by Lay, Graeme
James considered this in grim silence. Had the French come upon the Great Southern Continent? That was a thought too dreadful to contemplate. If the French commander had not claimed or charted the discovered land, then it may not have been what they sought. A large island instead, perhaps. Thanking Clerke for the information, he dismissed him. This latest news added impetus to their expedition. As usual, the provisioning was taking longer than anticipated. With the impending onset of the southern summer, any land in the high latitudes would be accessible. But the time would be limited. Resolution and Adventure must leave Cape Town before the end of this month.
The sentry on after-quarters duty, marine private Phillips, knocked on James’s cabin door just as he was about to begin writing a letter to Elizabeth. After he opened the door, annoyed at the interruption, Phillips said, ‘Begging your pardon, Captain, but Mr Forster wishes to speak with you.’
There was a young man, a stranger, standing behind Forster.
‘Captain? We need to speak,’ Forster said, loftily.
‘Can it not wait? I am busy here.’
‘No.’ Forster stood aside. ‘Come in, Sparrman.’
The young man was tall, with a craggy face and a beaked nose. His face was reddened from the sun. Wearing a worn frock-coat and breeches that had seen better days, he held out his hand. ‘Captain Cook, I am Anders Sparrman. Naturalist.’
Forster nodded. ‘We met on Table Mountain where my son and I were collecting insects. Anders is from Sweden.’
James looked the newcomer up and down. His boots were cracked and dusty. He said, ‘You have an interest in African natural history?’
‘Ja. I am collecting scorpions. Opistacanthus validas. But also I am interested in ocean creatures.’ His blue eyes glittered. ‘So I was most pleased when Johann invited me to join your expedition.’
For a few moments James was speechless. His gaze went from the newcomer to Forster, then back again. Then he said to Forster, ‘You have invited, without first consulting me—’
Forster pouted. ‘He will be a great assistance to me. He too studied under Linnaeus.’ His voice now took on a whining tone. ‘Anders is a fine cataloguer, and a skilled illustrator.’
Dismayed at the naturalist’s presumption, James shook his head. ‘I cannot sanction this addition, Forster. Unlike yourself, this man does not come with the approval of the English authorities.’ Glaring at him, he said, ‘Besides, there is no accommodation for an extra supernumerary.’
Forster’s expression remained confident. ‘I have thought of that. The midshipman, Burney, who left Resolution, has created room. My son will take Burney’s berth, and Sparrman will fill George’s.’ His eyes bulged. ‘See?’ he said triumphantly.
James laughed drily. ‘And have you informed your son of this arrangement?’
‘I have.’ He added defiantly, ‘And my son does whatever I tell him.’
‘Who will pay for this gentleman’s berth?’ James demanded.
‘I will,’ Forster shot back. ‘I will meet the costs of his passage.’
There was a long silence. James again looked the newcomer over. He looked fit, as well as eager. And another naturalist could be helpful. He said carefully to him, ‘How old are you?’
‘Twenty-four, sir.’
‘Have you spent much time at sea?’
‘In the Baltic, yes. And I have sailed to China, two years ago. I am happy to be on a ship.’ He smiled boyishly. ‘After all, my family name is Sparrman.’ James was unable to suppress a smile. At least this Swede could laugh at himself. The young man looked at him earnestly. ‘I assure you, Captain Cook, I will cause your expedition no trouble. I will be helpful.’
14 NOVEMBER 1772, CAPE TOWN
My dearest Elizabeth,
I write on the eve of our departure from this port, and in the knowledge that this letter can be taken across the bay tomorrow by my clerk, Dewar, to the East Indiaman, Bengal Bay, which sails for London shortly. Dewar will entrust my letter to that ship’s purser and ensure that the postal authorities in London deliver it to you at Assembly Row. Hence it is my hope that this news will reach you by the New Year, if the winds are favourable for Bengal Bay’s northward passage.
