The American lieutenant cocked his piece, held his breath, aimed and fired. On 14 July 1770, John Gore, a native of the British colony of Virginia, and an officer on James Cook’s Endeavour, added a footnote to history.
The Endeavour’s botanist, Joseph Banks, recorded in his journal, ‘Our second lieutenant, who was out shooting today, had the good fortune to shoot the animal that has for so long been the subject of our speculations. To compare it to any European animal would be impossible, as it has not the least resemblance to any I have seen. Its forelegs are extremely short and of no use to it in walking; its hind legs again as disproportionately long. With these it hops seven to eight feet at each hop in the same manner as the gerbua [or jerboa, a small hopping desert rodent of North Africa and Asia], to which animal indeed it bears much resemblance except in size.’1
In the margin of this entry in his journal, Banks wrote the word ‘kanguru’. To English ears, it was a close approximation of ‘gangurru’, the named given to the animal by the Guugu Yimithirr people of what will some day be called Far North Queensland. Cook and his crew had spent about six weeks at what is now Cooktown repairing the Endeavour, which had been damaged on the Great Barrier Reef during her voyage of exploration. Around that time, several attempts were made to capture or kill one of the remarkable hopping animals, but they proved difficult targets for muskets and all had failed until John Gore’s lucky shot.
The immediate fate of the grey kangaroo shot by Gore, as it bounded along the riverbank, was recorded by Banks the following evening. He wrote, ‘The beast which was killed yesterday was today dressed for our dinners and proved excellent meat.’2
For the benefit of science, the animal’s skin was preserved and, on the expedition’s return to England, stuffed by taxidermists who, having never seen the living animal, were obliged to rely on rough sketches and descriptions by Banks and others. The anatomically incorrect result was displayed as a public curiosity, and immortalised in a painting by the noted British artist George Stubbs. Commissioned by Joseph Banks, Stubb’s The Kongouro from New Holland portrays a rather rat-faced, pear-shaped animal standing on a rock, looking over its shoulder. Exhibited by Stubbs at London’s Society of Artists, the portrait of the impossible creature from the lost continent at the end of the Earth was a sensation. Soon, not only Britain but all of Europe was abuzz with talk of the natural wonders of New Holland.
One of the great literary figures of the age, Doctor Samuel Johnson, was among those fascinated by the kangaroo. His biographer, James Boswell, recorded that when, during dinner with friends, the conversation turned to how Joseph Banks had, ‘in his travels, discovered an extraordinary animal called the kangaroo’, Johnson, to the astonishment of all present, leapt to his feet, ‘put out his hands like feelers, and gathering up the tails of his huge brown coat so as to resemble the pouch of the animal, made two or three vigorous bounds across the room’.3
The first live kangaroo will not arrive in Britain until April 1792, brought by Captain Henry Lidgbird Ball as a gift for the king’s menagerie in the Royal Gardens at Richmond. The British public will not see a living, breathing specimen until the following year, when London entrepreneur Gilbert Pidcock exhibits one to delighted crowds at his menagerie in the Strand. Pidcock later procures more kangaroos for his zoo, and they prove so popular that the ‘new animals from Botany Bay’ invariably top the bill of his ‘Grand Assemblage of Living Curiosities’, which includes lions, a jackal, a pair of leopards, a Patagonian armadillo, a Siberian bear, mandrills, wolves, a golden vulture and, oddly, ‘two Arabian savages’.4 Admission is sixpence, and patrons are assured that ‘the large beasts are so secured in iron dens that ladies and children may see the best collection in Europe with safety’.5
Meanwhile, across the channel, the French beat the British to it, thanks to Joseph Banks, who in 1789 sent a live kangaroo to Paris as a gift to his friend and fellow naturalist Pierre Broussonet. The kangaroo did not draw delighted crowds as in England, however. On 14 July 1789, a few days after the creature’s arrival in Paris, crowds of a darker disposition, rebelling against royal tyranny, stormed the Bastille fortress – the touchstone of the French Revolution.
The fate of France’s first kangaroo is unknown, but it’s to be hoped it wasn’t sent to the royal menagerie where, in a revolutionary fervour, the mob slaughtered all the animals.
In 1802, during the brief peace between France and Britain, the eminent scientist Charles Blagden suggests to Joseph Banks that in the cause of détente the self-styled First Consul of France, Napoleon Bonaparte, might appreciate the gift of a kangaroo or two. Blagden, as secretary of the Royal Society – of which Banks is president – is in Paris working to foster better relations between British and French scientists. To that end he has become acquainted with the Bonapartes. He is aware of Josephine’s interest in natural history, and of her particular interest in the flora and fauna of New Holland.
‘It occurred to me,’ says Blagden, ‘that perhaps the most acceptable present that could be made to the First Consul would be a pair of live kangaroos. The Park of Saint-Cloud, where he is going to reside, would be an excellent place for a little paddock of kangaroos, like that of the king at Richmond.’6
Banks, too, is aware of Josephine’s interests, and has sent her plant specimens from Botany Bay, for which she has written to thank him. Napoleon, at dinner with Blagden, reveals that he holds Banks in high regard and hopes he might visit him some day. But the feeling is not mutual. Banks, much as he admires Josephine, considers her husband an upstart and a despot, and is not inclined to provide tokens of appeasement.
He ignores Blagden’s suggestion, so a few weeks later Blagden tries again. ‘As to the kangaroos,’ he writes, ‘it is entirely my suggestion and let it take its fate. Had I the honour of advising His Majesty, my counsel would be to send a pair of them, as a present to the First Consul, without delay, and I should give this advice, not from a blind admiration of the man (for I am as sharp-sighted in discerning faults as my neighbour) but from the conviction that more is often gained by trifling personal civilities than by great sacrifices.’7
Banks will not be swayed and denies the request, yet Napoleon and Josephine need not be disappointed for long. A letter has arrived from a certain Monsieur Péron, lately returned from a voyage to New Holland. It concerns, among other exotica, kangaroos.