The lookout at the masthead was mistaken. The object dead ahead was not a white rock but a sail. Peering through his spyglass, the captain of the British sloop Investigator, explorer Matthew Flinders, sees a ship making straight for his, and orders his crew to clear the decks for action – all guns at the ready. It is Thursday 8 April 1802.
The approaching ship is an unknown vessel in the mostly uncharted waters off the southern coast of South Australia, and Captain Flinders is taking no chances. He is mindful that French ships have been sighted in the region more frequently of late, and that their motives – ostensibly scientific – are suspect. He is not aware that Britain and France are no longer at war – a fragile truce, the Treaty of Amiens, having been patched up just two weeks earlier.
The Investigator hoists her colours and, in reply, the oncoming vessel raises the French ensign and a white flag of truce. Flinders, concerned that the white flag might be a ruse for a surprise attack, manoeuvres the Investigator broadside to the French ship, but is soon satisfied that she means no harm.
In his account of the incident, Flinders writes, ‘I hove to, and learned, as the stranger passed to leeward with a free wind, that it was the French national ship Le Géographe, under the command of Captain Nicolas Baudin.’1
In his report on the encounter with Flinders’ Investigator, Captain Baudin writes, ‘On 8 April, continuing to follow the coast and the various coves upon it, we sighted towards the north-east a long chain of high mountains that appeared to terminate at the border of the sea. The weariness we had for a long time experienced at seeing coasts, which for the most part were arid and offered not the slightest resource, was dissipated by the expectation of coming upon a more promising country. A little later, a still more agreeable object of distraction presented itself to our view. A square-sailed ship was sighted ahead.’2
At first, the French assume the approaching vessel is their sister ship Le Naturaliste, but on seeing the vessel raise the British ensign they hoist their own colours and advance within hailing distance.
‘A voice enquired what ship we were,’ Baudin writes. ‘I replied simply that we were French.
‘“Is that Captain Baudin?”
‘“Yes, it is he.”
‘The English captain then saluted me graciously, saying, “I am very glad to meet you.” I replied to the same effect, without knowing to whom I was speaking but, seeing that arrangements were being made for someone to come aboard, I brought the ship to.’3
In his log, Baudin writes, ‘The English captain, Mr Flinders – the same who discovered the strait which ought to bear his name and which, most inappropriately, has been named Bass’s Strait – came on board, declared himself greatly pleased at this agreeable encounter, but was extremely reserved on other matters.
‘As soon as I knew his name, I expressed my compliments and the pleasure I felt in making his acquaintance, and I told him all that we had put in order up to the present, concerning our geographical work.’4
On boarding Le Géographe, Flinders is cordially greeted by Captain Baudin, who tells him Le Géographe and her sister ship Le Naturaliste, both French navy vessels, left France two years ago on a scientific expedition to chart the coastline of New Holland and record its flora and fauna, and that the expedition was commissioned by Napoleon himself.
He is not telling Matthew Flinders anything he doesn’t already know. As fate would have it, Flinders has happened upon his rival in a great race. The British are aware that while Napoleon seems genuinely interested in expanding man’s knowledge of the natural world, he is no less interested in expanding France’s dominions. Joseph Banks, the naturalist who accompanied Cook on his first voyage of discovery, is notable among those convinced that the motivation for the Baudin expedition is political rather than scientific. Bringing all his influence to bear, Banks won the support of the admiralty to pursue two courses of action.
Firstly, to make sure the colonial authorities in Sydney were not caught unawares, he wrote to New South Wales Governor Philip Gidley King, advising him: ‘Two French ships sailed from Le Havre in October last year for the avowed purpose of surveying the north-west coasts of New Holland. If they visit you, and I suppose they will, it will be very desirable that you pick out any of their people who will tell you the history of their visit to the French islands [Isle de France (Mauritius) and Réunion – France’s naval bases in the Indian Ocean] and as much as you can of what they have done there.’5
Banks’ second plan of action was to commission Matthew Flinders – a navigator and cartographer second only in reputation to James Cook – to chart the Antipodean coastline for Britain, and to get the job done before the French.
Le Naturaliste has already made history. While exploring Shark Bay in Western Australia, a sailor returned from an excursion ashore clutching a remarkable find. On a high point overlooking the beach, he had stumbled upon a pewter plate lying half-buried in the sand. On examining the inscription on the plate, Hamelin discovered it was the plate marking the landing of the Dutch explorer Willem de Vlamingh back in 1697. Presumably, the pole it had been attached to had long since rotted away. Refusing Louis de Freycinet’s request to take the artefact to France as a curiosity, Captain Hamelin ordered that it be returned to the spot where it had been found and attached to a new pole, then had another plate erected to mark his own visit to Shark Bay.
