James Cook's New World Read online

  ‘Yes. In the high latitudes. Perhaps as far south as 60 degrees.’ He added ruefully, ‘Where there are, doubtless, ice mountains and little plant growth.’

  There was a long pause, then Palliser said, ‘You have given consideration to a course for the next voyage?’

  ‘Yes. This time I will circle the world in an easterly direction. After leaving Plymouth, I propose to touch Madeira, then the Cape of Good Hope. And from there proceed south, seeking Cape Circumcision. Then westward through the Southern Ocean, south of Van Diemen’s Land, to Queen Charlotte Sound in New Zealand.’

  ‘Why there?’

  ‘Because Ship Cove, in the sound, provides a fine anchorage and ample supplies of water and wood. Genial natives, too. That will be one base for the voyage. The other will be Matavai Bay in Otaheite, where we will be welcome again, I’m sure. From there we would sail south, and east, as far as Cape Horn. After doubling the Horn we would set a westerly course, heading again for Cape Town, then home.’

  Palliser listened carefully, obviously with a mental chart of the Southern Hemisphere in his mind, nodding approval from time to time. Then he smiled. ‘So, no Rio de Janeiro on this voyage?’

  James scowled. ‘No, that is a coast to be avoided. You read of our mistreatment there?’

  ‘It was reported fully in the news-sheets. And there was outrage at the incident expressed in Parliament. Portugal is our ally, after all.’

  ‘One would not have thought so, given the Viceroy’s shameful treatment of us.’ James waved his hand dismissively. ‘But that’s history. It’s next year we need to concentrate all our resolve on now.’

  Palliser then confirmed the fact of another significant development that James had heard of, that the clock-maker John Harrison had succeeded in refining the timekeeper on which he had been working most of his lifetime. This version, called H4, had been tested in the Atlantic and proved capable of withstanding the instability of a ship’s movements. Thus it could keep reliable time east or west of a prime meridian set at Greenwich. Both James and Palliser were well aware of the implications of this: an accurate timekeeper, with time measured from Greenwich, would make the calculation of longitude more exact and sea charts correspondingly more precise. Palliser said that any preparations for the next voyage must include at least one Harrison timekeeper, a suggestion with which James wholeheartedly concurred. Already, practical developments were occurring, ones which James relished. They augured well for what was ahead.

  They parted outside on the crowded city intersection. Shaking James’s hand, Palliser said, ‘Congratulations again, Cook, on your promotion. And all good wishes for the preparations for the new voyage.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’

  Palliser gave him a loaded look. ‘Joseph Banks will have a major role to play in the new expedition, we can assume.’

  ‘Undoubtedly. His close friend Sandwich will oversee the planning, and he has Banks’s ear at all times. So the expedition will no doubt be planned on Banks’s terms.’ James smiled. ‘But after three long years in Banks’s company, I’m confident that I will have his measure. While at sea he will at all times be answerable to me.’

  ‘And rightly so.’ Palliser inclined his head respectfully. ‘It was good to talk, Cook. And I will follow your preparations with great interest.’

  Walking back along the river, James reflected on the discussion. As head of the Navy Board, Palliser was of vital importance to the proposed voyage, particularly the refitting of the ships. James was confident that he could retain his support, and that of Philip Stephens. He had been long enough in the Navy to know how crucial such alliances were. Lord Sandwich he was not so sure about, mainly because of his close friendship with Banks, and because Banks would again be underwriting many of the expedition’s costs. Yet Banks, however celebrated in the press as a naturalist, was not a navy man. Never had been, never would be. And James wondered, as he walked, how far the Banks–Sandwich loyalty would extend, and how might it affect his own role as commander.

  Elizabeth sat in the parlour window. Her royal gown was hanging in the wardrobe upstairs, replaced by her usual plain brown gown and shawl. James reported to her briefly on his meeting with Palliser. After hearing it, she swept her long hair up into a roll and pinned it in place with the carved hardwood comb James had brought her from Otaheite. Then she said, in the tone of admonition that he well remembered, ‘So soon, James. So soon.’ She walked to the fireplace, then turned. Her eyes were fiery. ‘You are away from us for three years, you return at long last, only to announce that you are to leave us again.’