Here in the southern latitudes summer is imminent and the daylight hours are lengthening. Yet for you and our sons, winter will soon be upon you. No doubt the leaves on the common’s trees have already fallen and the holly berries will be ripening. I trust that James and Nathaniel are taking care of the firewood, the coal and the fire-lighting, as I instructed them to. It is important that the house is kept well warmed, for baby George’s sake in particular. James and Nathaniel’s lessons at Mistress Duncan’s school are progressing satisfactorily, I hope, so that both lads will be well prepared for their naval careers when they commence their training in a few years.
The provisioning of Resolution and Adventure is almost complete. We were delayed by the late arrival of some supplies, fresh beef and brandy in particular, which caused me frustration, but I ensured that the men did not waste the time by setting them to caulking, varnishing and cleaning the ship. Some shore leave has also been enjoyed by our crew, who relish the waterfront taverns and their attractions. Whilst waiting at anchor, we aboard have enjoyed newly baked bread, fresh vegetables and mutton, brought out to the ships each day from the town market. But who knows when we will be able to savour such luxuries again?
The gentlemen spent most of the time ashore. Wales the astronomer, Hodges the painter and the botanising Forsters all spent the time on land productively. The young Forster showed me a drawing he had made of a wild African cat which he had shot. I was struck by the detail of the creature’s portrait, in particular the manner in which he has captured its orange and black markings and facial expression. Hodges has made an oil painting of Table Mountain which he did from a pencil drawing while on land. I think this is also a very fine likeness. Landscape portraiture is obviously where his principal talent lies.
Wales and Bayly, our ships’ two astronomers, rejoice in the clarity of the African night sky. After obtaining the services of a team of native bearers, they and their instruments were carried to the top of Table Mountain, where they spent two nights in the open. (The natives here are very black, similar in hue to those of New Holland, but much more cheerful and willing to assist us. Some of them wear European clothes.) I too have regularly observed the vividness of the constellations at night from Resolution’s afterdeck—the infinite sweep of the Milky Way, the brilliance of the Southern Cross, the full moon resembling one of the gold medallions we carry—sights which I never tire of observing.
Of close interest to us is the performance of the timekeepers we carry. Wales and Bayly checked the instruments’ accuracy against the astronomical observations they have made here. Bayly reported to me that K1, Kendall’s copy of John Harrison’s timepiece, has gained only a second a day since we left England, a most impressive performance, we agreed. The timekeepers made by John Arnold are far less accurate, however, one of them having stopped altogether. Yet so long as Kendall’s timepiece continues to perform with exactitude, we will have dependable measurements of longitude.
The older Forster, the naturalist, I have previously mentioned as a source of some annoyance to me. This continues. He said to me the other day, after I again told him to refrain from reciting a prolonged grace before the midday meal: ‘Captain, I am becoming concerned for the state of your spiritual well-being.’ To which I replied, ‘Forster, my spiritual well-being is solely of my concern. You need pay it no heed. Please do not attempt to do so.’ After which he lapsed into a surly silence. More and more I find myself preferring individual beliefs over clerical dogma, which inevitably brings me into conflict with a man such as Forster. Whenever he expounds on the benevolence of an all-knowing God, I am tempted to say to him, ‘If your God is so kind, why did he permit the deaths of four of my brothers and sisters, three whilst in their infancy, and the deaths of our innocent little Joseph and Elizabeth?’
We set sail south from here shortly, in earnest search of the Great Southern Continent. We will be bound first, though, in search of Cape Circumcision, which the Frenchman Jean-Baptiste Bouvet sighted in 1739, in order to ascertain whether it is an island or part of a continental landmass. The temperatures in the high latitudes towards which are sailing will be approaching zero degrees. Yet in spite of this frigid aspect I relish the prospect, as I am aware that we will be sailing in seas never before penetrated by Englishmen. It is my earnest wish that we may there make discoveries which will enhance the prosperity and reputation of England.
I will end now, dearest Beth. I cannot say when I will next be able to write a letter such as this to you, as we are from now on departing for unknown and uncivilised landfalls. But my personal journal to you will continue as always, for presentation to you upon my safe return.
Convey my deepest love to our three sons and assure them that they are constantly in their Papa’s thoughts. As are you, my beloved wife.
