Secret Life of James Cook

by Graeme Lay

  My fondest wishes to you all,

  James Cook

  REPORT TO THE ADMIRALTY BY JAMES COOK RN, MASTER OF HMS PEMBROKE, 25 MAY 1758

  The Lords of the Admiralty, Whitehall, London

  I am aware, my lords, that my commander Captain Simcoe is reporting to you on matters pertaining to the unsatisfactory physical condition of HMS Pembroke during her recent voyage to Halifax. It is my intention here, as master of the vessel, to report candidly on the dire physical condition many members of the ship’s crew developed in the course of the voyage.

  Towards the end of the third week out of Tenerife, many of the men fell ill. One after another they became so weak that they could not leave their hammocks, then eventually descended into a comatose state. To give but one example, Able Seaman Francis Partridge, with whom I served on HMS Eagle in the Bay of Biscay last year, fell victim to this illness. While at the helm one morning I received a message from Pembroke’s surgeon to say that Partridge had requested my presence. Going below decks, I found him languishing naked in his hammock. Others of the crew were also lying in their hammocks, groaning piteously, so weakened that they could not leave them even to reach and use the head, and so had soiled themselves. I had seldom witnessed such a distressing and horrible scene. Partridge, recently a strapping West Country lad, was almost unrecognizable to me. His eyes had receded into his skull, much of his hair had fallen out, and blood was oozing from the side of his mouth. When he recognized me he gave a little cry, held out his hand and attempted to grip my arm. ‘Cook,’ he said, ‘I am so poorly. My strength has gone, all gone.’

  There was nothing I could do for the poor fellow except reassure him that I would convey his story in writing to his wife in Plymouth. This I did earlier this day, prior to writing to you. Partridge died the following day, along with two other able seamen. The three victims were buried at sea, the services conducted by Captain Simcoe, while I held Pembroke on her course in gale-force winds, which continued unabated, adding to the frustration and sorrow the entire ship felt.

  No fewer than twenty-four of Pembroke’s crew died before we reached Halifax — more than twice as many as died in the battle against the French, in May 1757, when I was serving aboard HMS Eagle. And most of the remainder of the men on Pembroke were so weakened for the remainder of the crossing that the poor wretches were unable to work the ship. As soon as we reached Halifax, thirty-four crew members were admitted to the naval hospital there where they eventually recovered, but only slowly.

  As you will doubtless have concluded, my lords, Pembroke’s afflicted crewmen had fallen victim to scurvy. It is my earnest hope that physicians, both naval and civilian, will apply themselves to discovering the cause and treatment of this affliction, whose extent and effects I had not before directly witnessed. With respect, my lords, I suggest to you that this scourge is a matter which requires the authorities’ utmost attention, particularly in the case of prolonged sea voyages, when the disease worsens the longer a ship is away from shore. I trust that your lords will address this matter with the greatest urgency.

  I am your humble servant,

  James Cook

  James stood in the stern of Pembroke’s launch, glancing in the direction of the cove but keeping constant watch on the swells which were building up in the bay. It was August 1758. The boat’s four sailors were watching him, trailing their oars, waiting for a signal. All five men were aware that the day before when a dozen other longboats from the English fleet had attempted to land in Kennington Cove, all had been overturned by breaking waves. Several sailors were injured, one seriously after a blow to the head from a capsizing boat. Now the wind had abated somewhat, but it was still blowing onshore, making any landing difficult. But as Kennington Cove was the only landing beach in the Louisbourg area of Royale Island, they had no option but to put ashore there. In the distance James could see a broad arc of yellow sand, above it a sand dune foreshore covered in tussock grasses and, beyond, stands of dark green conifers. He brought the boat’s tiller around so that the bow pointed seaward, the better for him to judge the swells.

  Three large swells in succession passed under the boat, causing it to pitch steeply. When they had moved on towards the shore, he pushed the tiller away, bringing the bow around and towards land. As the oarsmen waited for his command, their faces were set and tense. They had all heard about what had happened the previous day, and none of them could swim, including James.

  ‘Sir?’

  The leading oarsman, Matthew Gibson, hands gripping the haft of his oars, was looking at James expectantly.

