Mrs. Cook Page 21

  The letter was like the first bird of spring, a sign of return. Now Elizabeth began counting the days. The Cape was thousands of miles away but it felt as if he were almost home.

  With the letter James had enclosed a poem, which he ‘very much valued’, composed by one of the crew, Thomas Perry. A poem Elizabeth would keep with her always.

  THE ANTARCTIC MUSE

  It is now my brave boys we are clear of the Ice

  And keep a good heart if you’ll take my advice

  We are out of the cold my brave Boys do not fear

  For the Cape of Good Hope with good hearts we do steer

  Thank God we have ranged the Globe all around

  And we have likewise the south Continent found

  But it being too late in the year as they say

  We could stay there no longer the land to survey

  So we leave it alone for we give a good reason

  For the next ship that comes to survey in right season

  The great fields of ice among them we were bothered

  We were forced to alter our course to the northward

  So we have done our utmost as any men born

  To discover a land so far south of Cape Horn

  So now my brave boys we no longer will stay

  For we leave it alone for the next ship to survey

  It was when we got into the cold frosty air

  We was obliged our mittens and Magdalen caps to wear

  We are out of the cold my brave boys and perhaps

  We will pull off our mittens and Magdalen caps

  We are hearty and well and of good constitution

  And have ranged the globe round in the brave Resolution

  Brave Captain Cook he was our commander

  Has conducted the ship from all eminent danger

  We were all hearty seamen no cold did we fear

  And we have from all sickness entirely kept clear

  Thanks be to the Captain he has proved so good

  Amongst all the islands to give us fresh food

  And when to old England my brave boys we arrive

  We will tip off a bottle to make us alive

  We will toast Captain Cook with a loud song all around

  Because that he has the South Continent found

  Blessed be to his wife and his family too

  God prosper them all and well for to do

  Bless’d be unto them so long as they shall live

  And that is the wish to them I do give.

  A LETTER FROM DR SOLANDER

  TO JOSEPH BANKS

  Two o’clock Monday—This morning Capt. Cook is arrived. I have not yet had an opertunity of conversing with him, as he is still in the board-room—giving an account of himself & Co. He looks as well as ever. By and by, I shall be able to say a little more—Give my Compliments to Miss Ray and tell her I have made a Visitation to her Birds and found them all well.

  Capt. Cook desires his best Compliments to You, he expressed himself in the most friendly manner towards you, that could be; he said: nothing could have added to the satisfaction he has had, in making this tour but having had your company. He has some Birds, in Sp. V. for you &c &c that he would have write to you himself about, if he had not been kept too long at the Admiralty and at the same time wishing to see his wife.

  James was back. After three years and eighteen days, after sailing more than twenty thousand miles, discovering new islands, new plant and animal species. He had gone further than any man before him, making a snail’s trail across the oceans of the globe, back and forward he had swept in the icy southern latitudes, and had proved that the Great South Land, the one of riches beyond compare, existed only in the minds of men. All this. But James’s proudest achievement was that of one hundred and eighteen men, he had lost only one to illness. Captain James Cook could keep his brave boys alive for months, years, and bring them safely home again.

  Elizabeth had given Gates the day off so that she and James would have the house to themselves. Jamie and Nat had already seen their father in Portsmouth and would not be coming to London till Christmas. Though Elizabeth was full of excitement at the thought of seeing James again, of having him home, she told herself that after such a long voyage, after the hours spent reporting to the Admiralty, he may be exhausted. For her it would have been enough simply to be in his presence once again, to gaze upon him, embrace him tenderly, sleep by his side. But although she could see signs of strain in is face, his eyes glittered. In his urgent love-making he buried himself in her, again and again, as if he could never have enough of her.

  In the days following his triumphant return, he was presented to the King at St James’s Palace, then received his appointment as Fourth Captain at Greenwich Hospital, effectively a pension for distinguished service, with £230 per annum, free quarters, fire and light, and 1s 2d per diem table money. He was also given a promise of employment should he ask for it.

