by Graeme Lay
Solander looked thoughtful. ‘Long hours of daylight do encourage plant growth, even in low temperatures. That is certainly the case in the high latitudes in Sweden. So Tierra del Fuego may provide good specimens.’
Banks helped himself to another drink. He picked up one of the ship’s biscuits from the bowl on the table and tapped it irritably on his plate. As he stared down at the biscuit, his eyes began to bulge. Dozens of tiny insects were streaming away from it, swarming in all directions. Cursing, Banks brushed the creatures wildly from the table with his hand.
Unable to help himself, James said with calculated calmness, ‘There we are, Banks. Some wildlife for you to go on with in the meantime.’
Seventeen
BY NEW YEAR’S DAY 1769 they had made latitude forty degrees south. Although the temperature had dropped to forty-eight degrees Fahrenheit and months of hard sailing still lay ahead, both ship and crew were optimistic over the prospects of the New Year. After discussing the subject with the other officers, and in particular with Molyneux and Gore, who had both rounded the Horn before, James decided to take the passage from the Atlantic to the Pacific through the Strait le Maire. Though longer, it was considered safer.
11 JANUARY 1769
Latitude South 54° 20'; Longitude West from Greenwich 64° 35’
A steady gentle breeze and fair weather. Sounded and had 64 fathoms, gravel and small stones. At 8 am saw the land of Tierra del Fuego extending from the west to the SEBS, distance off shore between 3 and 4 leagues. Saw some of the natives who made smoke in several places, which must have been done as a signal to us as they did not continue it after we passed.
After they succeeded, on the fourth attempt, at passing through Strait le Maire against the prevailing westerlies, James judged that Endeavour should drop anchor in an adjoining bay and shore parties be mounted. The place was called the Bay of Good Success, and the date of their landfall was 15 January.
23 JANUARY 1769
My dear Beth,
It seems somewhat strange to write the new date ‘1769’. What will this New Year bring to you and our growing family? Good fortune, I hope. Perhaps you will be able to visit Christiana and my father in Yorkshire in the spring; I know they would love to see you and the children. If you do travel north, then I urge you to also visit the Walkers, in Whitby.
I write from near the bottom of the world, in a bay of the land named by Magellan in 1519: Tierra del Fuego. Banks has been anxious to get ashore for weeks, and has tried my patience in this regard. However, our principal need is for water and firewood so while the scientists proceed with their plant collecting inland, the crew has been attending to more pressing matters.
The scientists had a sorrowful experience while ashore, which they related to us when they returned to the ship. Banks’s two negro servants, Richmond and Dorlton, are dead, frozen to death when the weather turned foul and they were caught in the open. Banks and Solander had been inland collecting alpine plants while the negroes remained on lower land. The scientists were benighted but lit a fire and survived their night in the open, but the negroes did not survive the ice and snow, even though they had drunk copious quantities of rum (empty bottles were found beside their bodies).
This news greatly saddened me as Richmond and Dorlton were strong, reliable workers. However, Banks did not seem unduly troubled by their demise. Instead, he triumphantly showed me the several bags of alpine plants he and Solander had collected, saying, ‘The sojourn was a great success.’ When I reproached him for his lack of compassion over the loss of his two servants, he merely shrugged and said, ‘Some losses are to be expected in these latitudes.’ I find this attitude perplexing.
Another troubling episode involved young Buchan, the draughtsman. Monkhouse, the surgeon, who was also ashore with the party, reported to me that Buchan suffered what he diagnosed as a fit of epilepsy, a disease of the nervous system, probably brought on by the freezing conditions. This is of concern to me because Buchan is a landscape draughtsman of considerable talent, and before his fit he produced a fine drawing of a Fuegan village. I expect that the coming warmer temperatures will ensure that he will not experience another seizure.