  Legs braced, James stared out to sea. ‘Await my command,’ he said. Feet wide apart, he held the tiller and stared seaward. Another swell moved under the boat, then raced towards the beach. Then there was a lull. Left fist bunched, James brought his hand down, hard. ‘Now! Pull!’

  The men dipped their oars, deep, and the longboat began to move beachward, James calling the timing. ‘One two, one two.’

  Still staring seaward, he saw a swell begin to build. He called, calmly but more insistent now, ‘Harder. One two, one two.’

  The oarsmen, shoulders straining, eyes cast downwards, dug the blades of their oars deeper.

  ‘One two, one two.’

  The swell rose and began to race towards them, building into a wave. The beach was only twenty yards away now and the longboat hurtled towards it like a harpoon. Holding the tiller firmly, James glanced seaward once more. The swell was rising, the wind tearing at its crest. ‘Ship oars!’ he yelled, and the men obeyed, hauling their oars aboard. Knees bent, James gripped the tiller, ensuring that the rudder remained straight. The longboat skimmed into the shallows, then stopped suddenly as its keel touched sand. ‘Disembark,’ he shouted, ‘and bring her in!’

  They leapt from the boat and into the white water, two on the larboard side, two to starboard. They clutched the gunwales, then began to haul the boat further in. James held the tiller until the four oarsmen were clear of the water, then jumped into the shallows. Pushing at the stern while the others tugged at the gunwales, the boat reached the beach. Seconds later the swell, which had become a five-foot wave, collapsed and swept into the cove, its white water surging into the launch’s stern. The five men lugged the vessel clear of the water and up onto the beach.

  Gibson grinned at James. ‘Fine timing, sir,’ he gasped.

  James nodded brusquely. ‘Well rowed, lads.’ He looked along the tideline. ‘Tide’s dropping, but keep the anchor out to be sure she’s safe. And one of you must stand watch over her at all times. I should be back within the hour.’

  ‘Aye, sir.’

  All four sank down on the sand, chests heaving but obviously grateful for the break. Walking up the beach, James was startled to see a solitary, uniformed figure standing on the foreshore in front of some sort of instrument. He was making notes in a small book. Curious, James strode up the sand towards him.

  The man appeared to be about his own age. He was fair-haired and of slim build, and instead of wearing naval garb he was dressed in the uniform of a lieutenant in the British Army. As James approached, he looked up.

  ‘Good day, sir.’

  ‘And good day to you, sir.’

  ‘Cook, James Cook. Master of the Pembroke.’

  ‘Holland, Samuel Holland.’ The men shook hands.

  James said, ‘You are not from the English fleet?’

  ‘No, I am in the employ of Brigadier Wolfe.’

  ‘I was curious when I saw what activity you were engaged upon here. What is the instrument you’re using?’

  ‘A plane table. I’m carrying out a survey of this cove for Brigadier Wolfe.’

  The two men chatted. The man was Dutch but spoke good English, albeit with a strong accent. His family name was Van Hollandt, he told James, and he had left his homeland to further his career as an engineer in the British Army. Sent to North America to work as an assistant engineer, he had carried out surveys in the New York area before being tran
sferred to Louisbourg to give engineering advice to Brigadier Wolfe, in preparation for the campaign against the French garrison. Now that the French had surrendered after a five-week siege, it was Holland’s duty to survey this part of Royale Island for the records of the British Army authorities.

  James nodded, then said, ‘And the “plane table”? That is a telescope on it, is it not? And a compass?’

  ‘Yes.’ Holland tapped the scope and it moved. ‘It rotates so I can take a fix on a distinctive feature, like the headland there.’ He put his eye to the glass and swivelled it so that it pointed to the headland at the north end of the cove. ‘Then I draw a draft of the principal aspects of the topographical features in my notebook, from a base line. I include its magnetic bearing, using the compass.’ He looked up. ‘So by taking angles off certain fixed points — such as the headland there — I can later reproduce the features of a landscape precisely on paper.’

  ‘Ah. So simple, but practical.’

  ‘Ja. It was devised by a military engineer, Captain Woolcott, during the campaign against the French in India.’ Brushing sand from his sleeve, Holland said, ‘You are interested in surveying?’

