Cook

by Rob Mundle

  It must be asked why neither Cook nor his superiors proposed that he further trace the coastline of New South Wales to prove if it might form part of the Great South Land, especially considering the remarkable length of coastline that he had charted with Endeavour. One can only interpret this as reflecting their continued belief that the continent so eagerly sought was independent of the region formerly known as New Holland.

  Work on the refit of the two ships was proceeding according to plan, and a March departure date remained likely – until Joseph Banks stepped in. It appears that the wave of euphoria that had elevated the 29-year-old to the highest levels of public recognition had also led to a proportionate swelling of his ego. This spelled trouble for Cook, and for the mission. Continued references in the press to ‘Mr Banks’ Voyage’ aboard Endeavour saw Banks become the unofficial legend of British maritime exploration with the announcement of a second Pacific voyage. Illustrative of the plaudits being heaped on this young man, the eminent Swedish scientist Carl Linnaeus signed off his letter to Banks with the Latin line ‘Vale vir sine pare’ – ‘Farewell oh unequalled man’.

  Banks’ involvement in the second voyage came about through an invitation from Lord Sandwich. The immediate response was that he would be glad to participate in the forthcoming expedition, and that Dr Solander would join him. Due to Banks’ high profile in the press, and in the absence of any mention of Cook’s appointment as commander, it was immediately assumed by the British public that Banks was going to lead the second voyage of discovery, and he did nothing to dispel this. Such an assumption allowed Banks’ self-aggrandisement to escalate unabated: Lord Sandwich’s enquiry, and the publicity that followed, led the non-seafaring Lincolnshire estate owner to convince himself that it was ‘his’ expedition.

  Sure enough, Banks was soon receiving applications from people across Britain and Europe, and even from sailors within the Royal Navy, either requesting to be part of the venture or making suggestions for particular areas of research during the expedition. Banks duly vetted all these applications while seeking appropriately qualified (and not so qualified) members of his entourage. In no time, the proposed team had grown to fifteen in number, including scientists, draughtsmen, secretaries, servants and – incredibly – two horn players to entertain them along the way.

  The most qualified and desirable member of this group was James Lind, from Edinburgh, whose written invitation from Solander had urged: ‘Will You my Dear Doctor give us leave to propose You, to the Board of Longitude, as willing to go out as an Astronomer. Your well known character makes us all beg, pray & long for your affirmative answer … Good God, we shall do wonders if you only will come and assist us.’ On learning of Lind’s appointment, and parliament’s subsequent commitment of a special grant of £4000 to support the Scotsman in his quest to make discoveries, Cook wrote somewhat sarcastically: ‘but what the discoveries were, the Parliament meant he was to make, and for which they made so liberal a Vote, I know not.’ Another notable inclusion in Banks’ team was Johann Zoffany, a German-born artist who had been appointed as a founding member to the Royal Academy of Arts in 1769.

  Banks was becoming increasingly excited by the opportunities he saw coming his way on this voyage, which he knew would delve deep into the Southern Ocean. He wrote to his friend Comte de Lauraguais in France: ‘Oh how Glorious would it be to set my heel upon the [south] pole! And turn myself round 360° in a second.’ It was equally important to him to be on the expedition that would, more than likely in his mind, finally identify the location of the fabled great southern continent.

  When Banks first saw ‘his’ ship, Resolution, at the navy dockyard at Deptford, he was far from impressed. Not because of any (nonexistent) expert opinion he might have had of her lines and nautical attributes, but because he did not see her as being big enough to accommodate his ever-expanding team, which now looked likely to exceed the sixteen originally planned, including Solander and himself. This disappointment led to him going immediately to his friend, Lord Sandwich, with the demand that the vessel be modified extensively to house his party and the exorbitant amount of equipment they intended to take with them – or he would cancel the voyage. Banks’ direct approach to Sandwich was symptomatic of his belief that he was in command while Cook would be nothing more than the ship’s master, answerable to him.

