by Graeme Lay
Mawton was a burly man, and heavily jowled. As always, he was a rich source of news, both local and international. He tamped the bowl of his pipe with his thumb, then lit it. Through a cloud of smoke he said with concern, ‘We received a report last week that the rebels in our American colonies have declared their political independence.’
Aghast, James said, ‘When?’
‘Four months ago. On the fourth of July.’ Mawton drew on his pipe again, and puffed smoke out through the side of his mouth. ‘Their forces are led by the chief rebel, a scoundrel called George Washington.’
James was silent for a few moments. Shocking news. Leaning back, he said confidently, ‘Our forces will resist the rebellion. When we left Plymouth there were several warships in the harbour preparing to sail.’
Mawton brightened. ‘Yes. And the British war fleet arrived in New York, also in July, the reports said. A huge force. Thirty battleships, thirty thousand soldiers, ten thousand sailors. Our troops are led by General William Howe. His brother, Admiral Lord Richard Howe, leads the navy.’
‘A formidable force, then.’
‘Certainly.’ Mawton grimaced. ‘But the sodding Frenchies are supporting the rebels. So too are the Spanish.’ He set his pipe down. ‘However, it’s reported that our troops are vanquishing Washington’s forces. The rebels cannot hope to win.’
At that moment the morning air was shattered by a burst of cannon fire. There was another explosion, then another. Everyone in the coffee house looked towards the windows, their expressions expectant. More cannon fire. A 10-gun salute, the booming reverberating around the waterfront, signalling a ship’s arrival.
The lanky figure of midshipman Taylor appeared in the coffee-house doorway, hat in hand. The young man looked around, saw James and strode over to him. His expression was animated. Nodding respectfully to James and Mawton, the midshipman said, ‘Begging your pardon, Captain, but we thought you must know.’
‘Know what?’
Taylor could not conceal his glee. ‘Discovery’s arrived in port, sir. Her anchors are down and she’s already hoisting out her boats!’
Clerke stepped up onto the cobbled dock, wearing his full dress uniform. James held out his hand. ‘Welcome to Cape Town, Clerke.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ As he shook James’s hand, he smiled apologetically. ‘I sometimes thought this day, and this meeting, would never come.’
As he nodded his pleasure at their reunion, James was struck by Clerke’s appearance. Although the face of Discovery’s commander had been reddened by the Atlantic sun, and his eyes were as bright as ever, they were sunken, and his neck tendons were tightly stretched. His captain’s jacket seemed too large for him. Concerned at his appearance, James said, ‘When were you released from prison?’
‘On the twentieth of July. Lord Sandwich brought pressure to bear on the Israelite moneylenders. He threatened them with deportation until they relented. I was freed, went directly to Plymouth by coach and took over command of the ship from Burney.’ He smiled. ‘Burney was, I believe, rather disappointed that I had been released. He was relishing the command.’ Clerke coughed, took a handkerchief from his sleeve and placed it over his mouth. Through the material he said, ‘We sailed on the first of August and made swift passage. Only forty days.’
James thought, with a twinge of envy, Ten days quicker than Resolution. But he said, sincerely, ‘It’s a great relief to see you.’
Clerke nodded. ‘The day I walked out of that cesspool, King’s Bench Prison, was the best of my life.’
‘Having seen it, I can well understand why.’ James looked over to where Resolution and Discovery rode at anchor, 50 yards apart. ‘Our ships must never be separated again.’
Clerke thrust out his chin. ‘They never will, sir. And as Discovery’s arrival is deserving of a celebration, I’ve ordered six half-hogsheads of brandy and a hundred gallons of wine from shore.’ Jubilant now, he went on, ‘You and your officers will be my guests tonight on Discovery.’
Discovery too was afflicted with leaking seams, Clerke reported. A victim of the same dockyard negligence, while anchored in Table Bay she also had to undergo urgent repairs to her decks and rigging. It was not until Saturday, 30 November that James was able to write in his log:
Having given Captain Clerke a copy of my Instructions and an order how to proceed in case of separation, we on the morning of the 30th repaired on board and at five in the afternoon a breeze sprung up at SE with which we weighed and stood out of the bay.
