11 JUNE 1775
At 3 o’clock in the afternoon we crossed the Equator in the longitude of 32° 14´ West. We had a fresh gale at ESE which blew in squalls attended by showers of rain which continued at certain intervals till noon the next day, after which we had 24 hours fair weather.
‘Land! Land ho! Off the starboard bow!’
The cry came from able seaman Blackburn at the mainmast head. The crew crowded the starboard railings, peering eagerly into the summer haze. Then they too saw it, a line of forested hills, a quilt of cropland, descending to a cluster of tiled roofs, Plymouth harbour. Cheers went up from the crew. England! England!
The next day they passed through the Solent, then entered the roadstead off Gilkicker Point, at Spithead. It was 30 July 1775, a Saturday. At just after noon, James stood on the quarterdeck with his three officers, watching master Gilbert overseeing the ship’s gradual entry into Portsmouth harbour. Earlier that day he had written in his official journal:
We have been away from England for three years and 18 days. In which time I lost but four men and one only of them by sickness. Resolution has logged a total of over 20,000 leagues, or 60,000 nautical miles. I believe this to be the longest voyage Englishmen have ever undertaken.
His journal to Elizabeth concluded with the words:
My Odyssey is over. I am home.
After going ashore the next morning and reporting to the authorities at Portsmouth’s naval dockyard, James was provided with a large post-chaise to convey him to London. He shared it with the Forsters and some of their bags of specimens; Hodges and his pile of sketch pads; astronomer Wales, who sat the K1 timekeeper on his knee as if it was his favourite child; and one of the able seamen, laconic Richard Grindall, who had been married in Plymouth just one hour before Resolution had sailed. The passengers’ several cabin trunks were strapped to the roof of the coach.
Taking the Portsmouth Road, they passed over the South Downs and through the woodlands of New Hampshire before climbing to the Hog’s Back and following the crest of the North Downs. The air was thick with summer heat, the view from the Downs foreshortened by low cloud. They made only one stop—at Guildford, to feed and water the horses. Although each passenger stared out thankfully at the dark green spinneys and Surrey’s fields of ripening corn, during the journey there was little talk. Even Forster the elder had ceased his carping. For most of the journey, his froggy eyes remained closed. Each man kept his own counsel as he contemplated his future. After more than three years of lives so closely and uncomfortably shared, from now on they would be on their own. This journey represented their last confinement.
And as the coach clattered on, James wondered above all how he would be received at home.
‘Captain! Good day, sir! Welcome home!’
Philip Stephens, Admiralty Secretary, greeted James delightedly. His face was more lined and there were rolls of darkish flesh under his blue eyes, but the eyes themselves were as penetrating as ever. As he showed James through to the Admiralty’s reception room, James asked anxiously: ‘Did you receive my journal and charts?’
Stephens nodded. ‘Oh yes. They were delivered here personally by Captain Newte, a month ago. The Lords have perused them.’ He put a respectful hand on James’s shoulder. ‘Splendid material, Captain. Wonderful work. You have surpassed yourself.’
James heaved a sigh of relief. The thought of his protracted labours being lost had beset him with worry.
The Lords entered the room, each greeting him individually and congratulating him on his extensive voyage, safe return and meticulous charting. As they chatted over tea and cakes, the fact that no Great South Continent had been discovered was not mentioned. But the discovery, naming and claiming for England of many previously unknown islands in the New Hebrides, along with the new land of New Caledonia and the archipelago in the South Atlantic, were cause for celebration. As was James’s meticulous re-charting of those islands previously discovered but faultily recorded by the explorers who had gone before him.
However, today’s meeting at the Admiralty was merely a preliminary one, and necessarily brief, as the Lords were well aware that there were others awaiting James’s return. Stephens had already sent a courier to 7 Assembly Row to advise Elizabeth that her husband would be home later today. Bidding him goodbye for the time being, the Lords dispersed.
James and Stephens walked out onto the street, where the secretary looked to hail a passing hackney to take James home. The road that ran past the Admiralty building was rutted and dusty, crowded with carriages, sedan chairs and men on horseback. It was a hot, heavy London afternoon. While they waited, Stephens said quietly, ‘You must now be considering your future, Captain.’
James merely nodded. What now had the all-knowing Stephens heard? The secretary came closer and spoke into his ear. ‘There is the possibility of a vacancy occurring at the Royal Hospital in Greenwich.’
James smiled. ‘I may be in my forty-seventh year, Stephens, but I am not yet an invalid.’
Stephens waved his hand impatiently. ‘No, no. Not as a patient, but as a guest. You would be one of a quota of four naval captains based at the hospital. You would be provided with a generous pension and the resources to write a full account of Resolution and Adventure’s voyage. There would be no other duties.’
James considered this in silence. Such a position would have definite advantages. Security, a place to write and time to do so. Elizabeth would doubtless approve. But in the meantime there were other considerations. He said to Stephens, ‘Have you read Hawkesworth’s published account of the voyages?’
Stephens’s eyebrows flicked up and his mouth crimped. ‘I have. As have many others.’ He winced. ‘Hawkesworth’s volumes have sold in their thousands.’
‘In spite of the fact that what he wrote is largely fiction.’
A muscle in one corner of Stephens’s mouth twitched. ‘I knew that you would be displeased with his version of events.’
James glared at the secretary. ‘Displeased?’ He clenched his right fist. ‘I was irate when I read Hawkesworth’s distortions. It is an insult to me and my earlier voyage.’ His gaze and resolve hardening, he added, ‘I intend to publish a broadside which will kill his career.’
Stephens blinked, then a faint smile replaced the tic at the side of his mouth. ‘That won’t be necessary.’ Looking over James’s shoulder, he signalled to an approaching hackney. ‘Hawkesworth died last November.’ He stroked his chin thoughtfully. ‘His Account of the Voyages received much hostile criticism from the experts for its inaccuracies. This is thought to have contributed to the fellow’s death.’