  The fact that both Palliser, as Comptroller of the Navy, and Cook had agreed that no significant modifications should be made to what was a proven design, meant nothing to Banks. He simply by-passed the experts and won the day with Lord Sandwich, who ordered that the Navy Board proceed with Banks’ desired changes. Resolution was to be altered considerably through the addition of a heavily built upper deck, a heightened waist amidships, and a poop deck with a cabin to accommodate Cook, who was thereby evicted from the captain’s cabin, and again denied exclusive use of the great cabin. Banks had decided that only he and his chosen people would utilise these areas.

  Such was the publicity surrounding the voyage that innumerable people visited Resolution while she was in dock, in order to gain a better appreciation of the undertaking. Their presence impeded the shipwrights, carpenters and riggers working on the changes, which led Cook to remark, with a degree of cynicism: ‘many of all ranks … Ladies as well as gentlemen, for scarce a day past on which she was not crowded with Strangers who came on board for no other purpose but to see the Ship in which Mr Banks was to sail round the world.’

  Cook, the seafarer, was becoming increasingly concerned about the time that was being taken to make the alterations instigated by Banks. A March departure was now completely out of the question. There were continual delays and inevitably, as each problem unfolded, Banks would vent false frustration and threaten not to go on the voyage.

  Regardless of these antics, not to mention his belief that the original configuration was the best choice for the upcoming expedition, Cook got on with the job of co-ordinating the refit. Instead of commenting on the changes, he accepted the direction that came from the Navy Board, with his characteristic stoicism. He knew that the sea trials before departure would reveal that Resolution had been made so top-heavy that she would be unseaworthy. However, he would later regret not expressing his objections to the design changes. It had been an expensive mistake in more ways than one: most critically, Resolution’s departure would be delayed by more than two months.

  On 12 May 1772, Resolution was deemed ready for her trials. After weighing anchor she moved down the Thames to The Nore, a sandbank marking the point where the river meets the North Sea. There, as soon as the bower was released, the pilot who had guided her to the anchorage demanded to be taken ashore, refusing to sail the ship any further. He considered her crank – so top heavy that she was in danger of capsizing even with a minimal amount of sail set. One experienced crew-member described the vessel as ‘an exceeding dangerous and unsafe ship’, while Charles Clerke, a veteran of the Endeavour voyage and Cook’s second lieutenant for the forthcoming expedition, wrote to Banks and left him in no doubt as to his opinion: ‘By God, I’ll go to Sea in a Grog Tub, if desired, or in the Resolution as soon as you please; but must say I think her by the far most unsafe Ship I ever saw or heard of.’

  For Cook also, the passage to The Nore was enough. It was time for him to stand his ground. He immediately advised the Admiralty and the Navy Board that he would not put to sea in this ship as it was. This was a declaration that any professional seafarer, especially in the naval hierarchy, would understand, and it had the desired impact. Within days, his superiors ordered that Resolution be taken south to the dock at Sheerness so that almost every one of the modifications demanded by Banks could be removed. Most importantly, the new top hamper had to be demolished.

  With Resolution returned to her original proportions, Banks travelled to Sheerness for a first-hand look at what had happened to ‘his’ ship, and when he saw her he threw what can only be described as an almighty tantrum. A midshipman, John Elliott, who was there a
t the time, would later write:

  Mr Banks was requested to go to Sheerness and take a view of the accommodations, as they now stood, to try if he could go out in her, for in no other state could she go to sea, and go she must … When he saw the ship, and the Alterations that were made, He swore and stamped upon the Wharf like a Mad Man; and instantly ordered his servants, and all his things out of the ship.

  Banks then made a disastrous mistake: he wrote a 2000-word rant to Lord Sandwich in which he vented his anger and frustration, and did everything possible to justify the importance of his role in the expedition. He even went to the extent of suggesting that HMS Launceston, a 44-gun ship, be put at his disposal for the mission. As much as Banks tried to create a case in defence of the now-rejected ship configuration, the letter simply revealed his ignorance of all things maritime. Cook biographer John Cawte Beaglehole summed it up perfectly: Banks failed to understand that ‘accommodation was to be made for the passengers such as would fit the ship, not such as would fit the ship to the passengers’.

