by Sten Nadolny
John loved to look at land and sea charts. He gazed at them until he believed he understood each line as well as the causes of the earth’s shape in this region. He calculated the length of the coastlines by dividing them by the distance between Ingoldmells and Skegness – a very useful measure. ‘When you get down to it, a map is something impossible,’ said Matthew, ‘because it transforms something elevated into something flat.’
John liked best watching them measure speed. When for the first time he was allowed to take the measurement himself, and lovingly played out the logline, he was completely happy at last. After letting it run for eighty feet, the log was set correctly; the beginning knot zoomed forward and Sherard turned the glass. Sand and measuring-line ran for twenty-eight seconds; then John stopped it and took the reading. ‘Three and a half knots. It isn’t great.’ He measured again.
John would have even taken logline and hourglass into his bunk with him at night if he had been able to measure how quickly a man fell asleep or how far he could travel in his dreams.
Matthew had his quirks. Day after day he had the hammocks aired, the bulkheads washed with vinegar, and the decks holystoned. The thundering noise of those scrubbing-blocks woke any late sleepers in the morning.
They were given pickled cabbage and beer; large quantities of lemon juice were also available. In that way, Matthew wanted to prevent scurvy. ‘No one will die on my ship,’ he said in a menacing tone. ‘Except at worst Nathaniel Bell, of homesickness.’
‘Or we’ll all die, but not of any disease,’ murmured Colpits in a circle of petty officers. He was again convinced that the prophesied beaching still lay in the future. There was a third possibility: the ship took in two inches of water per hour. The carpenter crawled about in the bilges for hours on end, emerging again on deck with a white face and asking to see Matthew privately. Rumours started at once.
‘I bet one of the planks is made of mountain ash,’ one of them surmised. ‘That’ll send us to the fish for certain.’ ‘Don’t talk nonsense,’ shouted Mockridge. ‘Look at the deck planks of juniper wood. They’ll compensate for any weakness.’
There was much talk while they were pumping, and no reason will help against an old story, above all when it seems to be confirmed. After three days their faces became even longer. ‘Now she takes in four inches per hour,’ the First Lieutenant said. ‘Soon we’ll need no cats. The rats will drown on their own.’
* * *
Madeira! John was on land again. The ground was so firm that he tottered incredulously. The war was coming closer and closer. The soldiers of the 85th Regiment had just been landed, and they were chasing away all the rabbits and lizards in the city of Funchal with their incessant trench-digging. Funchal was to be defended against a French attack. However, this attack threatened only because of their fortifying. England had occupied Portuguese Madeira in all friendship. As always when John had his own ideas about something that were perhaps not shared by others, he felt a rising concern. But, he thought, I’m not well enough informed.
In Funchal, the Investigator’s seams were caulked. They spent nights ashore – the officers and petty officers in a hotel. John learned how many fleas and bedbugs can gather in one single place at the same time: it was something for science.
The casks were refilled with water, and Matthew bought beef. He explained to his midshipmen that one can tell the meat of an old cow from that of a young one by its bluish color. Madeira wine was too expensive for him. A barrel for forty-two pounds sterling – that was piracy by other means! Those prices might be paid by tubercular English lords and ladies who rode in ox carts and read novels.
The scientists tried to climb Pico Ruivo, a high mountain on the edge of an ancient, expansive volcanic crater. They never reached the peak because of blisters on their feet. On their way back their boat filled with water, and they lost their collection of insects. ‘What a shame! Nowhere in the world are there more interesting bugs than in Madeira,’ sighed Dr Brown.
When under a gentle southerly breeze the ship left the island again, only Franklin and Taylor were on the quarterdeck; the others were eating. Taylor saw a red dust cloud sweeping over the water from the north-east. Neither of them at first drew any conclusions. John thought: desert. He imagined how the wind lifted the red sand of the Sahara, how it chased the sand beyond the shore and over the dark sea, perhaps as far as South America. Something seemed odd to John. ‘Stop!’ he said, then a few minutes later, ‘but the cloud has …’ A little later all sails were taken back; a violent squall raced from the north-east and slammed into the weak south wind, plucking the rigging of the Investigator. One of the spars came down, crashing on the deck, and a huge chunk of elm crushed one of the cats – but not Trim the tomcat. Still, the whole thing passed without severe damage. They all feasted on a giant turtle they had fished out, and drank some Malmsey to the dead cat.
