by Graeme Lay
I will report on others of the ship’s complement as we proceed further south and I am able to form firm opinions of their respective qualities.
Your loving husband,
James
James climbed down the rigging to the platform on the mainmast. As the marine on sentry duty tolled the half hour on the ship’s bell, James took another reading, noted the latitude, 17° 32' south, estimated their longitude, 21° 11' west, then returned to the deck. Nodding approvingly at the men scrubbing the mid-deck, he glanced up and saw that the sails were billowing, but with light airs. He checked the course with Pickersgill, nodded at Evans at the wheel, then went down the aft hatchway and through the gunroom and the lobby to the Great Cabin door, which was closed. He shoved it open, then stopped and caught his breath.
Banks and Solander, barefoot, were bent over the long table on which James laid out the charts. The table was covered with a sheet of canvas, on which was a mass of seaweed and sea creatures: crabs, shrimps, jellyfish, anchovies and juvenile eels. All were writhing or jumping across the canvas in an attempt at escape. Banks was pouring fluid from a large jar into a series of smaller, glass-stoppered ones; Solander was parting the seaweed with his hands and separating the sea creatures from it. Seawater was dripping from the table onto the floor of the cabin, which reeked of fish and weed. Several shrimps flicked their way across the canvas and onto the floor, where they continued their hapless bid for freedom. A purple crab scuttled to the edge of the table, dropped and joined them.
Standing in the doorway, James set his hands on his hips. ‘What in God’s name is going on here?’
Banks looked annoyed; Solander merely blinked. Banks said, ‘I should have thought, Cook, that it is perfectly obvious. Solander and I are sorting our collected sea creatures. Preparatory to having Parkinson draw them.’
‘In the Great Cabin?’
‘Certainly. And why not? It is sufficiently commodious for both the classifying and the drawing.’
James inhaled sharply then said, ‘I beg to differ. Might I remind you that this is the very room where I chart this ship’s course and write up my log. I cannot share my cabin with these zoological activities.’ He pointed at the floor, where the patch of seawater was growing larger and sliding across the boards. ‘Look at the mess.’
Shrugging, Banks said, ‘I will fetch my niggers to clean it when we have finished.’
‘And when will that be?’
Banks turned to his colleague. ‘What say you, Solander? Two hours?’
Solander shrugged. ‘More like three, if Parkinson is to complete his drawings.’
James gritted his teeth. The impertinence of Banks was almost unbelievable; his carrying out such activity here absurd. The name ‘Great Cabin’ was a misnomer, for Endeavour’s was smaller than most commanders’ accommodation. Folding his arms, James declared: ‘Gentlemen, I am obliged to remind you that I am the commander of this ship. The Great Cabin is my domain. It is the place where I plot the ship’s course and record its progress. I cannot share my cabin with—’ He waved his hand at the squirming aquarium on the long table — ‘with a heap of jellyfish and shrimps!’
Banks pouted, set the jar of preserving fluid down on the table, wiped his wet hands on his breeches and said carefully, ‘And I, Cook, am obliged to remind you that I am paying for this expedition. Were it not for my zoological and botanical ambitions and interests, and my capital, this vessel would still be conveying coal from the Tyne to Wapping.’
James waited grimly for him to add something like ‘and you would still be floundering around the coast of Newfoundland’. But instead Banks declared, ‘I intend to return to England having classified for science, by the Linnaeus system, every exotic and unrecorded creature and plant I am able to procure.’ He scooped up a large jellyfish. ‘For example, I am naming this one Cyanea solandri.’
James met his dark gaze without flinching. ‘That is your right as a naturalist, Banks, and I do not question it.’ He waved his hand at the messy table. ‘But I will not tolerate this filth in the Great Cabin.’
Banks tried not to smile as he said, ‘Your initials may be JC, sir, but you are not Jesus Christ.’
‘I never claimed to be.’
‘Yet you display messianic tendencies at times.’
‘Your imagination gets the better of you, Banks.’