  ‘Very. I have studied mathematics, including trigonometry. And, as a naval man, I have a particular fondness for hydrography. It is among my duties as Pembroke’s master to produce charts of the areas we find ourselves in.’

  ‘Have you produced such charts already?’

  ‘Some. But I have much still to learn.’ James paused. ‘I wonder. Since the Louisbourg campaign is over, would I be able to accompany you during your survey? I would be greatly obliged if I could take some tuition from you.’

  The Dutchman considered this for a moment, then said, ‘Is your vessel here for long?’

  ‘We will not be leaving until at least the autumn.’

  ‘Then I cannot see why not.’ Holland smiled. ‘So long as a man of the senior service has no objection to receiving tuition from a mere foot soldier.’

  James laughed. He liked this man. And clearly Holland could teach him a great deal about coastal surveying. He would request that Holland meet Captain Simcoe, and that he, James, be given leave to stay ashore to accompany the Dutchman during his survey of Royale Island.

  They worked well together, the pair of them, during that summer, surveying Gabarus Bay. With Pembroke at anchor off Louisbourg, they worked ashore for days on end, then brought their draft sketches back to the ship. Holland was a patient instructor and James learned a great deal from him, in particular how to establish a reliable base line and to use triangulation to establish accurate coordinates. In this way he learned to marry the techniques of land and sea cartography, linking his nautical mapping with Holland’s sophisticated land-surveying techniques.

  On Pembroke they worked in the great cabin, over a drawing table, under the supervision of Captain Simcoe. He helped them render the vast amount of trigonometrical data and calculations made ashore into charts sufficiently accurate for ships’ masters to employ while navigating the region’s coastal waters. Simcoe had lent James his copy of Leadbetter’s Uranoscopia, or the Contemplation of the Heavens, along with The Young Mathematician’s Companion, references which he made great use of during that summer. And it was aboard Pembroke, too, that James and Holland compiled the materials for, as the Dutchman entitled it, ‘A Chart of the Gulf and the River of St Lawrence’.

  As for James’s letter to the Admiralty on the subject of the outbreak of scurvy on Pembroke, he received neither acknowledgement nor reply. He brooded on this lack of response, first affronted by it. He then affirmed, to himself: I will act upon the scurvy, if ever given the chance.

  5 FEBRUARY 1761

  Dear Mr Walker,

  I write from Halifax, Nova Scotia, in my cabin on HMS Northumberland, the flagship of the English squadron here. I was transferred to her last year and I am her master. You will no doubt be interested in her figures. At 1414 tons, and 164 feet by 45 feet, she is the largest naval vessel on which I have so far served. She was built at Plymouth eleven years ago and is under the command of Captain Nathaniel Bateman. Lord Colvill is in overall charge of the English squadron here. He is ten years my senior, and a greatly experienced seaman who has served in the West Indies as well as North America. We were both present during the siege of Québec when he availed himself of the charts of the St Lawrence which Samuel Holland and I had produced. Although I have no proof of it, I suspect that it was Lord Colvill who arranged for my transfer from HMS Pembroke to Northumberland. If it was indeed his work, then I am deeply grateful to him for having faith in my navigational and hydrographical abilities.

  But sir, those days of the Québec siege now seem distant. You will doubtless have read in the broadsheets of the details of the battle for Québec and General Wolfe’s momentous victory. It may surprise you to learn that I, too, am relieved that the conflict with the French appears to be over. I have over these past five years seen far too many good men killed and maimed — from lowly seamen to commanders — to believe that war is an entirely noble cause. Thus, my beliefs and yours are now much more convergent than they once were. When I joined the Navy I was a callow fellow — now I have a far greater awareness of war’s cruelties and privations.

  The deaths of our leaders are just as affecting. John Simcoe, my commander on HMS Pembroke, and a loyal supporter of my surveying programme, died on the ship from natural causes before the siege of Québec. I felt this bereavement keenly as he had become a close friend. The death of General Wolfe at Québec moved us all greatly too, just as Montcalm’s demise must have affected the French forces. They were both fine leaders of men.

