Secret Life of James Cook

by Graeme Lay

  The First Lord of the Admiralty, Sir Edward Hawke, entered the hall, accompanied by Stephens and three other lords, Brett, Townshend and Carlisle. They all shook Palliser’s hand. A big-boned man with a prominent nose and jaw, Hawke was best known for leading the British fleet when it defeated the French at the Battle of Quiberon Bay, off the coast of north-west France, in 1759. Palliser knew and respected Hawke as the man who had probably saved Britain from invasion by the French.

  The six men took seats around the table, Stephens with notepaper, quill and ink pot in front of him.

  Palliser described his meeting with the Earl of Morton and the Royal Society’s proposal that Alexander Dalrymple lead the expedition to the South Sea. He concluded, ‘So it is my belief, my lords, that the Society proposes not only to invite Dalrymple to lead the observation team for the transit, but also to command the naval vessel which carries the expedition members.’

  Around the table, there were looks of astonishment. Lord Carlisle leaned forward. ‘Do you mean, Captain Palliser, that a merchant mariner is demanding that he command one of the King’s naval vessels?’

  ‘I believe so, my lord.’

  Stephens held his quill. ‘But you also said that you showed the Earl of Morton some of James Cook’s completed charts. In support of Cook’s abilities.’

  ‘I did, sir.’

  ‘And he was impressed.’

  ‘He was. But he and his council still favour Dalrymple.’

  The imposing visage of Sir Edward Hawke looked fiercely at Palliser. ‘Why?’

  ‘Because he is a fellow of the Society. And because James Cook is merely a warrant officer.’

  ‘Dalrymple may be a fellow of the Royal Society, but he is not an officer in the King’s Navy.’ Sir Edward’s voice dripped with contempt.

  ‘To allow him to command one of His Majesty’s vessels would be utterly contradictory to the Navy’s regulations,’ put in Lord Brett witheringly.

  ‘And he lacks Cook’s battle experience,’ said Lord Carlisle.

  Stephens addressed Sir Edward, ‘It is my belief that James Cook is a far better candidate for the task, my lord. His ability is proven beyond doubt. You endorse that view, do you not, Captain Palliser?’

  ‘I do. I have worked alongside Cook many times, and hold him in the highest regard. It is true he is non-commissioned, but that is a matter which the Admiralty can rectify, surely?’

  There was a thoughtful silence, then Lord Townshend said gruffly, ‘Dalrymple’s presumption that he would command the ship is offensive, in my opinion.’

  Sir Edward, his face flushed, leaned forward: ‘I would rather cut off my right hand than permit anyone but a King’s Officer to command one of the ships of our Navy.’ He brought the flat of his hand down on the table, hard. ‘Cook is one of ours, Dalrymple is not.’

  The others nodded. Stephens said: ‘Then do I have your lords’ permission to convey that view to Lord Morton and the Council of the Royal Society?’

  ‘Are you in agreement with this, gentlemen?’ Sir Edward asked. All raised their right hands. Stephens picked up his quill and made a note. Sir Edward rose and shook Palliser’s hand again. ‘Cook will get his commission and his ship,’ he declared. ‘The Admiralty will order it, and the Royal Society must agree.’

  After he and the other lords had said their farewells and left the hall, Stephens smiled at Palliser and said, ‘Will you be the first to inform Cook or shall I?’

  Palliser responded promptly. ‘I’ll tell him.’

  ‘And I’ll tell Dalrymple.’ Stephens chuckled. ‘And suffer his ire,’ he added, with obvious relish.

  Eleven

  ON 29 MAY JAMES RECEIVED A NOTE FROM Captain Palliser, requesting a meeting with him at Garraway’s coffee house at mid-morning the following Wednesday. Assuming that Palliser wished to discuss the next voyage to Newfoundland, James took with him a map showing the as-yet-unsurveyed section of the island.