  Captain Cook had become an influential person, a man about town, seen not only at the Mitre Tavern, frequented by the Royal Society, but at Jack’s, Will’s, and other coffee houses where men of science and art gathered. His advice was sought on practically any naval matter, and he was to shortly become a Fellow of the Royal Society, receiving twenty-three nominations for membership instead of the usual four or five. Cook was, as Banks had been before him, the talk of London, but he was wise and old enough not to have his head turned by it.

  Another South Seas voyage was planned for the Resolution, to take Omai home, but this time with Charles Clerke in command, not James. Elizabeth was ecstatic. Her sailor was home from the seas, for good it seemed.

  Elizabeth was approaching her thirty-fourth birthday, James his forty-seventh. They had an assured income for life, Jamie and Nat were on the way to becoming naval officers, and like a sweet ripe peach, Elizabeth was with child once again. But as the leaves changed colour, and the summer of 1775 turned into autumn, the days of Elizabeth and James’s summer grew shorter too. Imperceptibly at first, as it always is with the shortening of days, and in the smooth favourable winds that carried her along, Elizabeth did not at first notice the occasional fitful rustle of leaves, nor ripples on the surface of the water, as she and James walked into the slowly growing momentum of a wave that would tear them asunder.

  ‘A few months ago’, James wrote to John Walker, in Whitby, ‘the whole Southern hemisphere was hardly big enough for me and now I am going to be confined within the limits of Greenwich Hospital, which are far too small for an active mind like mine, I must however confess it is a fine retreat and a pretty income, but whether I can bring myself to like ease and retirement, time will shew. Mrs Cook joins with me in best respects to you and all your family . . . ’

  Elizabeth watched her husband at the Spanish mahogany folding table, saw the quill moving through the air as the pen shaped letters. James was almost fifty, his pace must slow soon. He could not spend the rest of his life circumnavigating the globe. Banks, a younger man than James, no longer felt the need to go discovering. Others brought the world, especially its botanical specimens, to him. Several of the Resolution men had gone to Mr Banks’s house to offer him their curiosities, and James himself had sent up to Solander at the museum four casks for Banks, containing birds, fish and plants.

  Elizabeth knew her husband’s active mind. If he kept it occupied he would settle to land life. She looked at the feather—the instrument, as James had pointed out, of both flight and writing—saw the movement of it as he worked. Surely if he were using his feathers for writing about voyaging instead of doing it, that would suffice.

  Though preparing his Resolution journals for publication was arduous, James had been so mortified by Hawkesworth’s account of the Endeavour voyage that he had determined to write this one himself. A copy of Hawkesworth’s ‘brew’, as Mr Boswell described it, published in 1773, had been waiting for James at Cape Town on his homeward-bound journey. The scribe had been paid the handsome sum of £6000 to write an account o
f the South Sea voyages of Commodore Byron, Captain Wallis, Captain Carteret and Captain Cook. He had written each in the first person so that it appeared that his own opinions, his turns of phrase, were those of the various commanders.

  James scowled at the way the fellow described a group of Maori women using their toes to feel for shellfish as if they were Diana and her nymphs, although Elizabeth found the classical image pretty. ‘The man has written to amuse, not to inform,’ thundered James. ‘He knows nothing about seamanship, appears to care little for geography, and has made so-called observations that are just plain fanciful. Imagine my embarrassment, dear Elizabeth, when I arrived at St Helena, looking forward to dining with Mr Skottowe’s son, John, governor of that island, to find a number of carts and wheelbarrows outside my lodgings. “No wheeled vehicles on our island?” Mrs Skottowe reproached me with gentle raillery. “Cruelty to our slaves?” Of course they knew by then that they were not my words or observations. Nevertheless I am determined that such a thing will not happen again.’

  ‘It was an unhappy affair for Hawkesworth too, James,’ said Elizabeth. ‘The reviewers’ pens were sharp as swords, society tittered, and the fellow died a few months after publication. Of chagrin, it was said.’

  Though James had now set his course on preparing the account of the second voyage himself, it was by no means plain sailing. Mr Forster was proving to be as pesky on land as he had been at sea. Though annoying as a march fly, on board the Resolution Mr Forster had made a sacrifice that had saved James’s life. James himself glossed over the illness. It was Isaac who revealed how close to death James had come and how the whole ship’s company had feared for their captain.

