by Graeme Lay
‘The vessel I command is neither privateer nor French.’
‘But it may still have dishonourable intentions.’
James drew a deep breath. ‘Our intentions are entirely peaceful. All we require are provisions and fresh water. And a little time for our gentlemen scientists to botanize ashore.’
The viceroy’s already sceptical expression hardened. ‘You informed one of my officers, did you not, that you provisioned in Funchal but two months ago.’
‘That is correct.’
‘So why do you need to do so again?’
‘We next face a hard passage, doubling Cape Horn. Perhaps months without fresh water, fruit and vegetables. As you must well realize.’
There was silence for some moments, during which mistrust and acrimony hung between the two men like a miasma. Then, leaning back in his chair, the viceroy said, ‘I do not believe that your expedition has scientific motives. It is my belief that your so-called scientists are here to spy on my country.’
Anger welled up inside James and for a moment threatened to erupt. His scar began to throb, and he clenched and unclenched his right hand. Then he, too, lay back in his chair, willing himself to stay calm. He would not allow himself to be upset by this absurd little man. But nor would he abase himself. ‘Your accusations are unfounded, viceroy. Our motives are intended purely to further the interests of scientific discovery. So once again, I request that my vessel be allowed to take aboard the provisions we will need for the next stage of our voyage.’
The viceroy looked away, then drummed on the arm of his chair with his right hand for a few moments. His gaze returned to James. ‘You may provision here, lieutenant, but all purchases are to be made through an agent of this palace.’ His hands gripped the arms of his chair. ‘As for your other requests, they are denied. Apart from yourself and your provisioners, no member of your crew is allowed ashore.’
James stood up. The man was impossible. Placing his tricorn firmly on his head, he nodded curtly at the viceroy, who remained seated. ‘Since you do not take my word on the other matters, I will take my leave. Do not expect to see me again.’ He went to the door. Turning, he said, ‘I will be reporting your hostile attitude both to my king’s lords of the Admiralty and to the Portuguese authorities in London.’
James called the officers and gentlemen to the Great Cabin before the midday meal and apprised them of the acrimonious meeting. Heads were shaken in disbelief at his account. James concluded, ‘The provisioning must be done, even at the extortionate terms demanded. But only my clerk and I are to go ashore to supervise the purchases. The rest of you must remain aboard the ship.’
Banks looked aghast. Leaping to his feet, he cried, ‘But what about me and these other gentlemen?’ He waved his hand towards Solander and Sporing. ‘We have urgent work to do. There must be a great many new specimens here on this coast to be observed and collected. We cannot just pass them by.’
James considered this, well aware that it was true, aware too that the scientists were officially beyond his command. But the risks were great. Should the scientists be apprehended ashore, the ship could be seized by the Portuguese authorities. He went to the cabin window and stared across the water at the coastline, and the forested mountains in the distance. Turning back to the others he said matter-of-factly, ‘What you and your entourage do over the next days is your business, Banks. But I urge extreme caution and common sense while you are doing it.’
The scientists looked at each other and smiled, well able to read between the lines of the statement.
Although the anger James felt at what had happened subsided, it did not vanish. Instead it smouldered inside him like a fire in a peat swamp. He spent the next days at his writing desk, drafting then rewriting reports on the viceroy’s lack of cooperation until they were ready for dispatch home.
Banks at first sent his servants ashore at night, furtively, to collect plant specimens. But after they returned with a large number of exotic plants, his curiosity could not be constrained. The following night he and Solander stole ashore after nightfall in the yawl, rowing and being carried along the coast by the flowing tide. Once ashore they collected more plants, observed the brilliant plumage of Brazilian birds and even fraternized with some locals who showed them, then sold to them, vegetables, tropical fruits, flowers, pork and poultry. These goods and the specimens were smuggled back to the ship where Sporing catalogued them and Parkinson drew their likenesses. The scientists were in their element, the secrecy of their forays adding a frisson of excitement to their discoveries. Fully aware of what was happening, conniving in the surreptitious forays, James avoided speaking of them until at supper one evening Banks said, ‘Do you recall, Cook, how I once purchased scalps from the Canadian Indians?’
