A TERSE NOTE WAS DELIVERED TO JAMES at Greenwich, on 10 January 1776:
My dear Cook,
There is an important matter we need to discuss.
Please arrange to meet me at my office this Thursday (12 January) at noon.
I am yours,
Stephens, Secretary to the Admiralty
‘Cook. Good day, sir. How goes your journal writing?’
‘Slowly. But I have reached New Caledonia.’
Stephens fixed James with his usual wry smile. His cheeks had a pinkish tinge, his hazel eyes sparkled. He was casually dressed, as always: his waistcoat frogs were undone, exposing his white vest, his brown hair drawn back in a queue and tied with a blue ribbon. He gestured towards his office table. ‘Take a seat. I’ve ordered coffee and shortbread.’
A coal fire burned in the grate, radiating welcome warmth after the cold of the street. There were navy-blue drapes on either side of the double-hung sash windows that faced Whitehall. The floor was carpeted in matching blue, patterned with gold fleur-de-lys designs. There was a large globe table under the window; an oil painting of the 1759 Battle of Quiberon Bay, in which the English fleet under Sir Edward Hawke had defeated the French, hung above the fireplace. On the other wall was a series of framed cartoons from the Spectator, most depicting the rebels in England’s North American colonies as backwoodsmen with ape-like features.
A manservant brought in the coffee and shortbread on a tray and placed it on the table. He left, and James and Stephens sat facing each other across the table. They chatted, Stephens filling James in on the latest reports from North America. ‘The rebels’ so-called “general”, Washington, has hoisted a flag above his headquarters, our spies report. He says it represents the “Continental Union”.’ Stephens scowled. ‘The man needs a good beating. And he’ll get one, have no doubt about that.’
As James sipped his coffee, eyes fixed on the man opposite him, he kept wondering what this meeting was really about. Stephens had not summoned him here just to chat about what had already been prominently reported in the London news-sheets. The secretary remained one of the Admiralty’s most influential figures; it seemed to James that there was nothing that went on in the upper echelons of the Royal Navy without Stephens being aware of it.
The secretary picked up a piece of shortbread, dunked it in his coffee and nibbled it. He licked his lips then said carefully, ‘Tell me what you know of the North-west Passage.’
James thought for some moments. ‘Such a passage has been sought for centuries. Frobisher tried to find it in the 1570s. So did Davis. Hudson tried twice, and died in the second attempt. In 1610, I think it was.’
Stephens nodded, obviously impressed. ‘Hudson’s men mutinied, then left him and his son to die from the cold in the great bay that now bears his name.’ He rubbed his chin. ‘For centuries there have been stories about a passage linking the two oceans, ever since the Spaniard de Fuca sailed up the western coast of America in 1592 and claimed to have found a great inlet there.’
He got up and went over to the globe table. ‘Come and have a look at this.’ Stephens stroked the globe and it spun smoothly on its axis. Set into a circular frame of polished elm, it was a fine combination of form and function. Stephens placed his hand on the globe to halt its turning and said, ‘This is the very latest model. Delivered here last week from Hearne Bros, the cartographers of Cannon Street.’ He stroked it again and the Southern Hemisphere appeared. ‘You’ll notice that it incorporates your latest discoveries. New Caledonia, Norfolk Island and …’ He moved the globe again. ‘Sandwich Land, South Georgia and the Antarctic landmass.’
James nodded. It was true that the world map had been partly redrawn through his discoveries. He reached out, flicked the globe and brought New Holland and Van Diemen’s Land into view. They were joined by a blank patch. Putting his forefinger on it, James said, ‘I very much regretted not discovering whether Van Diemen’s Land is actually part of the continent of New Holland, or if there is a strait separating them.’
Stephens went across to the fireplace and stood with his back to the glowing coals. ‘That omission will doubtless be rectified in time. And it’s only a minor gap in the picture. Like one piece in those new puzzles that are so popular. What do they call them?’
‘Jigsaws.’
