“Whither journeys goest with or without end, shall maketh thee, lad” was considered advice given to my great, great, great uncle, John Jarvis, by his father, at the Plymouth docks, as the eleven-year-old shouldered his canvas duffel, and bordered his ship’s lighter. He recorded those words as the opening phrase in his diary. The year, 1768.
There was a cold breeze riffling across the harbour on that late summer morn, as he boarded the HMB Endeavour, instructed to “…string hammock, and stow duffel ‘tween decks, under the for’castle.” His ‘master’ was yet to come aboard, so, at a loose end, he went a’lookin. Gantry were lifting barrels and boxes, crew sweating, swearing, and stowing supplies needed for the Atlantic crossing.
Mister Banks and retinue arrived at last light, noisily, a little intoxicated and his duties began. Meals to source and serve, unpacking, clearing away, to bed, awake, morning duties, mid-afternoon sailing down the channel.
Stomach, sea legs and routines had settled well before they reached the Canary Islands. A brief stopover, restocking water, meat, citrus and vegetables for the haul across to Brazil. The toffs went ashore, Uncle worked aboard. Demands at morning and evening mealtimes left him largely free during the daytime. He and two other young lads delighted in watching the dolphin performances, at the bow.
The Doldrums, colder weather, again restocking supplies in Rio before down, into and around the Cape. Mountainous seas, sails shredded, shrieking winds, working the pumps, gut-wrenching fear, partly assuaged by the captain’s demeanour.
They wallowed into the Pacific. Moods lightened as warmth, then humidity returned. Tropical isles, barely-clad beauties, fresh food, clear skies, rostered shore-leave, the temporary loss of his shipboard stagger!
While crew unloaded scientific paraphernalia to record Venus’s transit across the sun, he accompanied Mr Banks and Mr Solander on regular expeditions into the interior of the islands. He was instructed on using layers of tissue paper to press collected specimens. For my uncle, he recorded his sadness at eventually farewelling new found friends, feasting, fishing and effervescent frolicking in the lagoon.
As the barque weighed anchor, the captain assembled all-hands, to share the Admiralty’s secret orders for the journey ahead. They were instructed to find, and claim Tasman’s Zealand islands, thenceforth to search, and claim the assumed Terra Australis, somewhere further to the west!
He records the excitement of sighting land, months spent charting coastlines, landing and meeting heavily tattooed warriors, spending three weeks ashore as the barque was beached and careened.
He also recorded a growing angst at the close, shipboard quarters, and of his delight at being out with ‘the gentlemen’, collecting plants. Petty jealousies had become an issue, thieving, vicious brawls, even knife-work. A thirteen-year-old, salt-hardened, but nonetheless, a vulnerable lad.
Sir Joseph recorded his death, by misadventure occurring on Sunday 29th April, 1770. A curmudgeonable old tar was convicted, and court marshalled. They were both buried in the dunes of Stingray Harbour, New Holland. Sir Joseph ensured that his diary eventually came back to the family.