  Garraway’s coffee house was located in Exchange Alley, between Cornhill and Lombard Street. It was a fine spring morning, the sash windows were fully open and daffodils bloomed brightly in its window boxes. Palliser ordered coffee for them and, while they waited for it to come, he filled, tamped and lit his pipe bowl. In the next booth James noticed a large, elderly man with hammocks of flesh under his eyes, a jutting chin and a wig which drooped at both sides. Dressed in a brown leather jacket and matching waistcoat, he was busy writing in a notebook. Leaning across the table, Palliser murmured: ‘Dr Johnson.’

  ‘I have heard the name. What does he do?’

  ‘He’s a writer.’

  ‘Ah, yes.’ James stole a glance at the earnest figure. ‘He compiled a dictionary of the language, did he not?’

  ‘Yes. This is his favourite coffee house. He works here every day. He’s a grumpy old codger, hates to be disturbed when he’s writing.’ Palliser puffed hard on his pipe. ‘Never mind him, Cook, I have huge news for you.’

  James replied brightly, ‘The survey is to be concluded? I have been impatient for my orders — they’re overdue.’

  Palliser met his eyes firmly. ‘Yes, the survey is to be concluded.’ He paused. ‘But not by you.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Matthew Lane is to complete the Newfoundland survey.’

  James looked at Palliser in disbelief. He was being replaced by his assistant?

  ‘Sir, I cannot believe this. The survey has been my life for nearly five years. Why I am being denied the opportunity to finish the work?’

  Palliser set his pipe down on the table. ‘Because your talents are required elsewhere.’

  As Palliser summarized the recent decisions taken by the Royal Society and the Admiralty, James listened intently, scarcely able to believe what he was hearing. Command an expedition. To the South Sea. To observe the transit of Venus. Commissioned. Lieutenant Cook. The prospect, and its implications, stunned him. The South Sea. The words had captivated him since he was a boy, since he had handled the shilling in Sanderson’s shop, since he had read of the great voyages made by others. And now …

  ‘The first thing I must say, Cook, is congratulations. No appointment was more deserved, and I know that you will be equal to every challenge the expedition presents.’

  Struck by another thought, James gave Palliser a demanding look. ‘Was this appointment your doing, sir?’

  ‘No, Cook, it was yours. Your naval record spoke for itself. Dalrymple could not match it.’

  He reached into his leather satchel, drew out a sheet of notepaper and handed it to James. ‘Your preliminary instructions from the Admiralty.’

  James held the sheet, unable to prevent his hand from trembling.

  25 MAY 1768

  Dear James Cook

  Whereas we have appointed you First Lieutenant of His Majesty’s bark, the Endeavour, now at Deptford, and intend that you shall command her during her present intended voyage; and, whereas, we have ordered the said bark to be fitted out and stored at that place for foreign service, manned with seventy men and victualled to twelve months of all species of provisions (for the said number of men at whole allowance) except beer, of which she is to have only a proportion for one month and to be supplied with brandy in lieu of the remainder; you are hereby required and directed to use the utmost dispatch on getting her ready for sail accordingly, and then falling down to Gallions Reach, take in her guns and gunners’ stores at that place and proceed to the Nore for further orders.

  Ed Hawke, C. Townshend, P.T. Brett, T. Carlisle

  James looked up. ‘A bark?’

  Palliser nodded. ‘Endeavour. A converted collier. Bought by the Naval Board. Built at Whitby, launched three and a half years ago as Earl of Pembroke. Three hundred and sixty-eight tons.’ He waved in the direction of the proprietor. ‘Let’s add brandy to our coffees, to celebrate.’

  He leaned forward across the table and in a lowered voice said, ‘There is further news, Cook, unofficial as yet, but which will be of consequence to your exped
ition.’ Glancing around to ensure that no one else could hear, he said, ‘Samuel Wallis is safely back from his world circumnavigation in Dolphin. And there is a rumour going about the city taverns that he discovered a beautiful, mountainous island in the Southern Ocean, and has claimed it for our king.’