Monkhouse and I spend much time discussing the health of the crew. Another older member of the company (he is thirty-seven) does not inspire my confidence, having little knowledge of the importance of diet in combating scurvy, and being short and hunched of shoulder is not himself the embodiment of good health. A withdrawn and unsociable figure, he informed me that he, too, is keeping a journal of the voyage, and I suspect that this accounts for the hours when he does not appear on deck. His assistant, William Perry, is a great deal more diligent, and Monkhouse’s brother Jonathan, one of the midshipmen, is a more appealing fellow as well.
You will remember my anger at the Naval Board’s appointment of the one-handed John Thompson as cook. I now must accept that my judgment of the man was premature. He manages the galley with one hand better than many cooks do with two. He has a great fondness for the grog, which accompanies him at all times, but this does not impair his cooking. Meals are a vital part of shipboard life, and in this regard Thompson is proving an asset to the company. Drunk or sober, he feeds the Endeavours well.
At last we are in the great South Sea, which I refer to now as the Pacific Ocean. A boyhood ambition of mine fulfilled! Temperatures will rise over the coming weeks and the Endeavours should no longer need their Magellans. First, though, I will take the ship further south. Then by February I hope to be on a more westerly heading, intending to reach King George’s Island in another three months or so. There the great prize — the transit of Venus — will await us.
My love to all,
James
1 MARCH 1769
First part fresh breeze, the remainder moderate breezes and clear weather. The result of the observations gives 110° 33' West longitude from Greenwich and exactly agrees with the longitude given by the log, from Cape Horn. This agreement of the two longitudes after a run of 660 leagues is surprising and much more than could be expected; but as it is so, it serves to prove, as well as the repeated trials we have made when the weather would permit, that we have had no current that has affected the ship since we came into these seas. This must be a great sign that we have been near no land of any extent, because near land are generally found currents. It is well known that on the east side of the Continent in the North Sea we meet with currents above 100 leagues from the land, and even in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean between Africa and America are always found currents, and I can see no reason why currents should not be found in this sea, supposing a continent or lands lay not far west from us, as some have imagined, and if such land was ever seen we cannot be far from it, as we are now 5,050 leagues west of the coast of Chile.
‘Cook.’
‘Banks. Good day.’
‘Almost six weeks now, and no sign of land.’
‘No sign whatsoever.’
The two men were standing on the afterdeck. James peered at the open sea, shading his eyes from the sun with his left hand. Endeavour remained on her north-west course, beating into the westerly which had prevailed to a greater or lesser extent since they had turned away from the icy latitudes, her blunt bow pushing and pitching her way into the ocean which already seemed infinite. Banks followed his gaze, to where the endless dark blue Pacific swells rolled on towards them. The naturalist’s dark hair was tied in a queue with a blue ribbon.
Pointing directly ahead, James said, ‘The swells are regular. And my reckonings show that there are no currents in this part of the ocean.’
Banks looked doubtful. ‘Is that conclusive disproof of a continent?’
James’s gaze swept the misty horizon. ‘I believe so. Were there a landmass to the west, there would be currents and the swells would be refracted. There are no currents and no refractions.’
Endeavour pitched heavily and Banks gripped the knighthead with one hand. ‘And yet the scholars say there is a contin
ent out there.’
‘Scholars? By that do you mean Alexander Dalrymple?’
‘Not merely him. From ancient times it has been postulated that such a landmass exists.’
‘And you are disappointed that we have not found it. And so nor any new species.’
‘Naturally. But we may yet. Although with each day and each week, and no sign of a continent, my hopes fade.’ His attention caught by a movement in the sky, he pointed. ‘But there are compensations. Look—’
Larboard of the ship, a red-tailed tropicbird soared high in the sky. Pure white except for its orange beak and scarlet, bifurcated tail feathers, the beautiful bird wheeled, spotted its prey, then plummeted into the sea. Banks smiled. ‘Magnificent. I’ve named that one Phaeton erubescens.’
