by Graeme Lay
It was not until 20 August that they came to the end of New Holland. It had taken over two weeks of punishing sailing to reach the tip of the peninsula James named Cape York after the late Royal Highness the Duke of York. Over that fortnight they had made their way laboriously northward with the pinnace and the yawl preceding Endeavour, taking soundings constantly.
Now they were in a complexity of islands, shoals and sandbars but, after turning west, they entered a channel which promised to lead them ultimately to the East Indies, the strait charted in 1606 by the navigator Luis Vaez de Torres and named after the Spaniard.
After landing on a nondescript island, one of a cluster, James took possession of the entire coast they had traversed in the name of the English king, satisfied that he had achieved something no other European before him had. A pole was set, the Jack was hoisted, a volley of small arms fired and echoed by one from Endeavour. The unprepossessing place was named Possession Island, and James named the eastern coast of the continent New South Wales. Notwithstanding the fact that a Dutchman, Willem Janszoon, had made landfall on the huge indentation in the north coast of New Holland in 1606, and that another Dutchman had named the giant bay Gulf of Carpentaria seventeen years later, the Endeavours now considered the whole continent to be England’s. While aware of the Dutchmen’s earlier visits James also knew that none of them had touched upon the east coast of this continent.
That evening, with Endeavour on a steady westerly course, James, Banks and Solander stood in the stern watching the sun sliding down a lavender sky. It was still fiercely hot and they were all in their shirtsleeves. The sea was making a gentle gurgling sound against the hull as the ship bore steadily west. Knowing how quickly sunset came in these latitudes, James would shortly order her to stand to for the night.
Putting a hand to his brow, Banks said quietly, ‘I am feeling nostalgic.’
James frowned. The botanist did not look unwell. ‘Have you seen the surgeon about it?’
‘Why?’
‘Your illness. Nos — What is it?’
Banks laughed scornfully. ‘Nostalgia. And it is not an illness, Cook, it is an emotion.’
James felt a familiar irritation. It always rankled when Banks paraded his superior education and condescended to him. They had been exchanging journals recently, and James felt envious when he read Banks’s vivid descriptions of the places and peoples they had encountered. Ten days earlier Endeavour had been in the open sea and carried by currents towards the coral reef where there were huge breaking waves. Recording this, Banks wrote, ‘The vast foaming breakers were too plainly to be seen not a mile from us. At this critical juncture, at this, I must say, terrible moment, when all assistance seemed too little to save even our miserable lives, a small air of wind sprang up from the land, so small that at any other time in a calm we should not have observed it.’ Later they discovered, almost miraculously, a narrow passage through the reef, and an inflowing tide took them through it to safety. Banks wrote, ‘We were hurried in by a stream like a mill race.’
James knew only too well that the botanist’s fluency and vocabulary were a reproach to the dull prose of his own official journal. But he reminded himself that his duty as commander was to record, not embellish. He was not a man of letters, nor had he any ambition to become one. His vocation was of a much more practical nature. And that prompted him to imagine what would have happened if Banks had been in command of the ship. Endeavour would never have got out of Plymouth Sound! This knowledge consoled him, along with the knowledge that his private journal to Elizabeth contained a record of his true feelings, candidly expressed.
He looked away towards the setting sun. It was gilding the sea aft of the ship, and the wind was soft and warm. ‘This nostalgia,’ he said. ‘How is it defined?’
‘A kind of melancholia caused by a longing for home. I came upon it in Dr Johnson’s dictionary. It’s from the Greek nostos, to return home, and algos, meaning pain.’
As always, Solander looked impressed. ‘Feeling pain for home.’ He nodded. ‘It is a useful word, I believe, to describe what people feel when they have been away too long.’
James remained silent. But he committed the word to memory. Nostalgia. It well described what he was feeling, too. In England, autumn would soon be coming. Season of mists, mellowness and golden foliage. He imagined Elizabeth and the children would then be walking on the common, perhaps gathering chestnuts for roasting. Did they think of him as often as he did of them?