‘Better to have an imagination than to be obsessed with latitude and longitude.’
James flushed. This he would not have. ‘Were it not for that obsession, as you call it, then you would not survive. None of us would.’ He allowed a pause. ‘I do not question your right to carry out your work, Banks. What I am questioning is your right to do it here.’
Banks threw back his head and roared with laughter. ‘Then where do you suggest we carry it out? By the officers’ head?’
James shook his head. ‘No,’ he said, ‘I have a better suggestion.’
A compromise was reached. Banks, Solander and Parkinson would have the use of the Great Cabin from the first morning watch until the midday bell. The long table was to be left immaculate afterwards and the specimens removed. From midday the cabin would be given over to the main meal with the officers and the gentlemen, and thereafter for the remainder of the day, it would be James’s, and his alone, for him to make his journal entries and plot the ship’s course.
27 OCTOBER 1768
My fortieth birthday today, Beth. An auspicious milestone? Perhaps, two score years being more than a good many naval men attain. My mind was less occupied with my birthday than with thoughts of little James, whose fifth birthday it was two weeks ago. How those five years have flown. You will recall how I mentioned to you that his schooling should now begin, and that I had contacted a Mistress Edmondson of Stepney Green who runs a children’s teaching establishment there. I have paid his fees for the next year, so it would be as well to enrol him soonest. As for birthday presents for James and the other children, they will have to wait until my return but, be assured, their gifts will be exotic.
The ship’s officers somehow learned of my birthday — I suspect it was Cousin Isaac who put the word in the ear of Zachary Hicks, my second-in-command — and a toast was proposed to me at dinner today in the Great Cabin, Banks having supplied four bottles of Bordeaux wine from his private store for the occasion. A short speech seeming to be in order, I replied that my birthday did not mean a great deal to me, what truly mattered was the satisfactory discharge of my obligations to king and country. To return to England having executed my instructions would allow me to wholeheartedly celebrate future birthdays. This sentiment was greeted by general approbation from the officers and gentlemen present, and we returned to the business of dinner.
Zachary Hicks is a Londoner, from Stepney. Aged twenty-nine, he has been at sea for sixteen years. Highly dependable and a man of few words, he has a constant, hacking cough which keeps his fellow officers awake at night. Monkhouse the surgeon administers hot concoctions of laudanum and herbs to him, but with little effect. I suspect he may be consumptive.
You have already heard of John Gore, the American who is my third lieutenant. Having already circumnavigated the world twice, he is rather too fond of reminding me of this fact. He already yearns to be back in the South Sea, which he assures me is the greatest ocean on Earth. A keen marksman, when off duty he spends much time in the bow with his musket, shooting at seabirds and dolphins. Two days ago he succeeded in hitting a dolphin and it was hauled aboard. (Banks immediately seized the creature, and he and Solander spent hours dissecting it and examining the contents of its stomach. They then delivered the remains of the corpse to the cook for preparing for dinner. I found the meat somewhat oily, but palatable nevertheless.)
The mate, Robert Molyneux, a Liverpudlian, is only twenty-two, but was part of Wallis’s crew so also has valuable experience for this voyage. He is an excellent cartographer, and has proudly shown me the charts he has drawn, including some of Tierra del Fuego. I was impressed by hi
s surveying work.
Dick Pickersgill, the master’s mate, is only nineteen but has an old head on his young shoulders. He, too, is an aspiring cartographer but now has little time for drafting activities, being kept busy with his navigating duties as well as organizing the stores and the stowing of the anchors. He also regales the Endeavours with stories of his amorous conquests last year on King George’s Island, thus whetting their appetites considerably for similar pursuits.
Others of the company who are vital to the expedition I will report on at a later date.
As it is my intention to take Endeavour to Rio de Janeiro for her next provisioning, I will dispatch my letters to you via the next ship which leaves that port for England. Thus you may receive them in time for Christmas. Thereafter there can be no more letters, being as we will in the vast unknown reaches of the South Sea. But be assured, Beth, my journal writings to you will not cease, and my thoughts will always be with you and our four little ones, wherever I may be.
