James Cook’s Lost World Page 9

  James felt anger boiling inside him. He would not allow anyone to speak to him like this. Leaning forward, he said icily, ‘Elizabeth is a strong woman. She has coped without me before, and she will do so again.’

  ‘So you will not reconsider your position?’ Blackburn said, shakily now.

  ‘No.’ James got to his feet. ‘I cannot refuse a command, as you must surely know, living in a naval community.’ He pulled his tricorn down hard on his head. Staring at the older man, he said, ‘You have done your best to ruin what should have been a happy family occasion. Do not raise this matter with me again.’ Turning on his heel, he strode from the room.

  Eight

  SUMMER SUN STREAMED IN THROUGH THE WINDOW, but for once James was not distracted by the sight of vessels on the Thames. Before him on the table lay one blank sheet of writing paper. He dipped his quill in the inkwell, then began to write.

  SATURDAY, 22 JULY 1775

  After two hours calm, in the latitude of 39° 38' North we got the wind at West. The next day it fixed at WNW and increased to a fresh gale with which we steered directly for the Lizard and on Saturday we made the land about Plymouth …

  The next morning anchored at Spithead. Having been absent from England three years and eighteen days, in which time I lost but four men and one only of them by sickness.

  Carefully he blotted the lines, then sighed with relief. He had done it. His account of the voyage was complete. The writing had been much more difficult than he had anticipated—casting his mind back, reliving the events, checking and cross-checking references he had made and confirming the precise dates. But at last it was done. Now it was over to Canon Douglas for his final editing, then the printers and engravers. All that would involve many more months of work, and he was aware that he would not see the published version until he returned home from his next voyage. No matter. The work was done. He could look ahead now, and devote all his energies to his new mission. Already the departure was weeks overdue; there was no time to lose. He lifted the blotter and placed the last sheet in the folder with the others.

  Resolution was not ready to leave the Deptford yard until the last day of May. That morning she was worked down the river on the tide to Long Reach, in the Thames estuary. From then on, developments gathered pace. Artillery pieces, powder, shot and other ordnance stores were taken aboard. A week later a party of notables, led by Lord Sandwich, visited the ship. They were welcomed with a salute of 17 guns, fired with the gunpowder recently delivered. Shouts of ‘Huzzah!’ followed from the crew in the rigging.

  With James as host, the party was wined and dined in Resolution’s officers’ mess on ham, pigeon pie, turbot, trout, lobster and strawberries. The group included Palliser, Stephens and a selection of Sandwich’s cronies—aristocrats who appeared to James to have a minimal knowledge of the sea and the other side of the world. One of them, Sir Constantine Butterworth, asked him in all seriousness, ‘Do the natives of New Caledonia have tails like monkeys?’, while another, Sir Richard Grindall, wanted to know if the Patagonians were really nine feet high. The latter was a mischievous fiction, perpetrated by Charles Clerke in an account of his voyage with Byron.

  Sandwich was in particularly good spirits. As he left, heavy with food and wine, he said, ‘A fine ship, Cook, and a fine repast.’ He belched. ‘Oh yes, and your animals should begin arriving on Monday.’

  They did. In accordance with the King’s wishes, and organised by the Navy Board, breeding livestock were delivered to the ship: two cows, a bull, several calves and sheep, along with hay and corn for their fodder. Smaller creatures were also brought to the dock—goats, pigs, rabbits, chickens, turkeys, geese, ducks, cats, a peacock and a peahen—to the fascination of crowds of spectators from the nearby towns of Gravesend and Dartford.

  As James watched the bellowing, crowing, lowing, clucking, snuffling menagerie being taken aboard and accommodated in their coops and pens, he thought that soon Resolution might need to be renamed Cook’s Ark. Nonetheless he approved of this cargo, knowing what a difference breeding animals and birds would make to the diets of the natives they met and traded with. Supplemented by English vegetables, the seeds of which had been brought aboard by botanist Nelson, the Pacific Ocean natives’ diets would be transformed.