It was just after daybreak when Gore rushed into the Great Cabin. ‘Captain! Come up on deck!’
‘What is it?’
‘Come and see!’
They rubbed their eyes, to remove the hallucination. But although unbelievable, the vision was indelible. An island, but one quite unlike any they had seen in this hemisphere. Its hills and valleys were covered in pasture on which sheep and cattle were grazing. Men in European clothes were riding on horseback across the hills. Palm trees lined a sandy shore, but there was also a village above a cove, with three-storeyed brick houses and a spired church. The Endeavours stared at the outlandish sight. They had seen nothing like it since Rio de Janeiro, nearly two years earlier. James peered at the island through his scope but could see no flag flying. Alongside him Hicks said, ‘I have seen no island marked here on any of the charts I have consulted.’
‘Nor I,’ said James, baffled by the bizarre sight. ‘Perhaps it is a fragment of the Portuguese empire.’ A few days earlier they had coasted the sizeable island of Timor, divided between rivals the Dutch in the west and the Portuguese in the east. But mindful of the hostility they had encountered in Portuguese Rio and mistrustful of the Dutch, James had eschewed a landing there. Batavia would be different; it was known to be a truly international port. He lowered his spyglass. ‘This may be a place which the Portuguese wish to remain a secret. An uncharted outpost of their domain.’
As they were in need of fresh supplies he ordered Gore to go ashore in the pinnace and make contact with whoever the islanders were. When Gore returned he reported that he had been met hospitably by people who were dark-skinned but not aboriginals. They told him that the island was called Savu and that it was part of the Dutch empire.
‘The Dutch?’ said James, astonished that a chart of the island had not been published.
‘Yes. And there is a harbour on the south coast of the island, I was informed, which offers a safe anchorage.’ Noticing James’s doubtful expression, he added, ‘They seemed willing to exchange our goods for fresh provisions.’
‘Very well. Go back and tell them we wish to trade.’
When the American returned from his second visit ashore, he had in the pinnace with him an enormously fat, bearded native of about thirty-five years, dressed in European clothing, and a florid-faced European man a little older, in wig and frock coat. They lumbered up onto the deck and Gore introduced them to James and Banks. ‘This is Herr Johann Lange, the Hamburg representative of the Dutch East India Company on Savu, and Ma —, Ma—’
As Gore stumbled over the name, the fat man came forward, pressed his palms together, nodded solemnly and pronounced, ‘Rajah Madocho Lomi Djara.’
James shook hands with the two men. Wishing to talk terms and it being now early afternoon, he said, ‘We would be pleased if you would dine with us.’ He was also aware that one of the Endeavour’s last sheep had been butchered the day before, and was in the galley being prepared for the table.
It quickly became evident, as the officers, gentlemen and their two unusual guests sat around the dining table, that both the rajah and the company man had a great fondness for liquor. Banks raided his supply of Burgundy, and he, the Dutchman and the rajah drained glass after glass of it, Banks almost tripping over Lord, his male greyhound, whenever he got up to provide refills. The dog was lying on the floor next to the table, gratefully accepting scraps of mutton from the rajah. As they ate, drank and talked, with Solander translating for the two guests, their promises to the Endeavo
urs grew extravagant. ‘Our friends say,’ Solander reported, ‘that there are great numbers of cattle, pigs, sheep and poultry on Savu, and that tomorrow we will be able to buy as many animals from them as we wish.’
Lange’s head bobbed. ‘Ja, ja.’ He pointed to his plate and said something else. James looked at Solander quizzically.
The botanist said, ‘He loves this English mutton and wishes to buy a sheep from us.’
Assured now that there would be replacement livestock available, James said, ‘Herr Lange may exchange our last sheep for three of theirs.’ He turned to the rajah. ‘And what would you like from us?’
The rajah burped, took another mouthful of wine, pushed his chair back and pointed at Lord, the greyhound. Banks eyed the rajah groggily. ‘You would like to have my dog?’
The rajah bent down and stroked the greyhound’s ears. ‘Ja!’ he said.
Banks raised his glass, which was full again. ‘Then, my good man, you shall have him!’