My love to all at Mile End Row,
James
13 NOVEMBER 1768
Latitude 22° 54' South; Longitude 43° 10' West
A gentle sea breeze and clear weather. Standing along shore for Rio de Janeiro, observed that the land on the sea coast is high and mountainous, and the shore forms some small bays or coves wherein are sandy beaches. The Sugar Loaf Hill at the west entrance to Rio de Janeiro NNW distant 4 or 5 leagues. At 9 am sprung up a light breeze at SE at which time we made sail for the harbour, and set the pinnace with Lieutenant Hicks and Charles Clerke up to the city of Rio de Janeiro to acquaint the viceroy with the reasons that induced us to put in here; which was to procure water and other refreshments; and to desire the assistance of a pilot to bring us into proper anchoring ground. At noon, standing in for the harbour.
Spyglass to his eye, James first focused on the entrance to Guanabara Bay and the islands nearby, then on Endeavour’s pinnace, moored to the landing stage on Rio de Janeiro’s quay. Behind the town the land swelled steeply to a range of mountains, their summits concealed by white clouds. He saw the pinnace cast off, but minutes later also saw that it did not contain Hicks and Clerke but two soldiers in brown uniforms. Another soldier was coxing the boat. Puzzled, James went to the larboard side of the ship as it came alongside. Calling up to him, one of the soldiers, a stout young man with a black moustache, informed James in passable English that the two Endeavour officers were in custody and would be released only when the ship’s commander came ashore.
‘On whose authority are they in custody?’ James demanded.
‘The Viceroy of Brazil, His Excellency Dom Antônio Rolim de Moura Tavares. He also requests that his officers come aboard your ship and inspect its cargo.’
James felt a tugging at his sleeve. It was Gore. He pointed shoreward. ‘Look.’ Another boat was being rowed towards the ship, its oarsmen dressed in white military uniforms.
Sixteen
SWEAT WAS BEADING JAMES’S BROW NOW, and not just from the tropical heat. They had to provision here, there was no alternative. But why this suspicion? Brazil was Portuguese and therefore an ally of England. All around the decks the other Endeavours were watching the looming confrontation closely; James could feel tension mounting around the ship. All the crew had been staring at the land, observing its tempting luxuriance, longing to take a turn on leave ashore. He was also aware that this would be the first test of his diplomacy. Leading over the mid-deck rail, he called down to the Portuguese party: ‘This is a ship of the Royal Navy of England and I am her commander. Foreign nationals cannot come aboard without my permission.’
One of the officers, a swarthy, narrow-faced captain, called back in heavily accented English, ‘And foreign nationals cannot land in Rio de Janeiro without the viceroy’s permission.’
There was a long pause. Turning to his lieutenant, James said irritably, ‘I fear we have no option, Gore. We must allow them their little exercise, if it permits us a speedier landing.’ He laughed drily. ‘And apart from the usual, all they’ll find are Banks’s pickled prawns.’
Gore nodded. He called down to the boat. ‘Your party may come aboard.’
The captain was the only one of the five officers who spoke English. Speaking slowly but officiously, he asked James what the object of his expedition was, how many men were aboard, what cargo Endeavour carried and what her armaments were. After answering the questions candidly, stressing the scientific nature of the voyage, James ordered Molyneux and Pickersgill to take the officers on a tour below decks.
Reassembling on the midship deck, the captain nodded curtly at James and announced, ‘I will now make my report to His Excellency, the Viceroy.’
‘And my two officers? When will they be released?’ James demanded.
‘After the viceroy has received my report.’ He gave a quick bow. ‘His Excellency also instructs that you attend a meeting with him tomorrow morning at his palace. At nine o’clock.’
James and Gore exchanged looks: Who on Earth do these people think they are?