James nodded. It was not an easy story to forget.
Banks continued, a mischievous glint in his eye, ‘I thought I might return to the ship with the scalp of the viceroy, to add to my collection.’
Although James was amused by this suggestion, he simmered still over his treatment at the hands of the viceroy. Why was it, he wondered, that some men, when given authority, misused it so sorely? Umbrage ate away at him through each day they remained anchored off the coast, intensifying his frustration. In order that the time in the harbour not be entirely wasted, he ordered the men to clean the ship thoroughly, inside and out, and to wash all items of their clothing. There were mutterings from the crew at these instructions, and aggravation at seeing a nearby enticing shore they were unable to land on, but the work requested was completed. At the same time the level of grog consumption on the orlop deck rose.
On 20 November James received a report from Bosun Guthrey that Seaman Nicholson had sworn at the officer on watch and that Seaman Sutherland had refused to carry out cleaning duties. Without hesitation James called all hands on deck and from the quarter deck read out the charges, then sentenced the two miscreants to twelve lashes each.
The gentlemen remained below, the marines lined up across the forecastle and the crew assembled before the mainmast in the mid-morning heat, their expressions sullen. First Sutherland was stripped to the waist and tied to the gratings by the bosun. Then John Reading, the bosun’s mate, was handed the lash by Guthrey.
The mate, barefoot and naked except for his calico trousers, gave Sutherland his first five, pausing between each stroke and bringing his arm over in elliptical orbits. As he did so, James, watching from the larboard side of the deck, realized what was happening. He could tell full well when a man was shirking, when the lash was not being applied wholeheartedly. Reading was directing most of the cat’s force at the grating. By the sixth stroke, when still no blood had been drawn and Sutherland’s back was merely striped, James stepped forward and seized Reading’s arm. ‘Hold it there, Reading.’ Turning, he called to Guthrey. ‘Bosun, this man is withholding the punishment. Take the lash yourself and lay it on. And when the others are done, Reading is to receive a dozen.’
Guthrey nodded. ‘Aye, sir.’
Sulkily, Reading handed the cat to Guthrey, then slunk to one side to await his thrashing.
When James entered the peace of the Great Cabin, Parkinson was at the table, huddled earnestly over a large sheet of paper. There was a paintbrush in the long, thin fingers of his right hand, and pencils, more brushes and a paint box beside him. Also on the table was a wilted cutting of a flowering plant. James greeted him then said, ‘How is your work progressing?’
The young man set down his brush. ‘Satisfactorily. Banks and Solander returned last night with several new specimens. I have been working on one of them this morning. A climbing plant.’
‘Am I permitted to see it?’
The Scotsman slowly spread his hands, unveiling the drawing. Smiling bashfully, he said, ‘It requires a little more work yet.’
James leaned over his shoulder, his eyes widening at what he saw. The painting was of a thorned branch that bore dark green leaves and vivid orange flowers. Both leaves and
flowers were veined, but the flowers were delicate and bunched in groups of four or five, bursting forth from the end of their narrow stems. Each leaf, each flower, each vein, had been rendered and coloured with exquisite detail. The stems were a very dark green, and several of the flowers carried protruding pistils of the same colour. Although the specimen he was copying was dying, Parkinson’s drawing was bursting with life.
James said, ‘That is very beautiful. The flowers are superbly detailed.’
‘Thank you. But they are actually bracts. Coloured leaves. The flower itself is inside the bract. And the plant is a vine.’
‘Is it indigenous to this coast?’
‘I believe so. In this climate it appears to proliferate, and the bracts make a grand display of colour. Not just this orange specimen, but there is a purple variety, too. Spectacular is not too strong a word for this plant, sir.’
‘Indeed. Have you named it?’
‘Dr Solander has. He calls it Calyxis ternaria.’
