Cook

by Rob Mundle

  Just prior to leaving the Cape, Cook learned that he might be confronted by another challenge on the 6000-plus nautical-mile homeward run: a Dutch ship brought news ‘that a War is daily expected between England and Spain’. It might also involve France. They would have to be on their guard.

  By 15 April, Endeavour was ready to put to sea. Three men had died during this stay, and eleven others arrived back aboard that day, the last of the patients receiving treatment onshore. The anchor was weighed and sails set at 3 pm on 16 April, but within an hour there was more distressing news. This time, according to Cook, dysentery was not the cause: ‘At 4 departed this Life Mr Robert Molyneux, Master, a young man of good parts, but had unfortunately given himself up to Extravagancy and intemperance, which brought on disorders that put a Period to his Life …’

  The threat of war caused Cook to sail 1700 nautical miles north-west to St Helena Island where, for the purposes of protection in the North Atlantic, she joined up with a convoy of East India ships, which was under the escort of the 50-gun HMS Portland. The fleet made sail on 4 May, with all captains doing everything possible to ensure that the ships remained in tight formation as they sailed north towards the Equator. As an added precaution, Cook had his men practise cannon and light arms fire on a regular basis. After six days of sailing, however, he was becoming increasingly concerned: his cumbersome and slow converted collier would almost certainly lose visual contact at some stage and become vulnerable to attack. Sure enough, once the fleet had crossed the Equator and headwinds began to prevail, Endeavour fell out of the pack and was soon going it alone.

  On Sunday, 26 May, the ship was again shrouded in sadness:

  About 1 o’Clock P.M. departed this Life Lieutenant Hicks, and in the Evening his body was committed to the Sea with the usual ceremonies. He died of a Consumption [tuberculosis] which he was not free from when we sailed from England, so that it may be truly said that he hath been dying ever since, tho’ he held out tolerable well until we got to Batavia …

  By now, the crew were beginning to wonder if they would ever reach home. Endeavour, having sailed near 50,000 nautical miles, was literally falling apart at the seams. The hull was again leaking badly, but of more concern was the condition of the masts and sails. Near the end of June, the carpenter reported to Cook that the main topmast was sprung (split) as a result of the two windward-side backstays having broken. Sails were also blowing apart every time the ship encountered squalls. Two weeks later, the captain was to learn that they had already been given up for lost:

  At 9 a.m. spoke to a Brig from Liverpool … bound for Grenada. We learnt from this Vessel that no account had been received in England from us, and that Wagers were held that we were lost. It seems highly improbable that the Letters sent [via] the Dutch ships from Batavia should not come to hand, as it is now 5 months since these ships sailed …

  For Banks, who had already lost his spaniel earlier in the trip, there was a level of grief when he went to his cabin one day and found that his greyhound had died suddenly from an unknown cause. However, while the two canines had departed the world, the nanny goat was as healthy as the day she went aboard the ship and was now about to complete her second circumnavigation.

  There was elation across the ship on Wednesday, 10 July 1771, and Cook’s journal revealed the reason: ‘At Noon we saw land from the Mast Head, bearing North, which we judged to be about the Land’s End.’

  After being away on a voyage of discovery that would prove to be the most remarkable in the annals of maritime history, Endeavour was back in home waters. It was also the voyage that proved to the world that through cleanliness and the utmost attention to good diet, the scourge of scurvy could be minimised. Even so, the ship returned with its journal revealing a terrible loss of life. Of the ninety-four men who were aboard Endeavour when she sailed away from Plymouth on 26 August 1768, only fifty-four returned. In another sobering statistic, thirty-one of the thirty-eight deaths occurred after the ship reached Batavia, the majority as a consequence of dysentery.

  On Saturday, 13 July, the captain made his final entry in Endeavour’s log: ‘At 3 o’clock in the PM anchored in the Downs, and soon after I landed in order to repair to London.’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  A Battle of Wills

  Lieutenant Cook’s desire to return home to his family in London without delay was as compelling as his willingness to comply with the last of his orders from the Admiralty. The Lords’ final directive specified: ‘upon your Arrival in England, you are immediately to repair to this office in order to lay before us a full account of your proceedings in the whole Course of your Voyage.’