  It had been anticipated by the Admiralty officials that there would be a number of absconders from the appointed crews, and as the point of departure impended this expectation was met. The faint-hearted on the muster rolls stole away from the ships and vanished into the back streets of London. However, these poltroons were quickly replaced by other adventure-seekers. Because the fact that Omai was to be returned home was common knowledge, it was appreciated that Otaheite and her islands would be among the expedition’s destinations. The allure of those islands had grown stronger over the last decade, after reports of its wonderfully wanton women had been disseminated in various published accounts.

  As the supplies were taken aboard and stowed, James’s main concern was for his crew. He was well aware that this expedition would experience climatic extremes, from the tropical heat of Otaheite to the bitter cold of the Arctic Ocean. Hence he insisted to the Navy Board officials that the clothing for his men be suitable, a demand that was acceded to. Accordingly, an impressive clothing order was delivered to the ships: 100 coarse wool jackets, 60 coarse wool waistcoats, 40 pairs of woollen breeches, 120 twill waistcoats, 140 twill drawers, 440 checked shirts, 100 pairs of checked drawers, 400 frock coats, 700 pairs of trousers, 500 pairs of hose, 80 worsted caps, 340 caps and 800 pairs of shoes. These would be the best outfitted voyaging crews in naval history.

  Equally important were the astronomical and other scientific instruments the ships would carry. These were provided by the Board of Longitude, and included Kendall’s marvellous timekeeper, a saltwater distillation device and a portable tent observatory. It was known that there would be two partial solar eclipses next year, on 5 July and 30 December, and observations of these events would provide further opportunities for the establishment of accurate recordings of longitude.

  Provisions were procured and delivered by the Victualling Board, including salted beef and pork, sauerkraut, malt and other anti-scorbutics, as well as cheese, dried peas, wheat, ship’s biscuit, sugar, oil, raisins, vinegar and salt. The hundreds of gallons of beer would be supplemented by spirits and wine taken aboard at Madeira.

  Ever since the Endeavour voyage, James had been impressed with the writings of Dr David McBride, who advocated the imbibing of large quantities of infusions of malt and its derivative, sweet wort, as an aid to digestion. The wort, McBride reasoned, would ferment within the body, inhibit putrefaction and hence act as a laxative. On his last voyage James had suffered badly from constipation, so the belief that McBride’s wort-based beverage would not only combat scurvy but also assist bowel movements was reassuring to him. He would continue to insist that a quart of wort be taken daily by every member of the ships’ companies. Wort and sauerkraut, James had concluded, comprised the best preventive medicine for seamen.

  Hardware included a foundry, carpenters’ tools, cases of axes and a well-stocked armoury. Trinkets for presenting to the natives—mirrors, beads, dolls, reels of ribbon, squares of cloth—were packed in crates in the holds. James had read in de Bougainville’s account that the Otaheitians had been mightily impressed by a French fireworks display in 1768, so there had been some sky rockets aboard Resolution on her first South Sea voyage. When the gunners had set the fireworks off on Otaheite and Raiatea four years ago, to demonstrate the Englishmen’s power and entertain the natives, the pyrotechnics had had the desired effect. So this time James ordered not only large quantities of sky rockets, but also water rockets and exploding balloons.

  On 5 June, a balmy summer morning, James was dockside watching bales of crews’ clothing being unloaded when a coach and four drew up. Behind it was a pair of horses drawing a wagon. The coach door opened and Omai stepped down. He wore a green velvet frock coat and white hose
, a cream silk scarf and a tricorn set at a rakish angle. A scabbard and sword hung from his belt and his boots gleamed. He looked the very model of a London gentleman. Even his once-swarthy complexion had faded after his many months in England’s climate.

  He extended his hand to James. ‘Captain Tute, top of the morning, sir!’

  ‘Ia ora na, Omai. You’re ready to take your luggage on board?’

  ‘I am.’ He pointed at the wagon. ‘It is there.’ He shouted at the wagoner, ‘Unload my belongings!’