A light mist drifted across the water. Both men ignored it and in minutes it had passed, replaced by a delicate, gauzy rainbow. As the ship’s bell tolled three times, James studied Banks from the corner of his eye. He could sense, as well as see, the man’s disappointment, and for that reason felt sorry for him. His born-to-rule manner could be infuriating, but his fervour for the natural world, and his determination to plunge himself into the unknown, were undeniable. He nodded dismissively at the naturalist. ‘I’m going below, I have work to do. Are you coming?’
‘No, I’ll remain here a while.’
‘Looking out for the continent?’
‘Looking out for the continent.’
The best place to view the night sky was from the afterdeck. Following their supper in the Great Cabin, James and Green would lie on the deck, telescopes to their eyes, staring up at the blazing cosmos. Green, who seemed to be growing fonder of the bottle the further north they sailed, usually brought a supply of port up on the deck with him, alternating between staring at the stars and swigging from the bottle.
As Endeavour rolled on in the gentle swell, James lay on his back beside the stout figure of Green, gazing upwards. A little way along the deck in her pen, the ship’s nanny goat bleated twice, then was silent. Staring heavenward, James was struck in particular by the Crux, the Southern Cross, which he had never tired of observing ever since they had entered the southern latitudes. He raised his right hand and pointed. ‘There are the pointers, Green. See?’
The astronomer put his scope to his eye. ‘Yes. Alpha and Beta Centauri. Brilliant.’ He set down his telescope, sat up and took another swig of port.
Although the Southern Cross was the sky’s smallest constellation, it was also the brightest, blazing like a magnesium flare. Scope still fixed to his right eye, James said, ‘The Coalsack is particularly bright tonight.’ Focusing on the dark nebula below the Crux, which was surrounded by the countless, gleaming stars of the Milky Way, he said, ‘I was reading an account of the 1500 voyage of the Portuguese navigator, Cabral. The one who discovered Brazil. Cabral and his men viewed the Southern Cross as a symbol of their religious faith.’ He paused. ‘I see it more as an astronomical guiding light.’ He moved his gaze slightly upwards. ‘You can see that the Acrux is actually a close double star. Hence its extreme brightness. See? Green? Green?’
When there came no reply, James propped himself up on one elbow and looked over at the astronomer. The telescope had rolled from Green’s hand and he was fast asleep.
31 MARCH 1769
My dearest Beth,
You are doubtless savouring, or perhaps still anticipating, the arrival of spring. The oaks and elms on Wapping common will be in new leaf and James and Nathaniel will be practising their climbing skills. I hope that the new nursemaid is proving suitable for little Elizabeth and our baby. I also trust that you received the letter sent to you from Rio de Janeiro, in which I outlined my frustrations with the authorities there. Be assured, that episode is far behind us, and we are again in tropical waters, ones which I hope will prove hospitable to us.
We are now passing through the Dangerous Archipelago, islands so low-lying they are close to the level of the ocean itself. The islands are inhabited — we have seen natives on their shores but have had no intercourse with them, preferring to press on towards King George’s Island.
After almost eight weeks at sea our supplies of fruit and vegetables are well nigh exhausted. Consequently, some of the men are showing the symptoms of scurvy, and I ordered a dietary regime of wort (an infusion of malt) and pickled cabbage for all hands. The men were at first resistant to eating the cabbage, muttering of its strange taste so I forthwith ordered it served, with some flourish, to the officers and gentlemen in the Great Cabin. The servants, having witnessed us eating it with enthusiasm, reported this to the other decks. As a consequence, the crew, having seen or heard of their superiors consuming the cabbage, set to eating theirs with equal enthusiasm. Combined with the wort, I am confident this will keep at bay the scurvy until we close on King George’s Island. There are diverse ways of getting men to conduct themselves in ways which are in their best interests. Force is but one; example set by the behaviour of their superiors is another and is a far better way, I believe.