Resolution and her crew had been in Cape Town for almost six weeks, far longer than anticipated. However, around the decks and amid the rigging of both ships, among the officers, midshipmen, able seamen and marines alike, there was now an air of optimism. At last, they were bound for the South Sea. The decking and topsides of Discovery and Resolution were now properly caulked. Their sailrooms were dry, the rigging sound. Resolution’s mizzen topmast had been replaced. From their bowsprits and sterns, the Jacks and ensigns flew confidently, signalling an air of fresh hope.
Since this would be the expedition’s last contact with European civilisation for an indeterminate period, they had taken aboard provisions enough for two years or more. The colony had furnished all their needs, albeit expensively. The water casks were full; there was wine, brandy and beer in the hold. The sheep, cattle and horses had been brought back aboard and securely penned.
As Clerke averred to James over their last luncheon together on Resolution, ‘If a North-east Passage does exist, then by God, sir, we will discover it!’ And if by mischance the two vessels did become separated, it was agreed that they would rendezvous at Ship Cove, in New Zealand’s Queen Charlotte Sound.
Resolution’s gunners fired a 10-gun salute as, with Discovery abaft of her, she began to butt her way out of Table Bay and into open sea, sailing close-hauled on a course for the Cape of Good Hope, thirty nautical miles to the south. James stood on the quarterdeck, helmsmen Brown and Roberts in front of him. Bligh was alongside them, Williamson was officer of the watch.
Moving away from the others and towards the taffrail, James put his palm on his abdomen, pressed it and winced. Whatever was causing the pain was still there. While ashore in Cape Town he had visited an English-speaking apothecary—an elderly Dutchman with pince-nez spectacles and wild white hair whom Mawton had recommended—and described to him his symptoms. The man had listened solemnly, then sold him bottles containing syrup of figs and prune juice. Those purgatives, along with Anderson’s prescription of an increase in his daily intake of wort, had caused his bowels to move again. A great relief.
But as he gripped the taffrail and stared back at the receding coast of Africa, James wondered: if the constipation had been, as Anderson had claimed, the cause of his belly-ache, and his bowels were moving again, why did the pain in his guts persist?
Twelve
25 DECEMBER 1776
Dearest Elizabeth,
Christmas Day for you in London. What memories that brings! Every year when I returned from surveying in North America I relished Yuletide, with its plentiful food and drink, its holly berries and mistletoe. Doubtless you and our sons are holding fast to those traditions. Young James will be home from college, so the three boys will be all together for the first time. Little Hugh may be close to taking his first steps, and Nathaniel will be preparing to join James in Portsmouth. Exciting times for you all.
Here the excitements are of a very different kind. After leaving Table Bay on 1 December, we followed a south-easterly course, made steady progress and after several days made latitude 40° South. We sighted the Crozet Islands, then proceeded due east in search of the Kerguelen Islands, first discovered by a Frenchman of that name in 1772, but poorly charted by him. It was my intention to properly survey the largest of these islands to determine whether it would be suitable as a base for future expeditions to the south Indian Ocean.
We came upon the smaller islands yesterday. Since they are at almost 50° South, weather condi
tions around them were inclement, with much cold fog and rain. This obliged Resolution and Discovery to fire signal guns every hour so that the ships might not become separated. The search for the primal island (there are many small ones, one of which I named Bligh’s Cap after the one my sailing master habitually wears and which the peaked island resembled) was time-consuming, but at last we saw its high mountains, protruding from the fog. We approached it with extreme caution because of the many shoals, rocks and heavy sea in the vicinity.