  This he did, more than likely while heading to the family home at Mile End. No doubt, he was anxious to not only see his wife, Elizabeth, but also to learn how their offspring were faring, in an era when childhood deaths were not uncommon. The reunion must have been a time of great joy and relief for the captain’s wife, due in no small part to the speculation that had grown regarding Endeavour’s possible fate. With the ship feared missing, Elizabeth could well have been preparing her two young sons for the possibility that their father would not be returning home.

  For Cook, now aged forty-two, the homecoming was coloured by both happiness and despair. His wife remained the proud and caring mother he knew so well, but she greeted him with the tragic news that their only daughter, four-year-old Elizabeth, had died just three months before his return, and baby Joseph had lived for only a month after being born on the day that Endeavour set sail from Plymouth. Yet there was the satisfaction of seeing that the two eldest boys, James, aged seven, and Nathaniel, six, were thriving. Added to this mix was an emotional burden for all: with the man of the house having been away for three years, there was the difficult period of becoming reacquainted as a family, and of him needing to adjust to life ashore. Throughout his absence, Cook had lived in the confines of a very small cabin aboard an overcrowded ship, which was forever moving, sometimes violently, at the whim of wind and waves. Now, he had to adapt himself to a stable, comfortable and considerably larger home environment.

  While relishing being back in the family fold, Cook’s dedication to duty would have remained at the forefront of his daily activities, with one of his priorities being to write letters to the parents of those who had died during the expedition. One such parent was George Monkhouse, who lost two sons – William, the ship’s surgeon, and Jonathan, a midshipman. Cook also spent much of his shore-time over the coming months rewriting his journals and checking the charts and sketches that documented the Endeavour voyage.

  During these first few weeks at home, he no doubt keenly awaited a response from the Lords of the Admiralty regarding his reports of the voyage. He could only hope that the navy chiefs would be highly satisfied with his discoveries. The wait lasted almost three weeks. On 1 August, the Lords met to consider the captain’s documents, and the following day, the Secretary of the Admiralty, Philip Stephens, penned the eagerly awaited letter and had it delivered to Cook’s home. It was everything that this explorer could have hoped for. It read in part: ‘having laid [your documents] before my Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty I have the pleasure to acquaint you that their Lordships extremely well approve of the whole of your proceedings and they have great satisfaction in the account you have given them …’

  A Yorkshireman to the heart, the unassuming Cook remained reserved in his demeanour, despite the significance of his achievement. He had just commanded the most successful voyage of discovery the world had known, thus elevating England to a new level of eminence throughout Europe. Meanwhile, the aristocratic, socially prominent and always-eloquent Banks, and his associate Daniel Solander, were being celebrated across London society. The press referred to this as ‘Mr Banks’ Voyage’, and the finds were deemed to be more than impressive: he and Solander had returned with news of almost forty previously undiscovered islands, as well as evidence of the most remarkable species of plants and animals, the likes of whi
ch had never been seen in Europe. There was little or no mention of Cook in these reports. It was as if he had sailed the ship at Banks’ behest – a sailing master doing as ordered by his gentleman commander.

  In no time, Banks and Solander were being presented to King George III by the president of the Royal Society, Sir John Pringle, and soon afterwards it was suggested that Banks should lead another expedition into the South Pacific. Such was the euphoria around the man that, according to later claims, some in the upper echelon of society urged that New South Wales be renamed Banksia. On a personal front, somewhat unchivalrously, Banks ended his relationship with Miss Harriet Blosset. He had established this relationship just before setting sail on Endeavour and many expected their liaison to lead to a betrothal, as marriage was discussed on his return. Miss Blosset reportedly suggested that they wait at least two weeks to discuss the matter further, and if, at that time, his desire for marriage remained genuine, ‘she would gladly attend him to church’. It appears he virtually ignored her during that period – behaviour that did not impress many of those who knew him well. Eventually, he advised her in a letter that marriage was not for him, and eased his conscience by pompously making an arrangement for her: ‘The marriage is not to take place and she is to have £5000,’ he told a friend.