Seeing the wonderful result of the scientists’ foray to the shore calmed James’s spirit. The young Scotsman’s abilities were consummate. James’s own hydrographic drawings captured major landmarks — promontories, islands, bluffs, beaches — but Parkinson’s skills were capable of capturing and depicting the minutiae of the natural world. For this reason James did not regret conniving in Banks’s and Solander’s forays in this place. An accumulation of botanic paintings of such quality would go a long way towards justifying the expedition.
At last, after nearly a month in limbo off Rio, Endeavour was almost ready to resume her voyage provisioned — albeit expensively — and freshly caulked and cleaned from stem to stern. On the morning of 2 December, James ordered her anchors raised and her topsails hoisted in order to turn down the harbour and test the rigging. He stood on the quarter deck, Evans and Weir at the wheel below him, as the men scurried up the shrouds. ‘Let ’em go!’ called Evans, and the topsails were released, dropped and filled with the easterly breeze. Out wide on the fore topgallant, three men clung to the rigging as Evans swung the helm three spokes to larboard. As he did so a gust of wind came across the harbour and Endeavour lurched to starboard. The man furthest out on the topgallant arm lost his footing, fell back, then plunged like a gunned duck into the harbour.
The cry went up from half a dozen throats: ‘Man overboard!’ Lines were thrown over the larboard side, the yawl was hastily hoisted out. Half an hour later a sodden body was hauled up on the end of a boat-hook by Guthrey and laid out on the foredeck, the upper body and face as bleached as a sheet.
‘Who is it?’ James called down to Guthrey.
‘Flower, sir. Able Seaman Flower.’
3 DECEMBER 1768
Dearest Elizabeth,
We sail shortly from Rio, bound for Cape Horn. Rio de Janeiro has proved to be principally a port of frustration for us because of the lack of cooperation of the Brazilian authorities, and we will not be sorry to quit its shores.
You may recall my mentioning the name of a seaman called Peter Flower, who served me for some years as an AB on Grenville. It is my sad task to report that Flower fell from the rigging and was drowned before he could be retrieved from the harbour. I cannot understand how he came to lose his footing as he was an experienced top man and the winds were light at the time. It is possible that he had been drinking, as the men have been hard at the grog during our time in port due to frustration at seeing the enticing coast of Brazil yet not being able to go ashore. Flower was no stranger to the mug, and I once had occasion on Grenville to have him flogged for drunkenness. Yet he bore no grudge towards me and I had no hesitation in signing him on for this voyage. Flower has been replaced with a local Portuguese, Manoel Pereira. He is grateful for the offer, and is the only obliging person we have encountered at this port of call.
Others of Endeavour’s company I am now better acquainted with are:
Charles Clerke, the second master’s mate. He is from Essex, and although only twenty-five is a veteran of Byron’s voyage. He is a great recounter to the crew of sea stories from the earlier voyage, although I suspect many of his tales are embellished. It is a source of great pride to him that his Accounts of Very Tall Men, Seen Near the Straits of Magellan was published in the Royal Society’s Philosophical Transactions last year. In this account he claimed that the men of Patagonia were nine feet tall. But after several handles of grog a few nights ago, he confessed to me, no doubt in the awareness that we would touch Patagonia before the year is out and that his falsehood would then be exposed, that he had perhaps overstated the men’s height. ‘The Patagonians were,’ he said, ‘about your height, Lieutenant Cook.’ The man may thus have a bright future as a writer of romantic stories.
Charles Green, our thirty-three-year-old astronomer, will be crucial to the success of the expedition when the transits occur. He is certainly a man of considerable experience, and was appointed to the position of astronomer on Endeavour by the Royal Society. He relishes the role, and works for hours below at his desk, is seen regularly on the afterdeck by day deploying his sextant and at night peering at the cosmos through his scope. A rotund figure, he consumes great quantities of food and drink, and as he does so his face quickly turns the colour of a boiled lobster. However, he takes his position with suitable seriousness, is of a generous disposition, and spends some time tutoring the officers and other supernumeraries in the art of astronomical observation, referring to Maskelyne’s Almanac.