Parkinson froze. Horrified, he said, ‘Banks, you cannot give Lord up to a stranger. It is unthinkable.’
Turning a baleful gaze on the Scotsman, Banks said carefully, ‘Don’t tell me what I can and cannot do. I will still have Lady.’ He placed a hand on the rajah’s shoulder. ‘So if my fat brown friend here wants this dog, he shall have him.’
Colouring, Parkinson stood up abruptly and left the table. Sympathizing with him but ignoring his exit, James said to Solander, ‘Ask them how we can purchase the livestock.’
It was arranged that the Savuans would bring the animals down to the island’s southern shore the next day so that the Endeavours could purchase from them whatever they wanted. Upon hearing this good news, Banks fetched two bottles of claret, opened them and refilled the glasses of all but James, who demurred. Tiring of this wine-fuelled talk, he reflected that the saying ‘A drunk’s best friend is another drunk’ had rarely seemed truer. And by the time the intoxicated pair of visitors departed the ship Lord the greyhound was in the launch with them, huddling miserably in the stern.
Next morning the pinnace tied up to the stone jetty in the centre of the bay, which had a white sand beach and a line of coconut palms along its foreshore. At the end of the jetty was a brick warehouse, and a little settlement was clustered behind the palms. They walked up to the town, which had an unpaved square, an administration building above which the Dutch flag flew, and a number of detached brick-and-thatch cottages straggling up the hill behind it.
James, Gore, Banks, Solander and Sporing strode into the square, expecting to see it filled with livestock pens. But the only creatures in sight were three native women in colourful saris drawing water from a well in the centre of the square and a group of barefoot men squatting on their haunches in front of the administration building. A solitary horse was tied to a rail beside the open entrance.
Confounded by the near-empty square, James led the others through the door of the building. Inside was a spacious but sparsely furnished room with bare floorboards, a portrait of William V of Holland on one wall and three oil paintings of tulip fields in full bloom on the other. In the centre of the room was a round table, and sitting at it were Lange and the rajah. Lange looked up blearily as the others entered; the rajah kept his head in his hands.
Puzzled, James said to Solander, ‘Ask them where the livestock are.’
Mopping his face with a large cloth, Lange replied dully, and Solander translated. ‘He says he is ill today. And so is the rajah.’
James looked at the Hamburger sharply. Ill? The worse for the wine, more like. ‘What about the livestock?’ he demanded.
Solander looked uncomfortable at the next reply. ‘He says that he has just received instructions that the Englishmen must negotiate for the livestock with the local natives, not with them.’ Lange shrugged; the rajah avoided their gaze.
Hearing this, James fumed. The pair were nothing more than a couple of ill-disciplined wineskins, full of empty promises. Trying to curb his anger, he said, ‘Ask him from whom did these instructions come?’
They were from the governor of Timor, he was told, in Concordia. Endeavour had been observed coasting the colony, and the governor had sent word that were she to call at Savu for provisions, they were to be provided only by the natives, and in the shortest possible time. When James glared at the Dutch officer, Lange again shrugged and gave him a daft grin. Banks tugged at James’s sleeve. ‘This letter is a fiction, I believe,’ he murmured. ‘They are merely seeking excuses for themselves.’ James nodded. He had already come to the same conclusion.
The rajah raised his head and spoke slowly. Solander said, ‘He says that as we entertained them to dinner, they will provide a meal for us here. And by the time the meal is over, the livestock we want will be on the beach. Buffalo, pigs, chickens.’ James ground his teeth in frustration. But if they walked out and left the island, which he was inclined to do, they would forgo the chance to obtain any of the needed provisions. ‘Tell him,’ he said reluctantly, ‘that we will be their guests.’
The meal — rice and boiled pork — was served in woven pandanus baskets as they sat on mats in the square. The food was excellent, the sky a brilliant blue and the sun was high, beaming down fiercely into the little square. Banks sent out to the ship for more liquor, but this time the rajah declined. Herr Lange resumed his imbibing enthusiastically, however, and his face, which had been waxen-white when they arrived, resumed its terracotta shade.