‘Ah, yes, just one missing piece of a jigsaw. But the North-west passage …’ Stephens turned the globe again, exposing the Northern Hemisphere and placing his palm on Canada. ‘This much is now known and charted. Davis Strait, to the west of Greenland; Hudson Strait, leading into Hudson Bay.’ His hand moved further north to where the hemisphere became blank. ‘But north of the Arctic Circle, all is terra incognita.’ He turned and stared at James, his eyes shining. ‘The last great global discovery, a passage from the North Atlantic through to the North Pacific. Imagine the advantages for trade between the Orient and Europe. As you’re aware, the Ottoman Turks currently control the overland routes across Eurasia to China, closing that trade avenue to us. But a passage through to the East via northern North America: imagine that! No more doubling of Cape Horn or the Cape of Good Hope. A saving of months of sailing.’
Meeting Stephens’s stare, James said pointedly, ‘Yes, but you’re ignoring the fact that for nine months of the year the seas and land north of the Arctic Circle—north of the sixtieth parallel, in fact—are frozen over. There cannot possibly be a passage through the ice from the Atlantic to the Pacific.’
‘Aha!’ Stephens’s expression became gleeful. ‘And you’re ignoring the fact that for three months of the year they are not frozen over. From June through to August, possibly even to September, the thaw would allow a sea passage to be made, if one exists. The Russians have already charted the Bering Strait and have built some settlements in the extreme east of their vast country. You’ve studied the charts of Vitus Bering, I presume? And von Stahlin’s more recent one?’
‘I have. But the Russians haven’t surveyed beyond the seventieth parallel. No one else has, either.’ James frowned. ‘Why this talk of the Bering Strait? Surely a further search for the North-west Passage should approach from the Davis Strait in the North Atlantic.’
Stephens leaned forward, so that his face was close to James’s. ‘No,’ he said emphatically. ‘It’s the Admiralty’s considered view that a new exploration should be from the west. From the North Pacific. A search for a North-east Passage, so to speak. And that exploration, the Admiralty, the Royal Society and the King all believe, should be made soon.’ He swallowed. ‘So earnest is the desire of the authorities for such a passage to be discovered, they have offered a reward of £20,000 to those who find it.’
‘Twenty thousand?’
‘Yes. To be shared among the companies of the ships that discover it.’ Stephens closed one eye conspiratorially. ‘And it’s my belief that such an expedition should be led by you.’
James was stunned into silence. His mind whirled. Another world voyage. And one with profound ramifications. Venturing into the extremes of the Northern Hemisphere, from the west. Uncharted waters. Ice mountains. Months of cold. Frozen sails and rigging.
Finding his voice, he said quietly, ‘It would take at least a year to reach America’s west coast from here. When would such an expedition depart?’
‘To reach the Bering Strait by the northern summer of next year, and presuming the ships would sail for the Pacific Ocean via the Cape of Good Hope …’ Stephens blinked, rapidly. ‘By April this year.’
There was a long silence, during which Stephens watched James intently. ‘You look a trifle confounded, Captain. Does such a voyage not interest you?’
James looked away. ‘I’m rocked, more than confounded. I considered myself done with world voyaging.’
Stephens said challengingly, ‘Then whom would you prefer to lead such an expedition? Tobias Furneaux? John Gore?’
‘No. I know both men well. And neither would be a suitable leader.’
‘That is precisely why I’m suggesting you. There is only one Englishman with the experience and ability to seek a North-east Passage, and that is yourself. No one other than you could bring such a search to fruition.’
There was another long silence. James’s mind continued to spin. At last he said, ‘Such a voyage would take at least three years.’
‘Yes, yes.’ Stephens’s tone now betrayed irritation. ‘But the rewards, think of them. And I don’t just mean the twenty thousand pounds.’ He clenched his left hand. ‘To be the first man to discover a passage from the northern Pacific through to the Atlantic.’ He pointed to the globe table. ‘The consequent trade would bring enormous wealth to England. The silks of Cathay, the teas of India, the spices of the East Indies, brought with relative speed to European markets by English ships. Untold riches for our nation.’ He paused meaningfully. ‘And immortality for the man who discovered the passage and so allowed such trade to happen.’
‘I’m well aware of the significance of such a discovery,’ James replied quietly.
‘Then you will agree to lead such a voyage?’
Avoiding Stephens’s expectant stare, James said, ‘There are other matters to take into consideration.’