  It would later be revealed that Banks had an ulterior motive when it came to passenger accommodation and his own private quarters. But that would not become apparent until after Resolution arrived in Madeira.

  He also launched an ill-judged broadside at Cook. There were other captains of equal, if not superior, ability, Banks opined; these seafarers would be more suited to the task than one who obviously believed that the success of the expedition relied so much on the design and build of the ship.

  Lord Sandwich immediately fired back a powerful response, which no doubt scored a direct hit on Banks. It had been drafted for two reasons: firstly, to put Banks in his place, and secondly, to head off any intentions he may have held of starting a confrontation with the navy via the press. But while Banks did not pursue support through print, it came anyway via letters to editors. A typical example appeared in the June issue of The Gentleman’s Magazine, in which the writer was convinced that everything relating to this voyage revolved around Banks, and that the navy had scorned the wishes of the King:

  As the expedition with a view to new discoveries, which Mr Banks, Dr Solander and Mr Zoffany were to embark in, is now, after raising the expectations of the literati throughout Europe to the highest pitch, abruptly laid aside … [it] is a memorable instance how little it is in the power of Majesty to perform, when the servants of the Crown are determined to oppose the Sovereign’s will.

  The consequences of Banks’ petulant behaviour were simple and definite: he and his party would not be undertaking this second voyage of discovery with Commander Cook. This was good news for all concerned – except for Banks. Midshipman Elliott again provided an overview of the situation: ‘upon the whole it has always been thought that it was a most fortunate circumstance for the purpose of the voyage that Mr Banks did not go … for a more proud, haughty man could not well be, and all his plans seemed directed to show his own greatness, which would have accorded ill with the discipline of a man of war …’

  In contrast with the near-farcical situation surrounding Resolution, Adventure’s refit had been completed without drama and on schedule. Since then, her captain, Tobias Furneaux, had sailed her to Plymouth, where she was lying idly at anchor, awaiting the arrival of the expedition’s lead ship.

  Despite the many distractions, Cook had to maintain composure and keep his concentration on the task ahead. Most importantly, he needed to select a highly talented crew for Resolution, to ensure that the mission was given every chance of success. The man chosen as master, Joseph Gilbert, was of a similar age to Cook, and as the voyage progressed, he became a strong supporter of the captain.

  Cook was most pleased to welcome aboard twelve men who had served with him aboard Endeavour, including Charles Clerke and Robert Cooper, the last of whom had been promoted to the rank of lieutenant. For Elizabeth Cook’s cousin, nineteen-year-old Isaac Smith, the taste of adventure experienced on the previous voyage was such that he too had signed on for another circuit around the world. Representing the Royal Society this time were astronomers William Wales aboard Resolution, and William Bayley aboard Adventure, while William Hodges would serve as artist on the lead ship.

  With Banks having met his match in the showdown with Sandwich, he decided the best way to assuage his anger was to charter a fully crewed ship and have his already assembled entourage join him on a voyage to Iceland to study that region. His replacement aboard Resolution was a man well known to both Banks and Solander within the Royal Society, Johann Reinhold Förster, a German-born man of religion who was also a botanist and philosopher. In addition, it would soon be realised, he was a man devoid of any attractive character traits. One Cook biographer, Richard Hough, wrote of Förster: ‘Johann either made enemies or aroused exasperation by his pedantry, self-righteousness, vanity, habitual acrimony and downright rudeness.’ His offensive demeanour led to many confrontations with the crew during the voyage, to the extent that he was floored in one round of fisticuffs, and on a number of occasions was threatened with being thrown overboard – but he lasted the distance. Förster was accompanied by his seventeen-year-old son, Georg, who fortunately did not inherit any of his father’s irksome traits and was seen to be highly intelligent.