The inlet in which both ships are now anchored I have called Christmas Harbour. We have raised the Jack on the island, which henceforth will be our nation’s, the French having only touched upon it in ’72 and again in ’73. I have renamed the island Desolation, for that word is most fitting. It is utterly desolate, incapable of sustaining any living thing save mosses, scurvy grass, rockhopper penguins and seals. So instead of enjoying roast beef for our Christmas dinner we made do with roast penguin. (The seals we killed for their blubber, which is rendered into oil for our lamps.) We put some livestock ashore—several goats and three calves—in the hope that they might breed there, but I suspect they will suffer from lack of proper feed.
Despite its bleak aspect, I have resolved to survey Desolation Island’s north coast. I will be assisted in the work by Bligh. It is my intention to take leave of the island in a week’s time, if the survey has been completed. Already I am conscious of ‘time’s winged chariot’ pursuing us. It is nearly six months since our departure and we are not yet in the South Sea, the first object of our voyage. We must press on!
My fondest love to you and our sons,
James
It was the morning of 19 January and they were at 45° South. There was a heavy sea running, and Resolution pitched and rolled like a horse that did not know which way to gallop. Mid-morning, a squall struck. Seconds later there was an explosion aloft, as if a lightning bolt had struck the ship. Looking up in horror, those on deck saw that the fore topmast had shattered. Torn away by the wind, it had gone overboard. In their pens the animals began to panic, neighing, squealing and bellowing. A minute later there was another explosion. Still staring aloft, they saw that the fore topmast had been blown back into the main topgallant mast and had taken it away. A chaos of broken spars, masts and rigging dangled above the larboard side of the deck.
The squall had struck so suddenly and viciously that it had allowed no time for the sails to be reefed, causing the partial dismasting with terrifying ease. The officer on watch, Harvey, screamed at the helmsmen, ‘Put her about! Put her about!’
The quartermasters hauled several points on the wheel and Resolution’s bow came round gradually. Her remaining sails began to flap like flags in the gale. Bligh rushed up to the weatherdeck, staring in dismay at the tangled rigging and broken spars.
Having heard the crashes, James had run up from below. Taking in the damage, he swore. But he saw too that the fractured masts had not fallen into the sea. Their rigging still clung to them like a giant spider’s web, keeping them connected to the ship. Yet it was obvious to everyone that the two topmasts were badly damaged, probably beyond repair.
An urgent makeshift mend began. With Resolution still rolling in the swells, the carpenters and sailmakers worked all day, salvaging any of the rigging they could, and cutting away that which they could not. There was a spare fore topmast lashed to the deck. With great difficulty it was hauled aloft, re-rigged and secured. As there was no spare main topgallant mast, the foremast was laboriously harnessed, brought back aboard and moved aloft, atop the main. Bligh performed sterling work as he oversaw this demanding operation, earning the admiration of James and the other officers, who observed it all.
Resolution resumed her course, wallowing in the swells as the wind continued to drive in from the north-west. James and Gore stood side-by-side on the quarterdeck, staring up at the jury-rig and the leaden sky. Gore shook his head. ‘The shortened rig looks very odd. She resembles a bird with only one wing.’
James snorted. ‘It matters not what she looks like, it matters only how she sails. We need to have a meeting, immediately. Alert the others.’
He sat at the head of the table in the Great Cabin. There were two charts on the table, held down with lead paperweights so they could all see the contents. The first was a copy of James’s 1769 to 1770 map of New Zealand; the other showed the south coast of Van Diemen’s Land as charted by Abel Tasman in 1642. James looked around the table, meeting the eyes of each of the three officers in turn. ‘Instead of proceeding directly to Ship Cove in New Zealand, we will turn north, for Van Diemen’s Land.’
There was an awkward silence for some moments. Then Gore said hesitantly, ‘Why the change, Captain? Why not Ship Cove?’
Giving him an impatient look, James said, ‘It was you who said this ship looks odd, Gore. We need to replace the broken fore topmast. There should be suitable spar timber at Adventure Bay in Van Diemen’s Land that will allow us to replace it. Furneaux found plentiful timber in the bay when he called there in ’73. This will remedy our vessel’s oddness.’ His scathing stress on the last word had its effect: Gore’s cheeks reddened. ‘We are also sorely in need of more fodder for the livestock, and fresh water. It’s essential, too, to discover whether or not Van Diemen’s Land and New Holland comprise the same landmass.’