  Taking a cab in Lombard Street, James was driven back to Mile End Road, the Admiralty letter in his case along with the chart. His mind still seethed. The transit of Venus would occur on 3 June, only a little over a year away. Departure could be no later than August. Timing would be all. Then he had another thought. The Admiralty would doubtless instruct that he return from, as well as enter, the Pacific via the Horn for reasons of economy. But to do so would not constitute a proper circumnavigation. Wallis, Palliser had told him, had returned by the Cape of Good Hope, not the Horn. His had been a circumnavigation. James made a promise to himself: he would settle for nothing less than leading a round-the-world expedition. But he would keep this additional ambition entirely to himself.

  In the front room, Frances Wardale was holding little Elizabeth and spooning porridge into her mouth, the baby’s face half-covered with cereal. James peered at the baby’s comically messy face, then said to his cousin, ‘Where are Elizabeth and the boys?’

  ‘Upstairs,’ she replied, dully. Ignoring her usual sulky mood, he went up the stairs, two at a time.

  Elizabeth was sitting on the divan by the open window, embroidering a bodice and taking advantage of the light cast by the early afternoon sunshine. Both boys were sitting on the floor, drawing with the pencils which little James had been given for his last birthday.

  Elizabeth smiled wanly. ‘How was Captain Palliser? Did he give you news of the survey?’

  Sitting down at the other end of the divan, he told her the news. For some moments she did not reply. She just sat as if frozen, needle in her hand, thread dangling. James noticed how pale she was, and how starkly the shadows under her eyes contrasted with this paleness. Not looking at him, she said, ‘This expedition to the Southern Ocean, James: how long will it take?’

  ‘Two and a half years. Possibly three.’

  She looked up, startled. ‘Possibly three!’

  ‘What is it, Elizabeth?’

  ‘That is so long. And the voyage will be so dangerous.’

  ‘No more dangerous than to the Atlantic or the St Lawrence.’

  ‘To sail to the Pacific means that you will have to double Cape Horn, will you not?’

  ‘The winds mean that that is the usual route taken, yes.’ Why is she not pleased?

  ‘I have read of those waters. Cape Horn is a perilous passage.’

  ‘It is charted now, and I shall be consulting the charts constantly.’

  Ignoring this, eyes glistening, she said, ‘I do not want to be a Navy widow, James, and I do not want our children to grow up fatherless.’

  ‘Neither do I. That is why I will ensure there will be safe passage.’

  Avoiding his stern gaze, she said, ‘When you were away in Canada merely for the summer months, I could manage. But for three years, with four children to care for …’

  He said, coldly now, ‘Cousin Frances will be here to assist you.’

  ‘She will not! She is more of a hindrance lately with her constant complaints about life here. I intend to dismiss her. She can go back to Middlesbrough.’

  James and Nathaniel, drawings forgotten, were looking from their mother’s face to their father’s, then back again. Their little faces were grave.

  ‘Elizabeth, I will be commissioned. I will be a lieutenant. Was that not what you wanted? You told me you wanted that. Several times.’

  ‘Yes, but I did not want you to be away for over two years. That was why I was secretly pleased when you said that other man had been appointed to lead the South Sea expedition.’

  ‘Dalrymple?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Both the Royal Society and the Admiralty considered I was the better man to command the expedition. Is that not something you can take pride in?’

  Shaking her head, Elizabeth picked up the material she was sewing and dabbed her eyes with it. Nathaniel got up, went across and hugged her. Little James was looking down, his expression miserable. His father swallowed hard, several times, willing himself to stay calm, and be reasonable. This was the last thing he would have expected. But there could be no going back now. He said, unable to keep a tone of admonition from his voice, ‘Elizabeth, you know how long and hard I have worked for this promotion. For a commission, for a proper command. And I take great pride in the fact that I have come in through the hawsehole.’

  ‘Speak plain English, James, not the language of the Navy.’

  James clenched his right hand. ‘I mean, it has taken me thirteen years, thirteen difficult years, to progress from able seaman to lieutenant, from the orlop to the quarter deck. And be offered the command of an exploring ship. Few naval men can claim such a distinction.’ He paused. ‘And I am determined to succeed because—’ Holding up his right hand he opened it, to remind her of his old wound, ‘my first duty is to my country.’