Later, after the two French ships lost sight of each other during a storm off the coast of Van Diemen’s Land, Le Naturaliste, low on food and water, headed for Port Jackson.
The map of New Holland is sketchy; a pastiche of separate surveys of widely varying accuracy, gaps filled in with guesswork, and abiding mysteries. For instance, while it is now known for sure that Van Diemen’s Land is an island, thanks to Matthew Flinders and his fellow explorer George Bass, it is not yet certain whether New Holland is one continent or two, divided by a strait.
On the advice of James Cook himself that the task is too great an endeavour for one expedition alone, Britain and France have agreed to share it, hostilities notwithstanding, in the cause of international scientific cooperation.
Neither side quite trusts the other, however. Both expeditions have been recording in detail coastal features and map coordinates, navigational hazards, inlets suitable for harbours, anchorages and settlements, and accessible resources on shore such as wood and water. It is information not so much of scientific but of strategic importance.
So now, in what will aptly be named Encounter Bay, where Flinders has met Baudin coming the other way, an uneasy truce constrains the sharing of discoveries. It is not only traditional scientific jealousies at play here. Baudin, like Flinders, assumes Britain and France are still at war, and in the French captain’s cabin the two commanders exchange passports of safe conduct issued by the governments of the opposing countries.
Nicolas Baudin, Flinders learns, is not only a naturalist but a cartographer like himself, and that he had led successful scientific expeditions to the Indian Ocean and the West Indies to collect plant and animal specimens for Paris museums. On the basis of that experience, he was chosen to lead the New Holland expedition.
He and Matthew Flinders confer for about half an hour in the captain’s cabin, and again the following morning over breakfast. Because Baudin speaks English no interpreter is necessary, and both men later provide accounts of the meeting. From Flinders’ account it seems he is convinced that Baudin, while somewhat guarded about disclosing strategic information, is primarily and sincerely interested in the scientific aims of the expedition.
For his part, Baudin reports: ‘I had no hesitation about giving him information concerning what we had been doing upon the coast until that moment.
‘At the moment of our departure, Mr Flinders presented me with several new charts, published by Arrowsmith, and a printed memoir by himself, dealing with discoveries in the strait, the north coast of Van Diemen’s Land, the east coast, etc. He also invited me to sail, like himself, for Port Jackson – the resources of which he perhaps exalted too highly – if I had to remain long in these seas.’6
At eight o’clock the next morning the ships part, with Flinders sailing north-west and Baudin heading south.
Nicolas Baudin seems a true son of the Enlightenment – the intellectual revolution sweeping away the encrusted world view of the Middle Ages – as revealed in a letter to an enemy who would become a friend, New South Wales Governor Philip Gidley King:
‘I have never been able to imagine that there was any justice or even fairness on the part of Europeans in seizing, in the name of their government, a land which when first seen was inhabited by men who did not always deserve the titles of “savage” and “cannibal” that have been lavished on them, as they are still only nature’s children and just as uncivilised as Scottish Highlanders or our peasants of Lower Brittany, etc., who, even if they do not eat their fellow men, are no less harmful to them for all that.
‘From this, it seems to me that it would be infinitely more glorious for your nation as for my own to mould for society the inhabitants of their own countries, over whom they have rights, rather than attempting to undertake the education of those who are very far away by first seizing the land that belongs to them and that has given birth to them.’7
He advises his men, ‘As it is probable that the part of the coast you are to explore is frequented by natives – since we have noticed several columns of smoke there at various times – you will carefully avoid any unpleasant dealings with them, and try, on the contrary, to make them understand, by gestures of friendship or the sight of presents that I intend for them, how peaceful our intentions are.’8
Baudin’s enlightenment, however, does not extend to the health and welfare of his crew. When Le Géographe spied the Investigator in Encounter Bay, Baudin’s crew, desperate for fresh food, were harpooning dolphins. Baudin had not provided adequate provisions for his men, and had ignored the advice of more experienced mariners on ways to prevent scurvy. As a result, several among the ship’s company were stricken with the disease, and worse was to come.
Two months later, after following the southern coastline Baudin names Terre Napoleon, Le Géographe arrives off Port Jackson, where Baudin sends a message to Governor King, appealing for help:
‘The situation in which 23 members of my crew find themselves, being to a greater or lesser extent afflicted with scurvy following the long sojourn I have just made at sea, leads me to hope that you will be kind enough to allow them to be transported to your military hospitals so that they may regain their health. This disease, as you know, requires only some care, rest and a change of diet, and I am convinced that they will promptly recover if you agree to them being admitted there.
‘I would also like, with your approval, to set up a few tents on shore to facilitate the work of our astronomers, whose observations will be passed on to you. The place where Mr Flinders is located appears to me to be the most suitable, provided that this is acceptable to you.