  ‘We were near Easter Island when he was overcome with bilious colic,’ said Isaac. ‘He had suffered the complaint earlier, which abated as we pushed towards colder climes. On our return to warmer latitudes, he had an attack so severe it forced him to bed.’ Elizabeth knew how bad it must have been to confine James to bed. ‘Aye,’ continued Isaac. ‘At first he tried to conceal it, to carry on in the usual manner, but the malady got the better of him. He even consented to taking medicines, opiates and glysters, but couldn’t keep them down. Then he developed dreadful hiccoughs that went on ceaselessly for more than a day. Finally, a broth of fresh meat was prepared. It was the broth that nourished and gave him strength.’

  Isaac appeared to have finished the story.

  ‘And what part did Mr Forster play?’

  ‘The broth was made from Mr Forster’s favourite dog.’

  Against her will, Elizabeth gulped. The mere thought of eating dog made her feel sick, as it would anyone. She did not know if the animal had been taken or offered, yet it had nourished her husband, and she was grateful to Mr Forster for that.

  Elizabeth had met him, in the days before the Resolution’s departure. He appeared to be genial enough, bowing with a great flourish on being introduced to the captain’s wife, kissing her hand in the Continental manner. When he rose from the bow, she saw a face with hollow cheeks beneath heavy-lidded eyes. The lines which ran from his nose to the corners of his mouth formed a pair of brackets of the unfortunate type that gave him a permanent sneer.

  Elizabeth peered out at her husband from between the arms of Gates, who was fixing Elizabeth’s taffeta bonnet. She noticed that James’s land clothes were a few years out of fashion. Understandable, with him being away for those years, but she made a note to get him to the tailor at the soonest opportunity. She missed these small everyday tasks when James was away, took pleasure in them when he was home. Elizabeth, mindful of unnecessary expenditure, especially as it was she who did the household accounts, had brought her own dress up to date by trimming the front edges of the overskirt with the same material as the flounces of the sleeves, and by taking up the hem, as skirts were worn short enough this season to show the shoes and ankles. It was easier to get about without having to constantly lift skirts to avoid mud and effluent, but it meant increased care of shoes and stockings as they were now always on show.

  ‘Hold still, marm,’ said Gates. Though Elizabeth loved outings, preparing for them was such a chore. At least an outing to the Pleasure Gardens did not necessarily require full dress, otherwise Elizabeth and Gates would be hours arranging the hair over a wire frame, adding false locks and filling in the gaps with wool.

  Elizabeth now took heed of Gates and sat up straight, observing her husband in the looking glass.

  ‘Forster has no idea. In the islands the men would buy curiosities from the natives for a trifle and resell them to him for a considerably larger sum without him noticing.’ James adjusted his kerchief, giving it a firm crisp edge close to the neck, despite the hot August day. ‘Now he is complaining that £4000 for expenses was not enough.’

  Through the window, open to catch any little thread of breeze, they heard a carriage pull up. ‘The Dyalls,’ said James, looking down into the street. ‘Are you ready, my dear?’

  Elizabeth looked at Gates. ‘Almost,’ she said.

  Mr and Mrs James Cook, and Mr and Mrs Thomas Dyall, their good friends from Mile End, paid a shilling each at the turnstile then entered into the Grand Quadrangle of the Pleasure Gardens at Vauxhall, south of the Thames. This was Elizabeth’s first visit to the gardens, although they had been a place of popular entertainment since the reign of Charles II, and she thrilled at the prospect. When Mama was a girl, the gardens were not respectable. They were whispered of as a place where young bucks loitered and, if they had coins in their pockets, might find accommodating women of the town in the lesser avenues such as Dark Walk, Druid Walk or Lovers’ Walk. They would even force kisses and other unwelcome attentions on young ladies. Sometimes young bloods took out newspaper advertisements trying to trace a lady to whom they’d taken a fancy. These days, though, the gardens were more genteel, an urban pastoral with concerts in the Music Room and wandering minstrels, and all manner of fine entertainments. This evening’s concert, with an orchestra of fifty-four musicians, was to be Mr Handel’s Water Music Suite.

