CHAPTER 3
London, June 1, 1768
Nicholas Young had rarely visited the seaside before and had never been aboard a ship or boat of any kind. Born the youngest in a family of five children, he’d seldom been beyond the borders of his home county of Derbyshire, in central England.
The son of Nicholas Young Senior, a medical practitioner in the spa town of Buxton, the lad was packed off to London as soon as he turned seventeen. He was following a long-standing tradition in the Young family: as soon as the boys were old enough they were sent to London to further their education. Like his two brothers before him, he was destined to follow his father into the medical profession. Marc and John Young were already junior partners in their father’s thriving practice.
Full of the enthusiasm of youth, Nicholas had arrived in London in the spring of 1768. He’d thrown himself into his studies, ever keen to live up to his father’s high expectations. However, he soon found an innocent boyhood spent in rural England had not prepared him for London’s many distractions. It wasn’t just the night life or the seemingly endless supply of beautiful city girls that distracted him. It was also the London dockyards. He was drawn to them like a magnet.
Nicholas spent hours exploring the waterfront and admiring the myriad of craft and their ensigns of different nations coming and going. He loved the docks with their ships of every shape and size, the constant activity that surrounded them, the peculiar sights, sounds and smells, the different languages to be heard and the colourful, hardworking, hard-drinking, foul-mouthed Jack Tars and other seafaring characters who came and went as frequently as the tides. Nicholas enjoyed listening to the seamen as they swapped yarns over an ale or two in the many waterside bars and inns. His impressionable young mind was soon filled with stories of exotic, faraway places.
When he wasn’t exploring the dockyards, he would wear down the soles of his shoes walking along the banks of the River Thames from where he could watch the magnificent sailing ships as they set out on their mighty ocean voyages.
Tall for his age, the good-looking, blond-haired, blue-eyed lad had an eye for the working girls who frequented the docks, and he inevitably attracted their attention. He was still inexperienced in matters of the opposite sex, but he vowed he’d do something about that in the next little while.
Early in his first summer in London he struck up a conversation with a Mister Wilkie, the recruiting officer for a vessel called the Endeavour. Wilkie, a short, bald, engaging character with a twinkle in his eye, told him he was charged with the recruitment of crew members for a voyage of discovery.
Nicholas was intrigued – even more so when he learned where His Majesty’s bark, the Endeavour, was going.
“She sets sail soon for Tahiti and on to the bottom of the world,” Wilkie confided. He spoke in that distinctive rural drawl, which identified him as a native of Devon. When pressed for more information by the eager boy, Wilkie said, “The Lords of the Admiralty want us to look for Terra Australis Incognita.”
Nicholas’ brow creased uncomprehendingly.
“The Great Southern Continent,” the recruiting officer explained, warming to his subject.
“You mean New Holland?” Nicholas asked, referring to the newly-discovered continent that would one day be referred to as Australia. He’d overheard chatter about New Holland amongst Jack Tars in the taverns.
“Nay, lad. Our Admiralty and the learned gentlemen of the Royal Society have long held the belief there is a vast tract of land, a veritable continent, far to the east of New Holland and the known world. They want it found, explored and claimed for Mother England.”
These words fired Nicholas’s fervent imagination more than any others he’d heard in his seventeen short years. He was immediately caught up in the adventure of it all and hurled a fair torrent of questions at the amused Wilkie.
The man held both hands up and stepped back a pace, chuckling. “One question at a time, lad!” he implored.
Nicholas grinned sheepishly and apologised. “What if the Endeavour’s crew doesn’t find this…great southern continent?”
Wilkie scratched his bald head and suddenly looked serious. “To be honest, I haven’t even considered that. Our captain is not one given to failure. He will surely be one of the greatest seafarers the world has ever seen if the scuttlebutt around him is accurate. If Terra Australis Incognita is there, James Cook will find it.”
This was the first time Nicholas had heard Cook’s name. He was to learn a lot more about the man in the months ahead.
Wilkie looked shrewdly at his young companion. “Would ye like to see the Endeavour?”
Nicholas jumped at the opportunity. “Where is she?”
“She’s moored nearby at the Deptford Dockyards. Follow me.”
Without further ado, the pair crossed the Thames courtesy of one of the watermen who made their living rowing paying customers across the river. On the far bank, they made their way on foot to Deptford. As at the dockyards they’d just left, Deptford was a bustle of activity with ships of every description either at anchor or coming and going. As they walked, Nicholas told Wilkie of his studies and his father’s ambition to see his youngest son follow him into the medical profession. With only a grunt here and there, Wilkie listened and silently digested what he was hearing. They came to an abrupt halt at the wharf’s edge and Nicholas surveyed the ships lined up before them. The older man pointed to an inconspicuous, solid, little vessel berthed at the far end of the wharf.
“That’s the Endeavour?” Nicholas was momentarily disappointed. He’d expected a more impressive craft would carry England’s ensign to the end of the world. More like one of the big Royal Navy ships of war he’d seen on the Thames. Even to his untrained eye, he could see she was less than a hundred feet long. However, the shiny brass nameplate on the bark’s side confirmed she was indeed the Endeavour.
“Don’t be fooled by her looks, lad,” Wilkie warned. He explained the little cat-built bark with her square stern, shallow draught and rounded sides would be equally at home rounding Cape Horn or facing tropical monsoons.
Nicholas listened intently as the older man proudly listed the many attributes which made the Whitby-constructed Endeavour, in his not-so-humble opinion, the most suitable vessel afloat for the arduous task ahead. He gained a new appreciation of the bark and was dying to board her. As if reading his mind, Wilkie bade him follow and stepped onto the vessel’s gangplank.
Nicholas tried to take everything in as his companion gave him the complete guided tour, introducing him to officers and crew as they made their way around the deck. There was scarcely room for the pair as crewmembers and watersiders intermingled, loading stores and provisioning the Endeavour for the journey ahead. “Is Captain Cook on board?”
“Nay, lad,” Wilkie replied, explaining the captain was spending his final weeks in London reviewing plans and charts with the Lords of the Admiralty. “God willing, he’ll also get some time with his family.”
Nicholas was amazed to learn the Endeavour could be away as long as two or even three years. That was if she didn’t sink or founder on some gnarly reef or barren shore.
After another moment’s silence, a realisation hit him like a bolt of lightning. He realised he had to be aboard this voyage of discovery. His companion recognised the moment, too.
Wilkie looked at Nicholas intently, aware that the lad could solve one of his crew recruitment problems. With less than two weeks to go before sailing, he needed at least twenty more crewmembers, including a junior assistant for the bark’s surgeon. It was no easy task trying to convince good men to give up the comforts of home for what could easily turn out to be a one-way trip. The recruitment of a surgeon’s boy was crucial and would be one less appointment for the over-worked Wilkie to worry about. Coming from a medical background, Nicholas’s intelligence, youthful energy and undoubted enthusiasm for adventure made him an obvious candidate.
At length, Wilkie asked, “How would ye like to join the ship’s company, lad?”
***
CHAPTER 4
London, 1768
The two weeks before sailing were a blur to Nicholas. After signing the necessary recruitment papers and being formally introduced to all the officers and crew, including his master the gruff but likeable surgeon William Monkhouse, the new recruit…
NEW ZEALAND: A NOVEL continues next week…
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Morcan Books & Films 