  This is an unusual shift in my sensibilities, you may think, sir, and perhaps a paradoxical attitude for a man who still wears the King’s uniform with pride and dedication. It is still my conviction that Britain is the greatest nation on Earth, and thus I will willingly give my own life in its defence, but with my knowledge now that if conflicts can be resolved without warfare — on either sea or on land — then that course must be pursued to the utmost. The French may still cause trouble in this region. There are rumours that they still covet the port of St John’s, north of here, in which case it will be our duty to defend the fort to the best of our ability, but we hold out hope that the present peace will prevail. This region is now almost entirely under the Union Jack, and should remain so.

  And now, sir, since I have used up my ration of notepaper, I must conclude. Please convey my best wishes to all my friends in Whitby.

  I remain, sir,

  Yours faithfully,

  James Cook

  James learned again that winter in Halifax was the bleakest of seasons. Although the port itself was ice-free because of the warm current known as the Gulf Stream, which passed Nova Scotia from the south, outside Halifax harbour great chunks of floating ice lurked, brought down from the high northern latitudes by another, much colder current. It was the same cold which had caused his party such discomfort during their survey of the St Lawrence. James realized, too, that it was the mixture of the cold and warm air above the two differing currents which caused the dense fogs which afflicted so much of the coasts of the region and presented a persistent hazard to navigation. The results of this mixture of warm and cold air could be compared, he thought, to the clouds of steam which emerge from a boiling kettle, then condense in the surrounding colder air.

  During the months when he and his crew were kept entirely within the harbour’s confines by the ice mountains outside, he spent the time productively, increasing his knowledge of astronomy and mathematics. He read avidly the work of the Greek mathematician Euclid, in particular his Elements, which had been lent to him by Lord Colvill. He found it a brilliant work of geometry. Learning that Euclid was born in 300BC, he appreciated that the mathematical knowledge of the Ancients was remarkable, and that his theories were highly applicable to the art of navigation. While Northumberland lay at anchor in Halifax, awaiting the arrival of the spring thaw, Eucl
id’s Elements and its diagrams and theorems absorbed James by day and night.

  As well as studying, he spent many days surveying the harbour, an activity which the inclement weather did not entirely preclude. And when the fog and ice did prohibit outdoor activities, he retired to his cabin to work on his charts of the harbour, work which fully absorbed him. He had come to regard a finely drawn and precise chart as a work of art, as well as being the most practical assistant a ship’s master could possess, and he now took the greatest pride in the researching and compiling of coastal charts of waters hitherto unsurveyed.

  But while the fleet awaited the spring thaw, the rest of Northumberland’s crew, lacking constructive activity and with the imperatives of war gone, became lax. In the town there was the usual agglomeration of taverns and houses of ill-repute, and while on shore leave the men took every advantage of these dens of iniquity. Drunkenness became wide spread, and the fleet’s marine corps and bosuns were kept busy apprehending, arraigning and punishing the numerous miscreants. James was concerned by the number of repeat offenders among the crew of Northumberland. The most notable example was the inaptly named Edward Lovely. The previous August this seaman had been lashed for theft. He was lashed again for drunkenness in two instalments, on 1 and 2 December, for various crimes and misdemeanours. Then, the very next month, he was sentenced to receive 600 lashes for absenting himself unlawfully from his ship. This last flogging was carried out ‘around the fleet’, as the saying had it, with 100 lashes being administered alongside each British ship.

  James watched from the poop deck as Lovely, tied to a grating in Northumberland’s launch, received his second round of lashes from the bosun. Already the seaman’s back was bleeding meat, and his initial cries, which had carried across the harbour, were subsiding to agonized whimpers. This led James to wonder if the prolonged and repeated punishment he was witnessing would cure the man of his reoffending. He knew that the cat-o’-nine-tails was an essential part of naval life, but it also seemed to him that 600 lashes was manifestly excessive. He had given much thought over the past few years to the role of a ship’s captain, and while fully aware that the one in command must at all times insist that discipline be maintained, and that violations of the code of naval conduct be punished with the lash, it seemed to him equally important that the captain was seen to lead a team of men who worked a ship in as harmonious a way possible.