  ‘In seven months’ time.’

  Her eyebrows knitted as she absorbed this detail. Then, clasping her hands together in front of her, she said, ‘I know I cannot prevent you from carrying out your sworn duty, James, but the prospect of having you leave me for another three years is one I cannot look forward to.’

  ‘It will not be as long as the last voyage, I’m sure.’

  ‘How can you be sure?’

  ‘It will be my suggestion that this time, sailing south, we avoid Cape Horn in favour of the Cape of Good Hope. Our course will thus be shorter.’

  Looking down, she murmured, ‘But no less perilous.’

  ‘There will be dangers. But I will be equal to them.’ He went to her, and took her hands in his. ‘And if you wish me to, I will again keep a journal for you.’ She remained silent, but nodded faintly. Her eyes became filmy. Soon after his return, he had presented her with the personal journal he had kept for her on Endeavour, in which he had recorded his innermost thoughts and feelings. And in their bed, by candlelight, he had read the journal to her, taking her through the voyage, stage by arduous stage.

  Sitting up in bed, the candelabrum illuminating the open page, he resumed his reading. Her hair loose, nightgown open at the neck, Elizabeth snuggled into him, one arm across his chest.

  ‘April fifth, 1770.’ He peered at the page. ‘“We had departed the shores of New Zealand on the last day of March. I set Endeavour on a north-west-west course, bound for Van Diemen’s land and New Holland”. This entry was written after we had been at sea for six days.’ His left arm around her, he held the journal up to the light with his right hand.

  ‘“Springtime in England, what thoughts of home that knowledge brings! Walks on the common, the oaks and elms bursting into new leaf, spring flowers in the parks, bluebells in the woods, how we welcomed those arrivals in Ayton when I was a boy. Spring was always my mother’s favourite season. And now, after the hardships of the London winter, how you and the children must be relishing the season of renewal. In New Zealand there are no marked differences in the seasons, and no deciduous trees—all are evergreens—so in autumn the forests do not assume the shades of gold and russet which they do at home. The evergreens have a beauty of their own—particularly the giant trees called the koorri—but they lack the changing hues of our forests during the spring, summer and autumn.

  ‘“It is my hope that we will make landfall in New Holland sometime before this month is out. The crew is already cheered by the knowledge that we are now bearing in the direction of the equator and are thus proceeding towards the Northern Hemisphere. As your cousin Isaac Smith remarked to me yesterday, ‘I feel that the greatest hardships are now behind us, sir.’

  ‘“Every day’s progress northwards brings us closer to our beloved England and those family members whose affections we hold dearest to us. So as we again proceed towards the unknown and the unfathomable, it is the known and beloved who are uppermost in my thoughts.

  ‘“My love, as always, to you my dearest Elizabeth, and to our little ones,

  ‘“Your loving husband, James.”’

  These readings had a strange effect on the two of them. The declarations of love which he had expressed in writing so candidly in the past had the effect of drawing them much closer together in the present. Invariably, both of them would be physically aroused by his candid and heartfelt sentiments, and following his
readings to her they would make love, sometimes even before the candles had been extinguished, with an ardour which astonished and delighted them in equal measure.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, quietly. ‘Your journal to me has meant a great deal. I would like you to continue it.’ She paused. ‘And bring it back to me, so we can again read it together.’

  ‘Then I will.’

  Gripping his big hands, she stared up at him. ‘Our time together is so precious, James.’

  ‘Yes.’ He stood up and went to the window. ‘I treasure every day that I’m here with you and the boys.’ Turning back, he said, ‘And Elizabeth, I must visit my own family before I sail again. It has weighed heavily on my conscience that I haven’t seen my father and sisters for so long. Or my old friends in Whitby.’ Placing his hands behind his back, he added, ‘So, I thought I would apply to the Admiralty for a leave of three weeks, so that we might travel to Yorkshire before Christmas and spend the season there.’ He stared at her. ‘What say you to that suggestion?’

  She brightened. ‘Yes. Yes, I would like that. I would like to meet your family.’ She hesitated. ‘And inform them in person of other news.’