I cannot forebear to tell you something of John Ravenhill, the sailmaker and oldest man aboard. No one is sure of his age. When I asked him he was evasive, mumbling something about ‘in my seventh decade, cap’n’, but others swear he is nearer eighty. It is somewhat strange to have among the crew a man older than my own father. How such an ancient mariner can maintain such an important role I cannot comprehend, particularly as he is either drunk or half-drunk most of the time. But he can mend a torn sail in a flash with gimlet, needle and thread, as well as maintaining the spares, and so long as he continues to do so with efficiency he can imbibe all the grog he is allowed.
Yuletide now approaches for you and the children in London. How strange it is for me to think of you all in the ice and snow, while here we experience nothing but heat and warm rain. I cannot quite get used to the fact that here, south of the equator, the seasons are entirely reversed. However, when we reach the higher latitudes, by Christmas if all is plain sailing, then the temperatures will be more akin to England’s.
From now on we will be entering testing waters, following the east coast of South America and intending to double Cape Horn by the New Year. I know how concerned you will be for my safety, Beth, but be assured I will take the utmost care of my crew, my ship and myself. The veterans of Wallis’s expedition, I am sure, will be valuable in assisting me to chart the safest possible passage from the Horn into the South Sea.
I will conclude now and dispatch this letter, along with my others to you, to the shore for conveyance on the ship leaving soonest for London. My deepest love to you, little James, Nathaniel, Elizabeth and our newest child, along with warmest wishes to your mother and stepfather. As it will be Nathaniel’s birthday on the fourteenth of this month, please convey to the little lad his papa’s love and assure him that my thoughts will be with him on his special day.
A merry Christmas and a peaceful New Year to you all!
Your loving husband,
James
Day after day Endeavour butted her way through the South Atlantic. Although the hours of daylight increased as they moved into the higher latitudes, temperatures fell. James issued the crew their Magellan jackets and fearnoughts, and when the ship ran into gales he put the crew on ‘watch and watch’ — four hours on, four hours off — which meant they seldom slept adequately. But Endeavour’s performance in the long, rolling swells of the ocean pleased him, and his admiration for the ship was growing. She was now far from her English home, yet, plucky and tough, she showed no sign of pining for it.<
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Led by Banks, the scientists worked ceaselessly, collecting marine specimens, observing birds, netting a swarm of butterflies which were blown onto the decks, seeing their first seal. Although James remained respectful of Banks’s energy, the naturalist continued to test his resolve. It was after dinner in the Great Cabin that Banks raised the subject of another port of call. Seated under the stern window, sipping a glass of claret, he said, ‘I am certain, Cook, that the Falkland Islands offer fine botanical prospects. It would be greatly to our advantage to call there.’
The ship rolled and the cabin lanterns swung.
James closed one eye. ‘Our advantage, Banks?’
‘Yes. Solander, Sporing and myself. No scientist has yet collected specimens from those islands.’ He set down his glass. ‘It would take but a week ashore.’
‘And the consequent loss of a week’s sailing,’ James said. ‘Might I remind you, Banks, that the primary aim of this voyage is to make King George’s Island by May.’ He took a mouthful of cheese. ‘No number of exotic insects could atone for missing the transit.’
Banks looked grumpy.
At the table, Solander stared down at his plate.
Banks said, ‘Perhaps then for just a few days. Three even.’
James shook his head. ‘Time is too precious. Do not raise the question again. Besides, it is said that the Spanish now have a hold on the Falklands, so there is a chance that we would not be welcome there.’
‘Are you saying that we will not touch land until we make King George’s Island?’
‘I am saying no such thing. We will certainly need fresh water by the New Year, so we will go ashore at Tierra del Fuego.’
Banks sniffed. ‘A barren place from what I have read.’
‘Perhaps. But the long daylight hours we now have must surely produce plant growth in spite of the low temperatures.’ He turned to Solander. ‘Would you not say so, doctor?’