Wearing his dress uniform, James stepped from the launch onto the stone steps which led up to Rio de Janeiro’s quay. The waterfront was crowded with carriages, carts and packhorses all jostling for position. Goods were being loaded and unloaded from and onto schooners and barges by barefoot, semi-naked black men. Seeing the shackles around their ankles and their cowed expressions, James realized with a jolt — slaves.
The Paço Imperial — the Imperial Palace — was a baroque, two-storeyed building with walls of stone and a half-tiled terracotta roof. Set back from the waterfront and separated from the quay by a broad, paved plaza, it had an ornate marble portal and several balconied windows with iron latticework railings on its upper floor. James was met at the palace door by an older black man with frizzy grey hair, wearing a red frock coat and matching breeches. The servant showed him into a large, carpeted drawing room, lined on two sides with glass cabinets, one filled with books, the other with bright pottery plates. On the rear wall was a small fireplace and a polished brass fireguard. A portrait of the extravagantly wigged Portuguese king hung above the fireplace, while on a lower level there were several other paintings of the Lisbon waterfront and merchant ships flying the Portuguese flag. The elderly black man left the room for a few minutes, then returned, stood in the doorway and announced, ‘His Excellency Dom Antônio Rolim de Moura Tavares, Viceroy of Brazil.’
The viceroy was about sixty, a short man with a puffed-out chest, a mane of white hair, widely spaced hazel eyes, a grey complexion and lips which were thin and bloodless. He wore a gilt-edged frock coat with outsized gold epaulettes, a white silk scarf, buckled shoes and a frog-buttoned red waistcoat, over which was a broad scarlet sash bearing the coat of arms of Portugal. James extended his hand. ‘Lieutenant James Cook, commander of King George of England’s ship Endeavour. His Majesty wishes me to convey to you his best regards to the people of Brazil.’
The viceroy shook James’s hand and waved him towards a pair of padded armchairs under the bay window. ‘Be seated, lieutenant. I have ordered coffee.’
After the coffee was brought in and poured by the black retainer, Dom Antônio explained that he had served time in London with the Embassy of Portugal there and so understood English well. But his manner was cold and distant. Determined not to waste time on niceties, and to make his intentions plain from the outset, James set his coffee cup down on the table and said: ‘My expedition requires provisions, Your Excellency, including the replenishment of our water casks. And my ship will need to be heeled and cleaned while she is in port.’
The viceroy considered this for a few moments, puckering his thin lips. ‘Your first request I will agree to. However, the goods must be purchased through an agent of my office, and there will be a surcharge of five per cent on all provisions, including water. Your second request is refused. Your vessel cannot be allowed to dock here. And apart from purchasing officials, only you will be permitted to come ashore. When you do so, an
officer of my army will accompany you at all times.’
For a few moments James was speechless. The demands of this over-dressed little man, who resembled one of Banks’s puffer fish, were outrageous. Then, leaning forward, he uttered a one-word reply. ‘Why?’
The viceroy’s eyes narrowed. ‘My officers reported seeing many armaments and many strange instruments on your ship. Ones they had never seen before. Large telescopes and—’ His English failing him, he waved one hand wildly — ‘this and that.’
‘Those instruments are for astronomical observations, and for the collection of natural specimens here and in other parts of the world. And the armaments are for self-defence, as any ship must allow.’
The viceroy said slyly, ‘Why should I believe you?’
James was tempted to reach over and tear the puffer fish’s outsized epaulettes from his shoulders. But instead he said carefully, ‘Need I remind you, viceroy, that your country and mine are allies?’
‘And might I remind you, Lieutenant Cook, that it is within my power to have no one from your vessel land in this port.’ All pretence of affability gone, he almost spat his next words. ‘You speak for your king, I speak for Portugal’s and I obey his orders. He knows full well that Brazil has suffered greatly for years from British privateers, and from French smugglers and spy ships. Our coastal towns have been looted, our people killed, our precious metals plundered.’ Sweeping back his white hair, he added sourly, ‘Is it any wonder that your ship is not welcome here?’