  The pinnacle of recognition came Cook’s way on 14 August 1771. This was the day when the First Lord of the Admiralty, Lord Sandwich, proudly introduced him to the King at St James’ Palace in London, so that all aspects of the incredible voyage could be explained in detail to the much-impressed monarch. No doubt there would also have been discussion about a new voyage of discovery for Cook, something that had already been mooted by Lord Sandwich. Making this day even more meritorious for the highly acclaimed sailor, confirmation came through that he had been promoted to the rank of commander within the Royal Navy. He received his commission from the King at this meeting.

  By now, Cook had bidden farewell to his wonderful ship, and to his men, some of whom would sail with him again. The now-famous nanny goat was retired from active duty and took up residence in the lush gardens at Cook’s home. It would appear that the shock of shore life after two circumnavigations was too much for her, though, as she died just a month later.

  Endeavour was moved to Woolwich soon after their return, and there she was refitted and sheathed once again. For three years, she transported stores to the Falkland Islands, before becoming a troop transport during the American War of Independence. The former collier suffered a most inglorious fate, however, when the British scuttled her near the harbour entrance at Newport, Rhode Island, in August 1778, to form part of a blockade against a French attack. In recent years, considerable effort has gone into trying to locate the wreck of the famous ship.

  Cook’s affection for Endeavour was evident in a letter he wrote to his former employer and mentor John Walker, soon after arriving back in London. ‘I sailed from England as well provided for such a voyage as possible,’ he said, ‘and a better ship for such a Service I never would wish for.’ A few weeks later, in another letter to Walker, Cook alluded to the possibility of a second expedition into the Pacific: ‘Another Voyage is thought of [by the Admiralty], with two Ships, which if it takes place I believe the command will be conferred upon me …’

  His theory at this stage was that any search for a southern continent would have to be well to the south, in the higher latitudes, a theory with which Banks concurred. Using the extensive knowledge he now held of the region where he thought this landmass might be, Cook had already mapped out a plan that would allow him to cover the greatest expanse of ocean in the time available. He proposed to enter the region via a stopover in New Zealand, after rounding the Cape of Good Hope, and sail across the Southern Ocean on the prevailing westerly winds. By arriving there in September, he could carry out his search throughout the entire summer, before returning to England via Cape Horn in fair weather. Cook’s plan would come unstuck, but through no fault of his own.

  Cook proposed that the new project should be a two-ship expedition because of the near-cataclysmic experiences he and his crew had endured in the reef-strewn northern waters of New Holland. The second vessel would provide added security. The Admiralty agreed, and on 25 September – little more than two months after Endeavour reached England – the Lords directed the Navy Board to pursue the purchase of two ships most suited for the proposed mission.

  With Endeavour having proved to be the perfect vessel for the first voyage, there was little wonder that, on Cook’s suggestion, the Navy Board purchased the colliers Marquis of Granby and Marquis of Rockingham. The former was larger than Endeavour by about 100 tons and offered a bigger cargo hold, as well as more space between decks for crew comfort. Marquis of Rockingham was 28 tons lighter in burthen, at 340 tons, which was an ideal size for a support vessel. Most satisfying for Cook was that their pedigrees were the same as Endeavour’s, having both been built at the Fishburn yard in Whitby. They were renamed HMS Drake and HMS Raleigh, respectively. Cook was assigned to command Drake, and 36-year-old Tobias Furneaux – who had circumnavigated the globe as second lieutenant aboard Captain Wallis’ Dolphin in 1766– 68 – was made commander of the support vessel. When speaking of his new command, Cook wrote, ‘She was the ship of my choice and as I thought the fittest for the Service she was going upon of any I had ever seen.’