  Of all the equipment put aboard Resolution, the most notable and exciting was the Larcum Kendall K1 chronometer, which was a replica of the acclaimed Harrison H4 – the most advanced timepiece in the world for the calculation of longitude. The H3, the predecessor of the H4, had taken its creator, John Harrison, seventeen years to make. The H4 was noted for its accuracy and the fact that, because it was virtually frictionless, the system required no oiling. Also, with pendulums having proved to be unreliable aboard a ship, Harrison’s chronometers had opposing balances in their mechanisms, a feature that eliminated the effect of the ship’s pitching and rolling motion on the clocks. The K1, like the H4, had the appearance of a large pocket watch of almost 5 inches diameter. The H4 was noted for having a jewelled mechanism and was said to be ‘a thing of beauty’. In describing his timepiece, Harrison said: ‘Fifty years of self-denial, unremitting toil, and ceaseless concentration. I think I may make bold to say, that there is neither any other Mechanism or Mathematical thing in the World that is more beautiful or curious in texture than this my watch or timekeeper for the Longitude.’ It must have come as a great relief for Cook to realise early in the voyage that the K1 performed as well as Harrison’s H4. Because of this, his navigational plots would be considerably more precise than those he was able to make on Endeavour. In an earlier trial of the H4 on a 1300-nauticalmile passage from England to Madeira, the Harrison clock proved to be absolutely accurate when applied to the ship’s navigation, while the common dead-reckoning method, which was used for a comparison, proved to be out by 86 nautical miles.

  As the work on Resolution neared completion, Cook applied himself to victualling the ship, personally ordering the majority of the supplies and supervising their stowage. This was a considerable task, as the expedition was likely to take two years to complete and the ship had a crew of 118. The provisions included 60,000 pounds of biscuits, 7637 pieces of salted beef, each weighing 4 pounds, twice that amount of salted pork, 1900 pounds of suet, 3100 pounds of raisins, 642 gallons of wine, 19 tons of beer and 1400 gallons of spirits. In general, the average daily allocation per man while at sea included a pound of biscuits and either as much beer as he could drink or a pint of wine, or half a pint of brandy, rum or arrack.

  With the health of his crew being uppermost in his mind, the captain again put aboard foods that he saw as being essential for their wellbeing. This included 20,000 pounds of sauerkraut, salted cabbage and cakes of meat essence, which, through the addition of wheat and water, became a broth; and 210 gallons of olive oil. There were also 30 gallons of carrot marmalade in the larder. Livestock, including bullocks, sheep, pigs and goats (the latter simply to supply milk), was corralled on the main deck, while chickens and geese were housed in pens.

 
As always, the crew list changed right up until the last minute. When it came to a voyage of this duration, it was very common for there to be a considerable number of desertions prior to the ship departing home waters. In this case, a total of fifty-eight sailors decamped from Resolution before she set sail, but they were replaced without too much difficulty.

  The expedition was three months behind schedule as a result of Banks’ interference. It was not until 21 June – the longest day of the year – that Resolution was finally deemed ready to sail from Sheerness, bound for Plymouth. On the same day, back in London, it was time for the commander to endure yet another farewell from his family, and for his wife, still just thirty years of age, to realise that her seafaring husband was about to leave her once again for an indeterminable amount of time. Such was the lot of a mariner’s wife. At this point, Elizabeth was only three weeks away from giving birth to their third son, George – a child that Cook would never see. The infant lived for less than three months.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Second Time Around

  The day after farewelling his family, Cook was aboard Resolution and calling for the anchor to be weighed and sails set. Ahead lay an eleven-day passage to Plymouth, where Adventure had been awaiting the arrival of her lead ship since the middle of May. Slow as it was, this voyage provided a valuable sea trial for Resolution and gave the crew ample time to familiarise themselves with every aspect of operation, from the rig and sails to the balance of the helm, and how she responded to the wheel when the course was changed.

  A pleasant surprise came on approach to Plymouth when the Admiralty yacht Augusta hove into view, with Lord Sandwich and the Comptroller of the Navy, Commodore Hugh Palliser, on board. The vessel was returning the two men to London after they had been inspecting dockyards along the coast. With the weather being fair, they took the opportunity now to go aboard Resolution for final discussions with Cook, and, in particular, to get his appraisal on how the ship was handling.