Yours,
James
23 NOVEMBER 1772
At 3pm weighed and came to sail with Adventure in company. Saluted the garrison with 15 guns which compliment was returned. Made several trips to get out of the Bay which we accomplished by 7 o’clock at which time the town bore SE distant 4 miles. Stood to the westward all night to get an offing, having the wind at NNW and NW blowing in squalls with rain which obliged us to reef our topsails. After having got clear of the land I directed my course for Cape Circumcision.
Twelve
AS THEY SAILED SOUTH, AVERAGING 50 nautical miles a day, the hours of daylight increased but the temperatures fell steadily. After only one week at sea the sun and civilisation of Cape Town seemed a distant dream. Now, for every degree of latitude they passed through, the coldness seeped deeper into the ships. As they entered what James called ‘the roaring forties’ the winds—mainly from the west or north-west—grew stronger. As November came to a close Resolution and Adventure seemed forlorn creatures, following each other like twin lambs amid the increasingly frigid, wind-driven sea.
Pickersgill joined James on the quarterdeck. In front of them, Atkin and Bee were at the helm. All the crew now wore the fearnought coats and trousers James had ordered them to be issued with three days ago, as well as leather mittens. He was now deeply grateful for the woollen scarf that Elizabeth had knitted for him. Although the sky was clear blue, the westerly was approaching gale force. Sailing master Gilbert had advised that the topsails be reefed to reduce the strain on Resolution’s rigging, but she was still rolling heavily in the high sea. A mile or so astern, Adventure could be seen running before the wind, her topsails also reefed. She plunged and reared among the swells, her bow vanishing, then reappearing.
Pickersgill sneezed, twice, and wiped his nose on his jacket sleeve. ‘Damn this cold.’
‘You’d best get used to it,’ James said. ‘It will only get worse.’
Pickersgill nodded. ‘Many of the men already have chills.’
Holding his hat in place with one hand, James said, ‘I’ve ordered the tailor to sew caps for the men from a bolt of baize in the hold. And they’re to be issued with a mug of brandy every morning. That’ll lift their spirits.’ Earlier, he had climbed to the topgallant crosstrees, put his scope to his eye and scanned the horizon, but had seen nothing except sea under the hard bright sky, the swells dark blue, the sun weak and watery.
Squinting into the distance, Pickersgill said, ‘Sir, this land the French commander Bouvet saw in 1739—’
‘Cape Circumcision?’
‘Yes. How came it by its strange name? Was the froggie captain’s cock being trimmed at the time?’
James chuckled. ‘I think not.’ He recalled his reading of Bouvet’s voyage. ‘It was because he came upon the promontory on the first of January. According to the New Testament, that is the day of Christ’s circumcision. It is a holy day for the French.’
Pickersgill looked askance. ‘The frogs have a festival of circumcision?’
‘Yes. Being Papists, they have a festival for all such events. And because Bouvet discovered the cape on that day, that is the name he bestowed upon it.’
Pickersgill frowned. ‘Yet we have seen no sign of the cape, circumcised or not.’
‘No. I now think it likely that Bouvet’s observation was inaccurate. The French are not as advanced as we are in navigational matters. Besides, he thought the cape was part of an island, and therefore it is in all likelihood not the continent we seek.’
Resolution plunged into a trough, and both men gripped the rail. The wind gained strength and the rolling of the ship worsened as Atkin and Bee wrestled with the helm. Drawing his cape tightly about him, peering through the shrouds into the misty distance, Pickersgill said, ‘How far south do you intend to take her, sir?’
‘To the Antarctic Circle. And possibly beyond.’
At that moment Johann Forster came staggering along the starboard deck. He was cradling something inert. James peered over the quarterdeck rail. ‘What is it you have there, Forster?’
When the naturalist looked up his face was stricken. He held the creature up like an offering. It was his monkey, its thin brown limbs stiff as sticks, its open mouth in a hideous rictus. ‘Carl is dead. He is frozen to death.’ He looked at James and Pickersgill accusingly.
James could not disguise his irritation. ‘You could hardly expect a creature from a tropical clime to survive in these latitudes, Forster.’ He was unable to resist adding, ‘As a naturalist, you must have been aware of that.’