John pondered. He had seen it coming, and yet he had stood around not knowing what to do. What was needed in action was unreflective knowledge instilled by practice – the blindness. Instead of shouting, ‘Stop, the cloud …’ he should have shouted, ‘The wind is veering!’ A good six minutes would have remained for them to protect the spars by dropping and bracing them. They might even have been able to strike the topgallants. John became convinced that he had to practise the unforeseen. One of these days he wanted to save a ship by acting quickly and correctly.
Sherard asked him set questions: ‘There’s a storm and there isn’t enough space to leeward for jibbing.’ Or: ‘Man overboard on a course close to the wind.’ Each time, John took exactly five seconds to visualise the whole thing well in his inner eye. Then came the answer: ‘Call out “Man overboard!” Toss the man a daytime life buoy but not on top of him – makes no difference with night-time life buoys, since it’s dark anyway. Heave to. Lower boat into water to leeward. One person always keeps an eye on the man.’ ‘Good,’ said Sherard. ‘Now you see flames on the foredeck.’ Five seconds. Take a breath. Then: ‘Change course to leeward at once. Batten down hatches. Unload guns. Ammunition overboard. Shut magazine. Throw bolts. Hoist boats onto and lower to water level! …’ Matthew had been standing behind him for some time. ‘Not bad,’ he commented. ‘But perhaps you’re starting a little late to put out the fire.’ John understood slowly, then turned red. In a small voice he mumbled: ‘To the buckets …’
No land for weeks. By now it had become so warm that people didn’t run around in jackets even at night. John was completely at ease with the calm of the sea, a calm quite distinct from the strength of the wind. The crew worked better and more steadily. Even gun master Colpits became friendlier, although he could use his ammunition only for peaceful ends. When Stanley Kirkeby wounded his arm and developed a fever, he had to imbibe a mixture of gunpowder and vinegar. He was soon back on his feet!
In his dream John saw a new figure. At night the ocean suffused by moonlight became an image of itself. It reared up to a curled cloud of water circling round itself like a spiral growing larger and larger at the top, like a luxuriating plant, like a flickering and burning bush of water or a vortex created not by wind and current but by its own power. The sea gave itself its own body, being able to nod, to strike attitudes, to point the way. This gigantic figure grew effortlessly in his dream, emerging from the deceptively eternal expanse of the horizon; it was like a truth that would make everything different. A crater opened up towards heaven, a mouth or a gorge. Perhaps the whole thing was a leviathan, perhaps a dance of millions of tiny creatures. John often dreamed this dream. Sometimes far-ranging reflections followed him after awakening. Mary Rose in Portsmouth occurred to him, and the fact that what mattered to women was not an outer but a hidden, inner moment. Another time he mused about the trek of the children of Israel through the Red Sea and fancied that not God but the sea itself had arranged their rescue.
When he was lying in his hammock in the morning, pondering, having been awakened sometime before by the thuds of the holystones, he
experienced moments of intoxicating clarity. He sensed that something new was beginning, still very slowly. Even his back sensed what the sea looked like that day. It would not be long before he was a seaman through and through.
7
Terra Australis
The Investigator soon leaked again despite repairs, and more than ever. ‘Now she takes as much as five inches per hour, that old souse!’ said the boatswain’s mate. ‘If we don’t get some caulking done again at the Cape, we might as well make ourselves at home in the lifeboats. One storm and we’ll need no doctor.’ But this was one of the few pessimistic sentences that were spoken. Mr Colpits had taken to meaningful silences, and the rest of the crew thought: we’ll make it as far as the Cape.