  Looking at her quizzically, he said: ‘Of the next voyage?’

  ‘No. That I believe I am with child again.’

  Three

  THE PARLOUR DOOR BURST OPEN and James, now eight, and Nathaniel, seven, rushed in, both breathless and excited. They were barefoot and bedraggled, their breeches rolled up to the knees, and James was carrying a preserving jar. ‘Papa! Look!’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Our tadpoles have got legs!’ exclaimed the older boy.

  ‘Little legs!’ echoed Nathaniel.

  James held the jar up. They had caught the tadpoles some weeks ago from the pond on the common, in a muslin net their father had fashioned for them. Now the four creatures, tails wagging furiously, heads butting against the glass, had sprouted tiny back legs. James took the jar from the boy and looked closely at it. ‘Yes, definitely legs. Next they will grow front legs. Then their tails will wither away.’

  Nathaniel frowned. ‘Why, Papa?’

  ‘So they can turn into frogs. Real, green frogs.’

  As a boy in Great Ayton, James had loved raising frogs. Now, through his sons, he was reliving the joyful experience. He put the jar on the floor and they all peered down at it. He said, ‘They will need more room to swim and a place to sit out of the water when they become frogs.’

  Both boys looked concerned. Then young James looked eager. ‘Could you make a pond for them, Papa?’ he asked. ‘In the back garden?’

  There was a small garden behind the house, enclosed by a brick wall. A climbing rose planted by Elizabeth grew across the wall, and there was a well in one corner of the garden. Endeavour’s goat, Nan, who had also travelled around the world on Wallis’s Dolphin, faithfully supplying milk to the officers of both ships for their coffee and tea, grazed contentedly at the end of her chain in another corner. Pensioned off by the Admiralty in reward for her unwavering service, and the proud possessor of a silver collar engraved with a couplet composed in her honour by Dr Johnson, Nan now controlled the grass in the family’s garden and was a favourite of the boys.

  After considering his son’s question for a few moments, James said, ‘I could make a small pond, lined with canvas. Get a couple of yards of it, from a sailmaker in the docks, and place some turf in it, for the little frogs to climb on.’ He looked at them with mock sternness. ‘But you will have to draw water from the well to fill the pond.’

  The boys’ faces lit up. Nathaniel clapped his hands. ‘Can we do it today, Papa?’

  Little James nodded. ‘Yes, today, please. Before the tadpoles’ front legs grow.’

  James smiled at Elizabeth. Her radiant expression read: happiness again, at last.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘we’ll do it today. My writing can wait.’ And again he thought, with elation, another child, what a blessing for us all.

  Soon after his audience with the King, James met again with Philip Stephens, Secretary to the Admiralty. A onetime protégé of the voyager George Anson, Stephens had lately been elected a fellow of the Royal Society. James liked Stephens’s no-nonsense manner and shared his dislike of bombast and swagger, characteristics common elsewhere among the naval authorities. If he hadn’t been aware that Stephens’s family hailed from Gloucestershire, James would have assumed that the secretary was a fellow-Yorkshireman. It was Stephens who had led the case against Alexander Dalrymple’s vainglorious attempt in 1768 to command the Transit of Venus expedition. Stephens had supported James instead. In his experience, the Admiralty secretary could cut through cant like a cutlass through cheddar, a quality he often displayed in the House of Commons, where he represented the constituency of Sandwich. As Palliser had put it more than once to James, Stephens was the éminence grise of the Admiralty.

  The two men met in the secretary’s office, a spacious room whose walls were crammed with book shelves of naval histories, shipbuilders’ plans, pull-down charts and framed caricatures of political figures, including a satirical depiction by William Hogarth of the political agitator John Wilkes. There was a large table globe in one corner of the room. Stephens had ordered coffee and shortbread for them both and they sat under the window nibbling and sipping. The secretary was tall and slim, with a sallow complexion, hazel eyes and a mischievous smile which James was well aware masked a shrewd intelligence. Placing his coffee cup on the desk, Stephens handed him a newspaper. ‘Have you seen this?’

  ‘No.’ It was the Gazetteer and New Daily Advertiser, dated 26 August 1771.

  ‘Look at the report in the top right-hand column.’