A deeply distressing incident occurred a few days ago, one which is without precedent in my nautical experience. A marine, William Greenslade, a quiet young man who had hitherto given no offence to anyone, was given custody of a piece of sealskin taken aboard at Tierra del Fuego. It was the intention of his fellow marines to slice up the skin and convert the pieces to tobacco pouches. But when they denied Greenslade a piece for himself he was evidently offended and took a piece of the skin without authority. After the other marines learned of this action he was chastised by them — to such an extent that at dusk on 25 March the young man went forward and threw himself overboard. When his loss was reported to me I could scarcely believe that such a petty theft could have such a dire consequence. But, regrettably, men confined at sea for long periods are capable of irrational behaviour. In this case such behaviour has led to the wholly unnecessary death of a man of just twenty-one years.
On a less sombre note, the men grow excited at the prospect of raising the island of which they have heard so much from Wilkinson, Pickersgill and the others who have already experienced its delights. Before we arrive I will need to remind the crew of the principal purpose of our visit, that is, its scientific motives, and I will be strictly enforcing Lord Morton’s rules of conduct with the natives.
I will close now as Banks will be coming shortly to the Great Cabin to write his journal and I have no wish to share the table with him while he is doing so. So I shall, as always, lock away my writing to you before he arrives. Although Banks often shares his writing with me, I have no wish to share mine with him. These words are for you and you alone, dearest Beth.
Your loving husband,
James
‘Land ho! On the starboard bow!’
Joseph Magra’s cry from the masthead came at mid-afternoon on 12 April. Some men rushed to the rails, others scampered up the rigging. James stood on the quarter deck, spyglass to his eye. Earlier there had been heavy showers, and now mist still hung across the horizon like a curtain. As the ship moved closer to the island, driven by a light nor-westerly breeze, the misty curtain slowly parted, as if in a real theatre, and all hands stared at what lay upon the stage.
The scene before them reduced the crew to awed silence. The island’s shadowy, spired mountains seemed to rise straight from the sea. There were gashes in their slopes as if they had been slashed by a giant’s knife, and traces of cloud remained about the peaks.
As the ship moved closer to the land, with Evans and Anderson at the wheel, the Endeavours saw that the mountains were covered in forests which reached right to their summits. The welcome smells of land — damp earth, fresh vegetation and wood smoke — drifted across the water towards them. They saw, too, that there was another island not far to the west, also jagged and forested. Training his spyglass on this other island, James thought it must be that which Wallis named York Island.
Putting his scope aside, James and his entire crew stared at King Georg
e’s Island which was now coming into focus. In its scale and beauty James had seen nothing like it. Even the fiords of Norway could not compare. They had grandeur, certainly, but not a beauty such as this. The island’s towering peaks, its forests, the azure sea and the reef which surrounded it like a garland — and all overlaid with blinding blueness — it was the most remarkable sight he had ever set eyes on, so beautiful it was almost unearthly.
Staring at the island, he also felt triumph racing through his veins like a flowing tide. He had succeeded in bringing the ship and its crew halfway around the world to this speck of land in the centre of Earth’s greatest ocean. Although there was yet much to do, this was the first real prize, and now it was within his grasp. He had proved he could do it.
As he continued to stare at the towering mountains, as captivated as the other Endeavours, James was joined at the rail by Parkinson. ‘Quite a sight, sir.’
‘Indeed it is.’
‘Those mountains, those peaks. They are as uneven as a piece of crumpled paper.’
James nodded. ‘But far more beautiful. I suppose you cannot wait to paint them.’
‘Yes, I am impatient to begin. The verdure—’ He stared shoreward. ‘It reaches to the very summits of the mountains. I have seen nothing like it before.’
‘Nor I.’
Through the scope James could now see the island’s fringing coastal plain, which was covered with stands of palm trees. In places smoke rose into the sultry air from the coastal forest. Directly ahead of the ship, spindrift was rising from a line of white water. The spray was caused by the encircling reef, James presumed. He swept the long line of white water with his scope, searching it for a break, for the pass that would lead them into Port Royal. Then, observing that there was a cessation in the spray a few points to the west, he trained the scope on it. The water there was as smooth as silk. The pass.