The summer kept advancing, and it grew warmer and warmer. The season for shorts seemed to have stood still. Now it was October, which here was the beginning of summer. With its incessant heat, the perpetual summer changed people. Nothing on board was unimportant: everyone received a hearing. All this gave John the feeling that he was no longer as slow as he had been only a few months ago. Moreover, Trim couldn’t shame him any more. John gave the tomcat a little morsel before he could use his claws to get it.
Matthew was irked because he couldn’t find an island named Saxemberg. A certain Lindeman was supposed to have sighted it a good hundred years ago – he had given precise coordinates. But though three men had looked out for it day and night, no Saxemberg was seen. Perhaps Lindeman had been mad, or his chronometer had belonged to the devil. Or the island was too flat and so had remained below the horizon. Possibly they had sailed past it by a mere fifteen sea miles. ‘If it isn’t found by anyone, it belongs to me,’ Sherard said. ‘I’ll build a house on it that no one can take away from me.’
At the Cape of Good Hope, a squadron of British warships lying at anchor helped out with carpenters and materials. Fresh caulk was squeezed into the damaged seams of the Investigator. Nathaniel Bell, more homesick than ever, was sent back on one of the frigates. To take his place, another midshipman came aboard, Denis Lacy, a fellow who talked a great deal about himself because he decided that the others had to know whom they dealt with. For the present, John could keep out of his way.
Since the astronomer had to be taken into Cape Town because of violent attacks of gout, Lieutenant Fowler and John had to set up an observatory. As their telescopes scanned the sky, they noticed that the road from Simonstown to Companies Garden led directly past their station. Whoever moved on it – gentlemen on their morning ride, slaves with firewood, sailors from ships in False Bay – they all stopped and asked if there was something interesting to see. Good thing Sherard was there. He made a fence out of posts and ropes, drawing all questioners to himself, and told them, with innocent eyes, such sensational news about the sighted heavenly bodies that the gentlemen resumed their rides and the slaves took up their burdens again.
After three weeks they resumed their voyage. The last European warships disappeared from view. ‘I think I always want to be where human bodies aren’t at stake or, if they are, where they’re treated with respect,’ John told Matthew.
The other knew what he meant. ‘Where we’re going, a war can be stifled as long as it’s small.’
The Investigator sailed due east at six knots. In about thirty days they would reach Terra Australis at a point already known – Cape Leeuwin. John imagined the natives. ‘Are they all naked?’ Sherard asked. John nodded absent-mindedly. He thought what a wondrous person a white man must be for the natives because he came from so far away. They would always listen to a white man at length, even if they didn’t understand a word. Also, John was curious to see whether there were actually fish and crabs that climbed trees in order to spy for the nearest body of water. Mockridge had told that story, and one could usually rely on him. Of course, he did not yet know his way about Terra Australis.
John’s new tormentor turned out to be Lacy.
Whenever Denis Lacy watched John Franklin he became impatient. ‘I can’t watch that,’ he said, and smiled apologetically. He was the fastest, and he showed it to everyone, not just to John. From his greater speed he assumed the right to take out of other people’s hands whatever they were doing. ‘Let me do that.’ He had scrutinised every action that took time and divided it into smaller time segments. The longer a person talked, the more often Denis interrupted him to assure him he had understood. In between, he leaped up because he had to do something – straighten a mug that might otherwise fall off the table, scare Trim, who might be about to sharpen his claws on a uniform jacket that was lying about, or peer out of the porthole to see if by chance land might be in sight. Also, he seemed to be in love with his own legs, and he liked to skip playfully back and forth or pound down the companionways in a manner that made the sound of a drumroll. He ran along the main-yard, without seeking a hold on the footbard, free-handed, out to the yard-arm. Everyone was waiting for him to leap from the top of one mast to another. When he actually stopped to lean against something, he secretly admired his muscular legs. He didn’t intend to be mean to his more deliberate fellows. At one point he even promised to do better. ‘Still,’ said the geologist, ‘he’s a pain in the neck!’ Compared with Denis Lacy, everyone felt like a turtle.
‘Land ho!’