  It was headed: ‘A Further Voyage to the South Seas’. James read the report. ‘The eminent naturalist Joseph Banks, recently returned from a triumphant circumnavigation of the world, during which he collected an unprecedented number of hitherto-unknown species of plants and animals, is to have two ships provided by the government, and will lead a voyage to pursue further discoveries in the South Seas, including the Great Unknown Southern Continent. He will commence his second voyage of discovery in the Spring.’

  James looked up sharply. ‘Lead a voyage? What is this about, Stephens? Banks is a civilian.’

  Stephens chuckled. ‘Do not worry, Cook. Banks will doubtless be a principal in the expedition, and will again donate a handsome sum towards it. But he will not be leading it. You will be, as Lord Sandwich has already informed you.’

  James’s eyes returned to the newspaper. ‘This report suggests otherwise.’

  Stephens waved his hand dismissively. ‘Mostly Banks’s bluster, which is swallowed whole by the Grub Street hacks. Disregard it.’ Sitting down again, he interlaced his hands and said calmly, ‘The Lords have considered your suggestions for the next voyage, and approve of them in principle.’

  ‘Including taking two ships?’

  ‘Yes. It was considered an eminently sensible proposal to have a support ship accompany the main vessel. It will add greatly to the efficiency of the voyage, and its safety.’

  James nodded. ‘I often thought, when Endeavour ran onto the reef in New Holland, that a consort vessel would have been our salvation. We only just managed to get away.’

  Stephens nodded. ‘The knowledge of that near-tragedy certainly added to the Admiralty’s case for a second vessel.’ He looked very thoughtful. ‘We know that Wallis’s escort ship, Swallow, became irretrievably separated from the Dolphin in the South Sea in 1767, but that is not to say that it will happen with yours.’

  ‘I will take every precaution to ensure that it does not.’

  Stephens again nodded. He reached over and spun the globe so that the Southern Hemisphere was visible to them. After staring at the blank area south of New Zealand for some moments, he said, ‘The Navy Board has already been instructed to purchase two ships for the voyage, and wishes me to consult you as to your preference of vessel.’

  Without hesitation,
James said, ‘Colliers, Whitby-built.’

  ‘In the nature of Endeavour?’

  ‘In the nature of Endeavour.’

  In spite of all that had happened, and the hysteria he had read in the news-sheets, James found himself looking forward to meeting Banks again. A man could not spend three years in the close company of another with shared interests without developing some rapport with him. Moreover, constructive collaboration between himself and the naturalist would be essential from now on. In a note to Banks, James had suggested they meet for a luncheon at the Cheshire Cheese in Fleet Street, a public house about halfway between Wapping and Westminster, where Banks lived. In a return note, the naturalist had concurred. ‘I know the Cheshire,’ he had written. ‘It is a trifle subfusc, but they serve a damn fine pie.’

  James arrived first and took an alcove seat near the fireplace. The floor was covered in sawdust which gave off a resinous smell, and a large ginger cat was curled up asleep in front of the unlit fire. Bewigged, jacketed men sat at other tables, smoking pipes and chatting over their ale. It was indeed shadowy inside the windowless public house, but delicious smells came from beyond the servery. Banks entered a few minutes after the appointed time of noon, stopping inside the entrance and blinking a few times as his eyes adjusted to the reduced light. Spotting James, he strode across the room, grinned, seized his hand and pumped it furiously. ‘Cook! How splendid to see you!’

  ‘Good day to you, Banks.’

  From beneath his heavy eyebrows, Banks’s eyes beamed with pleasure. He appeared not to have shaved, as a shadow of stubble darkened his face and chin. He was wearing a dark green jacket, unbuttoned, with a matching waistcoat with a line of gold buttons. Tied carelessly about his throat was a green silk scarf and the queue of his wig was tied with a matching ribbon.

  James ordered two pints of ale and they were brought across from the servery by the stout, aproned publican. They toasted each other, then drank. As he raised his tankard, James noticed an outsized signet ring on Banks’s left hand, into which was set an oblong of green stone. ‘That ring, Banks,’ he said. ‘Is that by any chance New Zealand jade?’