‘Such as?’
‘My Resolution account must be completed.’
‘Yes. By April. Is that possible?’
‘I believe so.’
‘What then?’
‘Family considerations.’
Stephens made no comment on this. Instead he came closer and said, ‘I thought you would probably need time to give the idea more thought. That’s why I felt obliged to let you know before the Admiralty made you an official offer. I thought I should forewarn you and give you the time for the fullest consideration of this matter.’ He lowered his voice. ‘And for the time being, it must be one of complete confidence between us. Only the Admiralty, the Royal Society principals and the King are aware of the proposed voyage. And no word of their intentions must reach the ears of our political rivals. The French, especially. Or the Spanish, or the Russians.’
James laughed drily. ‘But how could such a voyage be kept a secret? Mounting another expedition to the Pacific will surely become common knowledge. It’s already known that Resolution is being overhauled, and that another collier has been bought by the Navy Board as a consort vessel for her.’
Stephens gave him a smug smile. ‘I’ve thought of that.’ He strolled across to the fireplace. With his back again to the grate he said, ‘It will be put about that the raison d’être for another Royal Navy South Sea voyage is to return the Society Isles native Omai to his homeland.’
In the hackney on the way home James’s mind churned like an ebbing tide against a rising wind. What Stephens had told him was, strictly speaking, out of turn. The word should have come first from Sandwich. As on previous occasions, Stephens had taken James into his confidence because of the significance of the proposed venture. Furthermore, he completely sympathised with the secretary’s instruction that no word of the voyage’s real intention be disclosed to anyone. Several European nations wanted to discover a sea pathway from the Atlantic to the Pacific. And with the recent improvements in navigation—in particular the ability to fix longitude precisely and the overcoming of scurvy through a strict dietary regime—James knew that long voyages might from now on be less hazardous.
Moreover, Stephens’s suggestion that he lead such an expedition was gratifying. Certainly, the thought of Furneaux, who had proved inadequate as a commander of Adventure, or hot-tempered Gore, who more than once had incurred James’s wrath while on the Endeavour voyage, as leader of an expedition to the North Pacific dismayed him. Even Dick Pickersgill, loyal lieutenant as he had proved himself, would be unsuitable for the commander’s role. He was a follower, a competent one, but not a leader. Stephens was right. There was only one man with the capabilities to lead such an expedition, and that was himself.
The hackney came in sight of the river, but for once James was not distracted by its water-borne traffic. The more he thought about the possibility of leading this ambitious voyage, the more he felt it was right for him. To discover and chart a North-east Passage would be the crowning achievement of his naval career. It would eclipse the discoveries and surveys of his second voyage. It would compensate for the disappointment of finding that a Great Southern Continent did not exist. And the commander’s share of £20,000 would amount to a fortune.
What had to be weighed in the balance was the risks. The possibility that an opening to the Arctic Sea could be closed again by adverse weather. The fact that the western coast of North America had as yet been charted only cursorily. The challenges for such an expedition’s commanders and crew would be colossal. And there were his own health concerns. He had suffered illness during the second voyage. Could his ageing body withstand the privations that would inevitably be part of a third?
He stared out the window of the hackney, which was passing the Tower of London’s grim ramparts. Then there were the other considerations. Personal ones. He had told Elizabeth that he had done with voyaging. If that decision were reversed, how would she feel about his departure once more from hearth and home when there was another child coming? Due in May, she had been told. So he would not be here for the birth of this one, either. And the voyage would mean another absence that could not be less than three years. That prospect could hardly be welcomed by her.
The cab reached Assembly Row. As James climbed down and paid the driver, he saw Elizabeth outside the house. Bonneted and shawled against the cold, her ankle boots muddy, she was cleaning the parlour windows with a cloth. He gave her a hug then scolded, ‘You should not be doing such tasks in your condition, Beth. Leave it to Susan. Or Nathaniel.’
She sighed. ‘Unless I do it myself, it’s never done properly.’ She stepped back. ‘But it’s done now.’ Sighing, she put a hand on her stomach. ‘How was your meeting with Stephens?’
He looked away. ‘Oh, satisfactory. Nothing important.’