  The fit-out of both ships, which started at Deptford almost immediately, was scheduled to take four months to complete. The Admiralty advised Cook that it would like the voyage to begin in March the following year, which was distinctly possible. Now the Admiralty’s favourite son, he was given carte blanche when it came to procuring whatever was needed, including the best equipment, provisions and the latest navigational aids.

  Fortunately for the Cook family, not all of his time was spent working. In December, he went to Great Ayton, Yorkshire, to see his 77-year-old father, a widower since Grace had passed away in February 1765. Elizabeth, now pregnant for the fifth time, travelled with him for what would be her first-ever meeting with her father-in-law, who was living with one of Cook’s sisters, Margaret Fleck, the wife of a local fisherman. The family reunion would have been euphoric, especially for a very proud James Cook senior, whose son had gone from being a farm boy in Yorkshire to one of the great master mariners and explorers of all time.

  It had been a demanding three-day journey to get there – more than 250 miles by carriage. The latter stages, over particularly rough roads, combined with the bitter cold of mid-winter to take quite a toll on Elizabeth. Because of this, she remained in Great Ayton while her husband travelled on horseback to Whitby for a few days to visit John Walker. While there, he also visited the Fishburn shipyard to report on how suitable and seaworthy Endeavour had proved to be on the circumnavigation, and to inform the owners that Marquis of Granby and Marquis of Rockingham had been purchased for the next voyage of discovery. His fame had preceded him to Whitby, as was apparent when he visited his old lodgings at the Walker household. Cook walked through the door to an unrestrained and highly emotional welcome from Mary Prowd, the elderly housekeeper who, ignoring her employer’s instructions to recognise the captain with all due formality, threw her arms around her hero, hugged him and cried: ‘Oh honey James! How glad I is to see thee …’

  New Year’s Eve was celebrated at his father’s residence. Then, on 4 January, the captain and his wife were on their way back to London, a city that was invariably smog-ridden throughout the winter months due to the burning of coal in homes, as well as the many factories operating in these early days of the Industrial Revolution.

  After returning to town, the commander was soon informed that there was a move afoot by Secretary of State Lord Rochford to change the names of the two recently converted colliers. Rochford was convinced that because of Britain’s strained relationship with Spain, which had been inflamed by the recent explorations in the Pacific, the Spanish would find the names Drake and Raleigh offensive – the two eponymous Eng
lishmen having been among their country’s greatest adversaries historically. Rochford therefore proposed that the vessels be renamed Aurora and Hisperus, two choices that Lord Sandwich disliked, although he recognised the sensitivity surrounding the issue. Instead, the First Lord of the Admiralty declared, ‘The names pitched upon for the two Discovery ships are Resolution & Adventure,’ and that they became.

  Meanwhile, in further planning his second voyage of discovery, Cook extensively researched the tracks of all previously known forays into the Pacific, with particular regard to the circle of latitude 40 degrees south of the Equator – which in today’s nomenclature passes through Bass Strait and New Zealand’s Cook Strait. This led to him writing to Sandwich in February 1772 with a more specific outline for the course of the voyage:

  Upon due consideration of the discoveries that have been made in the Southern Ocean, and the tracks of the Ships which have made these discoveries; it appears that no Southern lands of great extent can extend to the Northward of 40° of Latitude, except about the Meridian of 140° West [about 600 nautical miles east of Tahiti], every other part of the Southern Ocean have at different times been explored to the northward of the above parallel. Therefore to make new discoveries the Navigator must Traverse or Circumnavigate the Globe in a higher parallel than has hitherto been done, and this will be best accomplished by an Easterly Course on account of the prevailing westerly winds in all high Latitudes.

  In simple terms, Resolution and Adventure were destined to sail into some of the bleakest and most hostile southern waters ever traversed, all in search of a continent that might not exist. Cook added that ‘the general route must be pursued otherwise some part of the Southern Ocean will remain unexplored’, a theory with which Sandwich agreed.