  She looked at him with undisguised reproach, then said adamantly, ‘No. Your first duty is to your family.’

  ‘So you would have me decline the Admiralty’s offer?’

  Her expression was defiant. ‘I would, yes.’

  ‘And I will not.’ He got up and walked from the room.

  Pacing beside the river, for once he did not take in any of its water-borne activities. His thoughts were in turmoil. His wife was full of conflictions, like tide against wind, with cross-currents added. Measuring the heavens was a simple exercise, he thought, compared to charting a woman’s mind. He tried to order his thoughts, to ameliorate his disappointment, to see things from her point of view. She was a devoted mother. Her children were such an important part of her life. Naturally she would find his absence a worry, not knowing where he was, not hearing from him for months at a time. And she would bear a heavy domestic burden with three young children already and a fourth due shortly after he was to set sail. It was true, too, that Frances had been of limited help to the household. She should be sent back to Middlesbrough.

  Beside the Thames a coal barge was being unloaded, and a burly coal-heaver passed him, his face blackened, bent double with the load on his back. ‘Good day, squire,’ he groaned as he passed, and James nodded curtly by way of reply.

  Walking on, he presented to himself the other side of the marital ledger. She knew full well when she married him that naval duties would take him away for long periods. This was his duty, and as his wife hers was to abide by it. She would be well provided for in his absence, being entitled to draw on his naval savings. This appointment was probably a once in a lifetime engagement. If he declined it, his career would be over.

  At Wapping Stairs he turned and walked away from the river. He would arrange for a live-in maid to replace Frances and assist with the care of the children. Elizabeth’s mother was not far away and could provide her with company and assist with the children. Feeling the heat now, he unbuttoned his waistcoat. Half an hour later, Mile End Road came into sight, then the house. And by the time he opened the front door, he knew what he would say.

  ‘Where are the boys?’

  ‘I have put them to bed. They were upset. Children hate it when their parents argue.’ Her expression became accusatory.

  Ignoring this, he asked, ‘And Frances?’

  ‘She has gone for a walk with little Elizabeth.’

  ‘So we can talk frankly.’

  ‘What else is there to say?’

  He sat down on the chair under the window. ‘There is much to say, Elizabeth.’

  She looked at him doubtfully. Her eyes were pink-rimmed, her hair untidy. In her hands was a handkerchief which she was wringing, hard.

  James began. ‘I am fully aware of the strains my long absence will put upon our household. But I will do everything I can to compensate for this. I will engage the services of a ho
usemaid to replace Frances, who I know has been a disappointment to you. So the severest burdens of childcare will be removed from you.’

  She was staring at him, clutching the handkerchief, her eyes dull. Placing one hand over the bulge in her belly, she looked down. Feeling a surge of pity, he went to her, knelt and put his arms around her. ‘Elizabeth, you must know, I cannot decline this assignment. It is my sworn duty as a naval officer to serve the country we both love. And it will be my opportunity during this voyage not only to carry out vital astronomical observances, but to enlarge the King’s possessions in the world. It is possible that there is an undiscovered continent in the southern latitudes. And if so, I will claim it for Britain. If I do not, then the French or the Spanish will do so, and that is unthinkable to all Englishmen.’

  She looked at him. Although tears were spilling down her cheeks, she nodded faintly.

  He pressed on. ‘And although nearly three years sounds a long time, it will pass quickly. You will have the children’s interests to occupy you and them to keep you company. Your mother is still close. And I will ensure that you are able to draw on my naval allowance whenever you need to.’

  He placed a hand on her stomach. ‘I may even still be here for the birth of this one, before Endeavour sails.’

  Blinking away the tears, she said thickly, ‘When will that be?’

  ‘It cannot be later than August.’

  ‘The child is due in the last week of August. As you well know.’ Her tone was once again reproachful.

  He nodded. Then, keeping his hand on her stomach, he said, ‘That I can do nothing about. But I have made a resolution.’

  She looked puzzled. ‘What kind of a resolution?’

  ‘I will write a journal for you.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘It will be my duty, as you know, to maintain the ship’s log.’

  ‘I know that.’