Towards the end of the meal a native messenger arrived, dressed in a loin cloth. He informed Lange that there were three sheep on the beach, ready for the English.
‘Three sheep?’ James was incredulous. After all this, merely three sheep?
Solanger translated for Lange, and his reply: ‘The natives who own the animals want cash for them, not bits of cloth, or some such trifles. They want money.’ Lange rubbed the finger and thumb of his left hand and chortled. Solanger reported, ‘He says the rest of the animals will be on the beach for us tomorrow.’
They returned to the ship, well fed but otherwise frustrated. On the row back Banks said to James tipsily, ‘We’ll be lucky if we get a leg of lamb from these people. This island is farcical.’
This prediction proved correct. When they returned the next day they were accompanied by crewman John Dozey, who spoke Dutch. The party was met on the beach by a short tubby native holding an emaciated buffalo on a rope leash. ‘Ask him how much’, James said.
‘Five guineas,’ Dozey told him.
‘Five guineas?’ James shook his head in wonder. These people were unbelievable. He dispatched Dozey up to the hall with an instruction that they would pay no more than three guineas for the scrawny beast. Minutes later, Dozey came back with the rajah’s reply: ‘Five guineas, take it or leave it.’
As they stood on the beach digesting this unpalatable message they saw a group of militiamen coming down the hill on foot. They were natives in ragtag uniforms, barefoot and hatless but carrying spears and muskets, led by a moustachioed white man in a blue uniform complete with sword, gold epaulettes and a blue plumed hat. The group assembled shambolically in front of James and the others, then the commander announced: ‘My name Señor Luís del Gardo. Me is Herr Lange’s assistant.’
Unfazed by this rabble, James said calmly, ‘And where is Herr Lange?’
The commander jerked his thumb in the direction of the village. Standing ramrod-straight, he announced loudly, ‘There will be no trading. You are ordered to leave Savu by nightfall.’
James was incensed. This whole landing had been an utter waste of time. ‘We will return to the ship,’ he announced. ‘To hell with this place.’ They were turning away when they saw a thin, elderly Savuan man in a white skirt and turban walking up the beach towards them. Earlier in the day the same man had greeted them affably and presented them with some plantains and coconuts. Grateful for the gesture, James had presented him with a magnifying glass, with which he was obviously delighted. Now the old man walked past them,
strode up to the Portuguese commander and began to berate him, gesturing fiercely and firing a burst of invective at both him and his raggedy troops.
‘What’s he saying?’ James asked Dozey.
‘He says we are his guests, we are here in peace, only to trade, and his people want to trade with us.’
‘His people?’
‘He is another rajah. More important than the fat man. And he leads the people who want to trade with us.’
‘Ah.’ James removed the sword from his belt, went up to the old man and handed it over to him. It was a ceremonial weapon only, and could be spared. Chuckling with delight, the elderly rajah accepted it. Then he went up to the troops and began brandishing the sword at them and rebuking them once more until, shame-faced, they turned and trudged back up the hill, trailing their weapons, followed by their commander.
There then appeared over the brow of the hill another group of a dozen natives, driving before them a mixed herd of animals: buffalo, sheep and pigs. Others carried chickens in bamboo cages, baskets of fruit and coconuts, and jars of palm wine.
Banks grinned at the sight. ‘Let the trading begin,’ he announced.
Once again Endeavour became a menagerie, the deck pens filled with some undernourished buffalo, plus pigs, sheep and many chickens. Provisions — fruit, firewood, vegetables and animal fodder — were unloaded from the longboat and taken below. It was not an overly abundant supply, but it would suffice until they reached Batavia.
With the sea around the ship an indigo shade, the sky flaring red and orange and the humped profile of the island standing out darkly against it, James and Parkinson stood on the quarter deck, staring back at Savu. ‘A strange visit this has been,’ James reflected. ‘Outlandish.’
‘Aye,’ said the Scotsman. ‘Almost unreal.’ He gave his high-pitched laugh. ‘Dream-like.’