Forster stared down at the stiffened body. ‘I made a straw shelter for him on the foredeck. But still he died.’
‘Then I suggest you commit him forthwith to the sea.’
As Forster stumbled across the deck, James thought, this Prussian is proving to be an unending trial.
December began and they saw their first ice islands. Crew, officers and gentlemen gathered on the decks, swaddled in their caps and jackets, mesmerised by the sight. The huge chunks of ice, hundreds of feet high, were twisted into fantastic shapes, looming from the sea like white castles. From time to time chunks fell from their sides and crashed into the sea, generating strong waves. Realising that these falling slabs of ice could threaten the stability of their ships, James and Furneaux ensured that Resolution and Adventure stood well off from the ice mountains. Watches were posted at the masthead, even during the shortening hours of darkness, to warn if the mountains came too close.
Despite their distance the crews could see, where the slabs of ice had fallen away, the emerald green of the mountains’ cores. And despite the low light, the mountains were luminescent. Hodges sketched them from Resolution’s afterdeck, capturing their infinitely varied shapes with deft pencil strokes on his drawing pad as the ship made its way cautiously through the ice fields under the mackerel sky.
Providing further amazement for the crews were the creatures that lived among the ice. Huge whales, their backs studded with barnacles, heaved and spouted around them. Solemn little penguins with yellow head-combs stood in soldierly formation on platforms of ice. Gleaming seals streaked through the sea and albatrosses soared above the mountains, their pinions appearing to brush the peaks.
Resolution and Adventure had entered a remote, ethereal world. The cold was constant and inescapable. Mist drifted across the decks and leached into the cabins. Winds swept the decks and chilled everyone to the bone. Out on the yards it became painful for numbed hands to work the stiffened sails and icicled sheets. Fingers froze and were cut and bled. Below decks the men huddled in their berths, swaddled in their blankets, their sole solace the warming brandy ration. The only external heat came from the galley’s fire box, so all the crew envied Ramsay the cook and his mate, Barrett.
It was Clerke who first raised the question of the nature of the ice which comprised the mountains. Aware that water supplies aboard were running low, over the midday meal in the Great Cabin he mused, ‘I have been wonderin
g. If the ice from the mountains was melted, would it prove to be salt or fresh?’
‘Fresh?’ Johann Forster scoffed. ‘They are frozen seawater. Saline, undoubtedly.’
Young Forster looked up from his sauerkraut. ‘But the ice mountains are drifting. So they may have their origins over a landmass. If so, they may consist of fresh water.’
His father shook his head. ‘Impossible. They have their origins in the sea, therefore they must be salt.’ He looked across the table at Anders. ‘What say you, Sparrman?’
The Swede looked thoughtful. ‘It seems to me that they must be salt.’ He turned to James. ‘What is your view, sir?’
James shrugged. ‘I don’t know. We could only determine their nature by collecting some ice from the mountains and melting it. But we can’t get too close, it’s unsafe to do so.’ He set down his coffee mug. ‘But I would very much like to know.’
The further they sailed on their south-easterly course, the more the frozen world drew them into itself. Fog descended from the grey sky like a winding sheet, so thick that from their afterdecks it was not possible to see the ships’ bows. By mid-December the cold began to take its toll. More men developed chills and fevers. The stock—goats, chickens, sheep and pigs—shivered miserably in their deck pens. After some died, James ordered the goats and the sheep breeding stock—two ewes and a ram—taken below and accommodated in a space between the cabin of the sailing master and that of Johann Forster.
There was a knock on the Great Cabin door. ‘What is it?’ James called. The door was opened by the duty sentry, marine private Harper. He looked embarrassed. Looking up from his log, James said tetchily, ‘Yes?’
‘Mr Forster to see you, Captain.’
The naturalist pushed past the sentry and entered the cabin. His face was flushed. He said immediately and loudly, ‘Captain, the animals. The pigs and sheeps. They stink!’
‘Animals do. What of it?’
‘They are so close. Just through the wall. I hear them grunting and bleating, always I smell their piss and shit!’