head, slipped from the saddle and snatched something from one of the bags. After pushing through the crowd of curious onlookers, the young man approached the gangplank and the two marines guarding it.

  ‘A letter for Captain James Cook,’ the horseman announced breathlessly to Lieutenant Cooper, the nearest figure of obvious authority, standing amidships. Cooper came down the gangplank and took a small envelope from the messenger, then looked up at James. Like everyone else on the ship, he was staring down at the horseman, confounded by this interruption. Last-minute orders? A change of instructions? Another war declared?

  Cooper carried the envelope up to the quarterdeck and handed it to his commander. It was addressed to ‘Captain James Cook, RN, HMS Resolution’. James immediately recognised the small, neat handwriting. Elizabeth. Why writing so soon? He called down to Cooper, standing at the midship rail, ‘Carry on, Lieutenant.’ Cooper turned to the two quartermasters at the helm. ‘Carry on, helmsmen!’ The gangplank was hauled aboard by able seamen Chapman and Driver. The master, Gilbert, called ‘Cast off!’ to the deckhands on the wharf and the hawsers were unwound from the bollards, drawn aboard and carefully coiled. A cry went up from the master’s mate, Burr. ‘Let go the topgallants!’ The able seamen edging along the footrope let loose the canvas. Fifty yards aft of Resolution, similar shouts of command came from Adventure’s decks. Her cables too were cast off. Sails flapped, then billowed, and Resolution and Adventure drew away from the dock.

  With the ships moving slowly out into the harbour, James took the envelope below, to the privacy of the Great Cabin.

  Ten

  10 JULY 1772

  Dearest Husband,

  It is my earnest hope that this letter reaches you before you depart from Plymouth harbour. I instructed the postal authorities in Mile End that the news it contained was of the utmost urgency and they promised to do their very best to get it to you on Resolution in no more than three days’ time.

  The important news I have to inform you of is that the day before
yesterday I was delivered of another son, a tiny George. I know this will come as a surprise to you, as it did to me, since the child was not due for another month. But should you receive this letter in time, at least you will have the satisfaction, before you take leave of England’s shores, of knowing that our newest child has arrived. As the little one did not go to ‘complete term’, in midwife Ella Thompson’s words, he is much smaller and less nourished than any of our other babies. As a consequence I assume, he demands to be fed frequently and I am kept occupied day and night, attending to his pressing needs. I feel some concern for the little one, but as both the other boys are strong and healthy, I am sure that he too will grow stronger with time, care and regular nourishment.

  Mama has moved in with us to assist with the running of the household, and for that I am most grateful. I am still confined to my bed, and it was too difficult for Susan to cope with all the domestic duties alone. James and Nathaniel do what they can to help. They show keen interest in their tiny brother and insist on calling him Little King George.

  I must end now, James. I am sure that should you receive this news in time, your voyage will be further blessed with the knowledge that you now have three adorable sons.

  Fair sailing, my beloved husband.

  And return safely home to your family,

  All my love,

  Elizabeth

  13 JULY 1772

  Everything being at length completed we at six o’clock in the morning left Plymouth Sound with the Adventure in company and stood to the south-west with the wind at north-west.

  His first official journal entry made, James blotted the sentences and put the notebook away. Then he took the other one from the locked drawer, sat down again at the writing slope, dipped his quill in the ink and began to write.

  Dearest Beth,

  It was with great joy that I read of the birth of little George. Your letter was impeccably timed, being delivered as we were about to set sail from Plymouth, so my heart was full to bursting with your news, filling like Resolution’s sails as we left the sound. Baby George’s arrival will compensate at least to some extent for the terrible loss of our beloved little Lizbeth. It was surprising to learn that George arrived before his due time, but Mistress Thompson’s estimation must have been just that—an estimation. Unlike an Eclipse of the Sun or a Transit of Venus, childbirth is surely not a matter which can be timed with exactitude! The main consideration now is that the child has arrived, and safely, and that you are well, though still confined to the bedchamber. By the time you receive this—I shall, I hope, be able to transfer the letter to a London-bound vessel in Funchal, the port of the Portuguese island of Madeira—you will be fully recovered and able to devote your energies entirely to the care of our three sons.

  Resolution sails and steers well and handles the Atlantic seas with little difficulty. We have only been obliged to take in her topsails when we observed that our consort ship Adventure was having difficulty carrying hers. Although the two vessels are well matched, being from the same yard, Resolution works more efficiently, I believe.

  We intend to call at Funchal to re-provision with wine and fruits, and if necessary at Porto da Praia, in the Cape Verde Islands. From there to Cape Town is a long haul, so it is imperative that we are well supplied with water and fresh food to supplement the anti-scurvy provisions we already carry and ensure that the men are healthy. (I also insist, as on Endeavour, that all crew wash and change their clothing and wash their bedding every five days, a procedure which they grumble about. But since I have made it plain that a dozen strokes of the lash await those who do not, the washing is always carried out. I also insist that the sloop is cleaned, smoked and aired between decks regularly. A clean ship is a healthy ship, I instil into the crew at every turn.)