‘As I will need to replenish my supplies, such as biscuits, flour, salted meat, spirits, fresh meat, vegetables, etc., I shall have the honour of presenting you with the list of quantities, requesting that they be supplied from the government or private stores, if they exist.’9
Sailors from Flinders’ Investigator, sent out by King to bring the French ship into port, find that Baudin has downplayed the extent of the problem. The entire ship’s complement of 170 officers and men are so debilitated by scurvy that none are able to sail the ship.
On board Le Géographe, men covered in ugly black sores lie on the decks moaning in pain and misery – their limbs stiff and useless, their lips shrivelled and their gums ulcerated. The water supply is putrid, the biscuits are all but destroyed by weevils, and the salt meat is so rancid that many of the crew have chosen to starve rather than eat it.
The defences of Port Jackson are risible. The harbour’s first line of defence – a ten-gun battery at Dawes Point – had been upgraded two years earlier when it was found that the supporting earthworks collapsed whenever the guns were fired. The battery is now capable of firing a shot in anger without falling apart, but a single broadside from a hostile vessel could wipe it out.
On entering the port, the French cannot help but notice that the narrows leading from the open sea to the harbour are not defended by fortifications of any kind, nor is there any defence against invaders approaching by land from the Botany Bay side or from Broken Bay. It’s as if the British authorities, both in Sydney and in London, believe the colony’s isolation is defence enough; that it is safely out of sight and mind of the warring nations of Europe. The naturalist François Péron notes, ‘Just two frigates could blockade an entire fleet.’10
With the ship safe at anchor in Sydney Cove, the sick are taken to hospital, tents are set up for the scientists at Cattle Point (now Bennelong Point), and an official welcome is extended by Governor King, who is pleased to share with Baudin the good news that ‘a peace has taken place between our respective countries’.
King adds, ‘Yet a continuance of the war would have made no difference in my reception of your ship, and affording every relief and assistance in my power. And although you will not find abundant supplies of what are most requisite and acceptable to those coming off so long a voyage, yet I offer you a sincere welcome.’11
King suspects that Napoleon’s government has notions of establishing a base on the east coast. Still, after examining Baudin’s orders and charts, which Baudin has freely offered for his perusal, the governor concludes, ‘His object was, by his orders, the collection of objects of natural history from this country at large, and the geography of Van Diemen’s Land.
‘It does not appear from his orders that he was at all instructed to touch here, which I do not think he intended if not obliged by distress.’12
He is further inclined to believe Baudin when he assures him that he ‘knew of no idea that the French had of settling on any part or side of this continent’.13
Baudin is being somewhat disingenuous here. His report to the Minister of Marine, in Paris, suggests that political designs have at least crossed his mind.
‘I should warn you that the colony of Port Jackson well merits the attention of the government and even of the other European powers, especially that of Spain,’ he writes. ‘People in France and elsewhere are far from being able to imagine how large and prosperous the English have been able to make this colony in the space of 14 years – a colony whose size and prosperity can only increase further each year through the efforts of the government. It seems to me that politics demand that we weigh by whatever means possible the preparations they are making for the future, which foreshadow some large projects.’14
If political implications are an afterthought for Captain Baudin, they are foremost on the mind of one of the scientists aboard Le Géographe. François Péron has acceptable – if somewhat embroidered – scientific credentials, but his reasons for joining the expedition are far from altruistic. In a secret report he is compiling, Péron writes:
‘For 15 years the English have supported at great expense a large population on the east coast of New Holland, and this vast continent is still almost completely unknown.
‘All southern lands, all the many archipelagos of the Pacific Ocean, were invaded by the English. They have proclaimed sovereignty over all the land that stretches from Cape York to the southern end of New Holland.
‘Even in this regard, no precise limit has been fixed in the act of taking possession of that side of the Pacific Ocean, and this omission does not appear to have been the result of a capricious policy – the English government thus providing themselves with the pretext to claim in time everything which in this vast area of the southern seas could be occupied, or is even currently occupied by the Spanish, who are adjacent to their possessions.’
Britain’s flagrant expansionism in the Pacific, says Péron, ‘should alarm all the nations of Europe’. But while other European leaders seem content to stand idly by while Britain paints more and more of its colours on the map of the world, France’s First Consul, Napoleon Bonaparte, is determined to reverse Britain’s fortunes.
‘Always looking for ways to humiliate the eternal rival of our nation, the First Consul, immediately after the revolution of 18 Brumaire [the coup of 9 November 1799 that brought Napoleon to power] commissioned our expedition,’ Péron writes.
‘Its real, essential purpose was too important to reveal to the governments of Europe, and particularly to the British. Consent needed to be unanimous and, to get it, we needed to appear free of any political designs.’15
Taking advantage of Sydney’s hospitality and of scientific fraternity, the naturalist intends to gather intelligence to enable an invasion of Port Jackson.
François Péron is a spy.