The drumroll called the whole crew on deck. Matthew pretended to be grim, but his eyes sparkled with satisfaction. After a thirty-day voyage he had made it to Cape Leeuwin precisely by the mile. ‘From now on we’ll explore unknown shores. The man in the foretop is vital. Reefs may be anywhere.’
Matthew lowered his voice. ‘We’ll also meet natives. I promise here before the mast that anyone who starts a quarrel with them won’t get away with fewer than thirty-six lashes. We’re explorers, not conquerors. Besides, the guns are stowed below deck.’
The gunner raised his eyes to the heavens and moved his chin back and forth as though something were rubbing his neck. Matthew went on: ‘You can also start quarrels by getting involved with their women. Don’t let me catch anyone! Besides, Mr Bell will now examine everyone for venereal disease. Orders from above. But that doesn’t mean by a long shot that you may do what I forbade you to do. Anyone who steals nails or other means of payment will be placed on watch till he drops. Nobody will shoot without an order. Any questions?’
No questions. Bell could start his medical examination.
Matthew didn’t introduce the Australians with much fervour, but he had sailed too long with Captain Bligh and had also heard too much about Cook’s and de Marion’s bad experiences to be careless.
Judging by the expression of the examining surgeon, John and Sherard concluded that they probably didn’t suffer from veneral disease. They were very glad about that.
First trip ashore on Cape Leeuwin. The lieutenants remained on board and cleared a carronade to cover any flight of the boats back to the ship. At first Matthew started a search for a bottle that Captain Vancouver was supposed to have left here about ten years ago. ‘Was anything in it?’ asked Sherard. They discovered an abandoned hut and a garden grown wild, a devastation. A copper sign hung in the fork of a tree. ‘August 1800. Christopher Dixson. Ship Elligood.’ While they stuffed themselves with oysters, which were to be found in profusion among the rocks, Matthew remarked, ‘This place seems to be a bit overcrowded. In ten years’ time we’re already the third ship. Never heard of Mr Dixson.’
In the gentle ruffled water of the bay, the Investigator lay like a completely strange ship, full of majesty. From a distance her seams looked watertight. The young painter William Westall was making a drawing of ship and bay, and, chewing, the captain looked over his shoulder. ‘But one can’t see that she’s got two anchors. I’d prefer to see both chains in the picture.’ That was Matthew. He wanted to be sure that all the work they’d been through could be seen.
When they started their land exploration, they suddenly heard loud clapping which sounded like applause. But it was only two black swans taking off from a pond. And
there were no crabs climbing trees.
Then they saw the first native, an old man. He approached with uncertain steps, took not the slightest notice of the white men, but conducted a long conversation with invisible friends in the forest. When Mr Thistle shot a bird, the old man didn’t seem the least bit startled. He was surprised only briefly and continued his exchange. A little later ten brown men, naked like the old man, came toward them carrying long staffs. Matthew told his men to stand still, and he held out to the Australians a white handkerchief with the hunted bird on it. But perhaps this kind of bird was a bad omen. The men turned unfriendly and began to wave them back toward the ship with fanning arm motions. They also rejected the handkerchief. When they saw the Investigator lying there, they pointed at her again and again and said things in imperious tones. They couldn’t be misunderstood. ‘It means, “Go home,”’ surmised Mr Thistle. Matthew thought it possible they might want to visit the ship and made inviting gestures, whereupon the brown men signified that he should bring the ship to them. So dealing with the natives became somewhat troublesome. A missionary would have produced a cross and intoned prayers, and that might possibly have been better than a handkerchief and the wrong kind of dead bird. Women were nowhere to be seen. They were surely kept hidden. John thought of Mr Dixson of the Elligood. You couldn’t possibly know how he had behaved. The Australian men peered from under their thick brows with serious expressions, like masters of the house being introduced to somewhat dubious visitors. Their beards and hair stood on end, perhaps also a sign of suspicion, just as with Trim the tomcat. ‘They look as much alike as animals,’ Olof Kirkeby said to his twin brother after examining them closely.