  Of our personnel of 118, only twenty are from Endeavour, so most I have yet to know well. The company of those veterans of the first voyage—such as Charles Clerke, Dick Pickersgill and your cousin Isaac—I value most highly, as we are closely aware of each other’s preferences and temperaments. Clerke was offered a post on Banks’s forthcoming sulky expedition, but declined it in order to sail again with me, a gesture which I deeply appreciated. I have yet to become closely acquainted with the botanist, Forster, and his son George, or with the artist, Hodges. The elder Forster has so far spent most of the time in his berth, being seasick. After I advised him to go up on deck and absorb the ocean air he ignored my counsel, turned his face to the bulkhead and puked again. The son, though, followed my advice and consequently is in better spirits.

  Those who intended to accompany us on the voyage but did not at the last hour, due to the vanities of Joseph Banks, I miss not one jot. He would undoubtedly have been an insufferable presence had his extravagant plan proceeded. John Gore, who defected along with Banks, I already had a strong aversion to, due to his distemper and imprudence with firearms. Solander I could take or leave. It is rumoured that Banks intends to sail to Iceland to botanise on that barren island. If so, may the Icelanders enjoy the company of him and his motley crew.

  Doubtless my opinions of those of my company I do not yet know well will become firmer with time, so I will in due course inform you of their characteristics, so that you may better imagine the close company I keep.

  I trust that this letter will reach you before the autumn.

  All my love to you, James, Nathaniel, baby George, your mother and stepfather.

  I remain, your loving husband,

  James

  29 JULY 1772, FUNCHAL, MADEIRA. 32° 39´ NORTH, 16° 55´ WEST

  With Resolution and Adventure securely anchored in the roadstead, their launches were hoisted and parties prepared to go ashore and take on provisions. The launches’ return trips brought from the island barrels of wine, fresh beef, oranges and long strings of onions, the latter resembling huge brown beads. Johann and George Forster were eager to go ashore and took their botanising equipment with them, in spite of James informing them that Banks, Solander and Sporing had already collected and documented every specimen there when Endeavour called at Funchal four years earlier. Forster the elder insisted that they would stay ashore until Resolution departed. Preferring to stay aboard and oversee the stowage of the purchased provisions, James sent Charles Clerke ashore with his letter to Elizabeth, instructing him to leave it with the British consul for conveying to England on the next London-bound vessel.

  With the two vessels riding easily at anchor, the sun washed the bay with its warmth. The crew had carried out their cleaning duties at first light and James had ordered the lower decks fumigated with sulphur fires. The sulphur was placed upon a shovel, set alight, then carried through the quarters. The smoke streamed from the hatches and ventilation scuttles as if from a dragon’s nostrils. While both ships’ launches shuttled back and forth to the dockside, conveying the provisions, Furneaux and his lieutenants, Arthur Kempe and James Burney, came aboard Resolution. They dined with James, Pickersgill and the officers who had not been south of the line, and were regaled with stories of the South Sea and its inhabitants.

  When Clerke returned to the ship that evening, he sought out James in the Great Cabin where he was taking supper. Charts of the West Africa coast were spread out on the table before him. ‘A few moments, sir?’

  James nodded and the second lieutenant sat down opposite him. He looked agitated.

  ‘I heard a most extraordinary story while ashore,’ Clerke began. He had bird-like eyes and thick dark eyebrows. Pausing to wipe away the beads of sweat running down his nose, he said, ‘In Funchal I called at a waterfront tavern, run by an Englishman from Liverpool. A ship’s deserter, I would say. We talked, and he told me that there had lately been an English gentleman staying with him at the tavern. A man by the name of Thomas Burnett.’ Clerke took a deep breath. ‘Burnett told the taverner he was a botanist and that he was awaiting the arrival of Resolution because he was going to join Banks’s retinue on the ship. Banks was a close friend of his, Burnett said.
While he was here, the taverner told me, Burnett spent his time in the hills above the town, collecting plants. Shortly before we arrived, Burnett heard news on the waterfront, from a vessel recently arrived from London, that Banks had withdrawn from our expedition. Burnett immediately decided to return to London. There was an East Indiaman in port, bound for the Thames, and he joined it.’

  James said, ‘That would seem a logical step, since Banks was no longer coming with us.’ Feeling a little irritated, he said, ‘So what is extraordinary about that?’

  Clerke put a hand over his face to conceal his mirth. Then, spluttering, he said, ‘The innkeeper then came upon Burnett, bathing naked behind the tavern, in preparation for his departure for London.’ Clerke’s eyes bulged. ‘And he had diddeys and a cunny.’

  James’s jaw dropped. ‘A woman?’

  Clerke nodded. ‘Every inch a woman, in a manner of speaking, the innkeeper reported to me with relish.’

  James’s shoulders sagged. ‘Good Lord,’ was all he could say. But he was thinking plenty. So Banks had arranged for one of his mistresses to join Resolution here. And likely be accommodated on his planned extra deck, adjoining his own cabin, for his carnal gratification. But how had he hoped to carry on the deception? Someone would have tumbled to it in time. But probably too late, by then, to disembark the woman. James recalled the case of Jeanne Baret, the woman the French explorer Bougainville had inadvertently carried on La Boudeuse in 1768. She too had been disguised as a man, so that on the voyage she could service Philibert Commerson, the expedition’s botanist. It was only in Otaheite, when the locals detected Baret’s female scents, that she was unmasked. Doubtless Banks, having read Bougainville’s account, thought he could deceive Resolution’s commander likewise.