  Elizabeth felt such joy as she strolled along the tree-lined South Walk on her husband’s arm. So long she had waited for a moment like this, to be in a public place with her husband, instead of going about without him, and answering the inevitable question with: ‘They don’t have the penny post in the South Seas but I’m sure Mr Cook is safe and sound.’

  The foursome walked towards the Music Room. It was more than the suggestion of it that brought music to Elizabeth’s ears, because up ahead, coming their way, was a fiddler ducking and weaving through the trees. He circled Elizabeth’s party, Mr Dyall gave him a penny and he was away again, disappearing as quickly as he had appeared.

  The Music Room resembled a grand cockle shell. It was full of light, grand columns, high ornate windows and, best of all, a ceiling which was fluted and reached so high into the sky it made Lilliputians of all who entered it. The ceiling was decorated with huge painted ribbons and flowers growing towards the sun.

  ‘It is like a giant skirt,’ Elizabeth exclaimed.

  ‘And where does that place us?’ Mr Dyall teased.

  They strolled towards a column, to have a closer look at the decoration. There was a pattern of leaves at the base, each leaf identical, and spiralling through was a kind of staircase with figures on it, their arms outstretched and joined like a series of paper dolls, a procession to heaven.

  They headed towards a bench being vacated by a lady and gentleman. Elizabeth and Mrs Dyall sat, while their husbands stood.

  ‘Captain Cook!’ a voice resounded through the hall. James turned and saw Jem Burney, lieutenant on the Adventure, approaching with his sister Fanny. It was Jem who’d led the search party for the men massacred at Grass Cove.

  ‘Jem!’ said James, vigorously shaking the young man’s hand. ‘Good to see you.’

  ‘And excellent to see you too, sir, safely returned.’

  James made the introductions. Elizabeth was pleased to meet young Jem, for whom every
one seemed to have such a fondness. He had a pleasant open face, a quick wit, and was as voluble as his sister was shy. She was small in stature, no taller than Elizabeth herself. Lightly powdered hair curled onto her shoulders and framed a face that seemed to have a perpetual blush. Though shy, awkward almost, her eyes showed intelligence and a quickness of observation. The beauty of her smile was so unexpected it was like a peacock raising its jewelled feathers.

  Elizabeth would remember this meeting, later, in 1778, when the young woman’s first novel, Evelina, burst upon the scene and pushed its author forward into public acclaim and curiosity. Even this very day, before coming to Vauxhall, she may have written some words, the novel taking shape in secret as surely as the new baby growing in Elizabeth’s womb.

  ‘ ’Tis a sad scrape poor Mr Clerke is in,’ Elizabeth heard Jem Burney say to her husband.

  ‘Yes,’ James sympathised. ‘He went guarantor for his brother, Sir John, in the East Indies,’ James explained to the Dyalls, ‘and barely we sail up the Thames than he’s nabbed and thrown in debtors’ prison. A fine welcome home.’

  ‘But he has friends,’ said Jem. ‘Mr Banks and other influential gentlemen. He’ll soon be out of that wretched place and setting sail for the South Seas. I hope to be considered for such a voyage,’ added Jem, ‘though regret it will not be with you, sir.’

  ‘My regrets too, Jem.’

  Quite a crowd was gathering in the auditorium, with many glances in their direction. In this room built to carry sound, Elizabeth heard whispers of ‘Captain James Cook’ lapping from one side to the other. It was a name that all London now knew, but unlike Omai, James did not enjoy being the centre of attention, an object of curiosity. James himself was aware of the thickening around him, and though they were well-wishers—those who wanted to know about such things as the preserved New Zealand head Pickersgill had shown to Solander, which had made the ladies in his party sick, especially when they discovered that the missing portion had been broiled and eaten by the Maoris, or those who wanted simply to congratulate and touch him—he thought it timely to make a departure. ‘Will you join us for supper, Jem, Miss Burney?’