Williamson raised a hand. ‘But sir, such a diversion will mean more time squandered. We’ve already lost weeks. Can we afford to lose more?’ There were mutters of agreement from the others.
King said quietly, ‘Given the time we will also need to spend in New Zealand, sir, and in Otaheite and Huahine, when can we hope to reach New Albion?’
James clenched his right hand and looked away. ‘Not this year. It will have to be next year before we make the northern Pacific.’
There was a further uneasy silence. Another year. Williamson spoke again. ‘But once our work in the Society Islands is completed, why can we not proceed directly to New Albion?’
James shot him a reproachful look. Williamson needed to be reminded of his place as mere third lieutenant. He said cuttingly, ‘I should have thought that was perfectly obvious, Williamson. The Northern Hemisphere winter will be upon us by November, possibly even October, making it impossible to survey the western coast of America in those conditions. In the period prior to the northern spring of ’78, we will remain in the South Sea, surveying the Hervey and Friendly Isles. As well as any other islands yet undiscovered. For now, we will make for Van Diemen’s Land.’ He turned to Gore. ‘Get Bligh to report to me. We’ll need to set a new course.’ He stood up and addressed King. ‘Instruct Anderson and his mate Bradley to fire three cannons to signal Discovery of our altered course.’ He began to roll up the charts. ‘That will be all.’
As the helmsmen brought Resolution around several points to the north-west, her cannons boomed, three times. Minutes later, from his perch on the mainmast, James saw Discovery alter course and follow. The signal had been received.
Adventure Bay, which they had read about from Furneaux’s description when he had found a haven there three years earlier, lay on the east coast of two landmasses connected by a long sandy isthmus. With Resolution leading, the two ships entered the bay. After it was sounded by Bligh at 12 fathoms, the anchors were lowered.
The crews lined the rails and admired the prospect before them. The cove was a sickle of golden sand, above which was a stand of forest. At the southern end of the isthmus was a beautiful cove which would be sheltered from all but a north-easterly wind, while to the west loomed the forested mountains of Van Diemen’s Land. The wind was light, the temperature mild. Bright sunlight bathed the land.
From the quarterdeck the officers studied the land through their spyglasses. Although there were no native dwellings in sight, smoke could be seen rising from the forest further inland and there were two small canoes on the sand above the tide-line. Near the canoes a stream emerged from the forest and flowed into the cove.
Jam
es called down to bosun Ewin, ‘Prepare parties for going ashore.’
The boats were hoisted out and shore parties mounted, including a troop of marines. James and King sat in the stern of the larger of the two launches. Bayly had with him the equipment he needed for setting up his tent observatory; Bligh had his plane table. Anderson and Nelson had their collecting bags on their backs; Omai had slung his musket and a powder horn over his shoulder.
The men stepped ashore, delighted at the prospect of spending time in a place that could not have been more different from the barren coast of Desolation Island. The foraging parties fanned out in search of wood, water and grass. Bayly went off to look for high level ground on which to set up his observatory; Anderson and Nelson plunged into the forest to begin botanising; Omai roamed the edge of the forest in search of animals to shoot. Bligh, who as James had already noted preferred his own company to that of others, went off alone to the south side of the island to survey its coast.
James and King strode along the beach, James carrying a stick he had cut from the bush and trimmed with his hanger. The waters of the bay lapped gently at the sand and a soft breeze blew offshore.
This was King’s first time ashore in the South Sea. ‘The light is so intense,’ he exclaimed, ‘and the air so warm.’ He waved his hand. ‘Beach, forest, sea. Such a beautiful place.’
‘Aye. Furneaux’s men found it so, too.’
‘But Abel Tasman was first here, is that right?’
‘Yes. On his way to New Zealand in 1642. Thereafter, no European set foot here until Furneaux and his crew.’