  His ‘belongings’ included a bed, table and chairs; crockery and kitchen utensils; several casks of port wine; a globe; chests filled with gentlemen’s clothing; axes, hammers and saws; a collection of miniature lead soldiers, animals and vehicles; magnifying glasses; chessboards and pieces; an illustrated Bible; a jack-in-the-box; umbrellas; and portraits of King George and Queen Charlotte. James watched in silence as these items were carried up the gangplank by the dock workers. Although he disapproved of this extravagance, he tolerated the very public stowing of Omai’s possessions. The London news-sheets had given the exotic native prominent publicity in recent months, which would help spread the belief that the primary motive for the voyage was the return of the Omai to his homeland.

  But what he next saw made James gape. A full suit of armour was being carried from the wagon to the gangplank by two men. It resembled a stiffened metal corpse. A third man carried a coat of mail. ‘What on Earth are those for?’ James demanded.

  ‘To protect me from my enemies.’

  ‘How did you come by them?’

  ‘My friend, Lord Sandwich, had them made for me. At the Tower of London.’

  James shook his head in disbelief at this absurdity. Looking towards the wagon again, he saw the workers unloading a number of muskets, barrels of ball shot and gunpowder. This was too much. He glared at Omai. ‘And this, too, is intended for your enemies?’

  ‘Yes.’ He mimed the act of bringing a musket up to his shoulder. ‘They attack, Omai will kill.’ He looked jubilant. ‘Then Omai is king of Huahine, Raiatea and Bora Bora!’

  James shook his head. ‘I cannot authorise the weaponry. It must not be taken aboard.’

  For a moment Omai looked panicked. Then he said, slyly. ‘Lord Sandwich says Omai must have guns. He gets them for me.’

  James ground his teeth. This was an appalling development. What did Sandwich know about South Sea politics? Such armaments in the hands of a native could cause mayhem in the Leeward Society Islands. Yet he could not gainsay the First Sea Lord’s authority and Omai knew it. James called to William Watman, the able seaman overseeing the stowing, ‘Omai’s muskets, powder and shot must be lodged and locked in the armoury.’

  ‘Aye, sir.’

  Omai scowled, distorting his usually handsome features.

  The stowage at last completed, Resolution was moved downriver again, this time to the Nore at the mouth of the Thames. Once she was securely anchored, James left her under Gore’s authority, then returned upriver to 7 Assembly Row to farewell his family.

  As he approached the house he thought how much had changed in the family over this last year. Young James had left home for college; baby Hugh had entered the world and was now six weeks old. The family’s nanny goat—a veteran of two world voyages—had died of old age, to everyone’s sorrow, and now lay buried in the back garden. Nathaniel had lost interest in maintaining the garden’s frog pond after his brother left, and had released the latest batch of tadpoles and frogs into the pond on Bethnal Green. And soon Nathaniel too would be leaving for the Portsmouth Royal Naval Academy, leaving Elizabeth at home with Susan and the baby. Yet that was good, in a way, James thought as he removed his boots at the front door. It would focus her mind on matters other than her husband’s impending departure.

  Then, as he bent to pull off his other boot, he felt it again: the stabbing pain in his gut. Wincing, he put a hand over the source of the pain. It was coming more frequently these days, and always when he least expected it. He stood up and took several deep breaths, and the pain began to fade. Removing his tricorn, he went inside.

  In the parlour Nathaniel was sitting in one of the wing chairs, reading. A pot of stew was simmering on the hob, giving off a delicious smell. Nathaniel looked at his father brightly. ‘Hello, Papa. How is your ship?’

  ‘Fully provisioned, fully manned.’ James glanced towards the staircase. ‘Where is your mother?’

  ‘Upstairs, with the baby.’

  James nodded, then sat down in the other chair. This was an opportune time to say what he had to. Gripping the arms of the chair, he began. ‘Nathaniel, this voyage I am embarking on will be hazardous.’ The lad looked at his father solemnly. ‘The possibility that I will not return must be considered.’

  The boy’s eyes filled with alarm. ‘Don’t say that, Papa! You will return. You always have!’

  James held up his hands. ‘I have, yes. And I fully intend to this time. But in case I do not, there are important instructions of mine that I want you to promise me you and your brother will follow.’

  Nathaniel listened, but his brow was deeply creased. James could tell that he was close to tears. He told the lad about the envelope locked in the top compartment of the desk in his study, and where the key was kept. Should he not return from this voyage, the key was to be given to Elizabeth. Only she should unlock the compartment and read the contents of the envelope he had placed there. James looked levelly at his son. ‘I want you to give me your word of honour that you will unlock the compartment only if I do not return.’ His gaze intensified. ‘Is that understood?’

  ‘Yes, I promise.’ Then, blinking away tears, Nathaniel said brokenly, ‘But come back, Papa. Please come back.’

  ‘I will,’ said James. Then he climbed the stairs.

  Elizabeth was sitting on the divan under the open window. Baby Hugh was in her arms, wrapped in a blanket. Her hair was pinned up, but untidily, so that strands were falling down the sides of her face. She was staring down at the little one, her expression rapt.

  ‘Beth,’ he said, softly.

  She looked up, sharply. ‘Oh. You’re back.’

  ‘I am.’

  He went to her, bent down and kissed the side of her face. From the baby and his mother came a warm, milky smell. The little one’s lips were working and his eyes were wide open, staring in wonder at the world. ‘He’s well?’

  Looking down adoringly, she nodded. ‘Yes. And he feeds, keenly.’

  James thought, I might as well be already absent. He was certainly unnecessary. ‘Beth, my sea chests and books are packed and dispatched to Plymouth. I rejoin the ship at Sheerness tomorrow. I shall sleep downstairs tonight, and leave at first light.’

  She looked up and regarded him distantly. Then her gaze returned to the child.

  He reached out and gently stroked little Hugh’s fair hair, feeling the delicate hollow of the fontanelle. He said, quietly, so as not to disturb the little one, ‘Shall I again keep a journal for you? That I can read to you on my return?’

  She stared at him silently for some time, her blue eyes filled with reflective melancholy. It was a look which he was never to forget, one whose meaning he never really understood. A mixture of resentment, longing and affection, an intermingling of emotions which he thought could amount to love. Then she nodded, slightly, but still didn’t speak.

  He bent down and kissed her face again, absorbing its downy softness and the creamy scent of motherhood. She turned her head away, but not quickly enough for him to see the tears now spilling from her eyes. Swallowing hard, he reached out and again ran his fingers over the baby’s head. ‘Goodbye little one. Grow strong.’

  Blinking, Elizabeth turned her face back and once more looked up. That mystifying expression was still on her face. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but no words came. There were just the tears, streaming. He put his hand on her brow. ‘Thank you, dearest. Thank you for all you have done.’

  He kissed her once more, th
en descended the stairs.

  SUNDAY, 30 JUNE 1776

  At 3 pm anchored in Plymouth Sound, where Discovery had arrived three days before.

  As Clerke was still imprisoned, Burney had sailed Discovery to Plymouth from the Thames estuary. It was immediately obvious to James that Burney relished this unexpected authority. When they met dockside he informed James that before sailing he had had a crewman lashed for absenting himself from the ship and selling his clothes ashore: ‘I felt it important to show the men from the outset that I would not tolerate any infraction.’

  James nodded. Of course the culprit had to be flogged.

  Plymouth was now a very different harbour from what it had been before Resolution’s last departure. War was not only in the air, it was visible on the water. The harbour was crammed with ships preparing to cross the Atlantic. From the quarterdeck of Resolution James watched ships of the line Ambuscade, Diamond and Unicorn riding at anchor. Forced into the sound by a strong north-west wind, they were accompanied by a fleet of no fewer than 62 transport vessels, accommodating a whole division of mercenary Hessian troops from Germany and their horses.

  The trio of three-deckers made a fine spectacle with their colours flying and the red-coats swarming about their decks alongside the restless, whinnying warhorses. Although James was stirred by this sight, he also regretted the necessity for it. Twenty years earlier he too had sailed to war from this sound on HMS Eagle, against the French. The vessel had been engaged in a successful action against a French East Indiaman, Duc d’Aquitaine, and during the battle James had witnessed at close quarters the horrors of war. More horrors were coming in this war, that was certain.

  The shouts of the officers and the drilling of the militia on the three warships reached him clearly across the waters of the sound. This induced in him a kind of melancholia. What a waste of life and materials war brought in its wake! How much more worthy it was to do what he was about to do—sail in peace, to discover, explore and claim new lands for England!