For This Work Of Exploration
Flinders Nourished A Passion As Intense As That Which Inferior Natures
Have Had For Love, Avarice, Or Honours.
It absorbed all his life and
thought; and opportunity, becoming in his case the handmaid of capacity,
was abundantly justified by accomplishment.
There is one striking fact which serves to "place" Flinders among
navigators. As has just been observed, he learnt his practical navigation
under Bligh, on that historically unfortunate captain's second
bread-fruit expedition, when he was entrusted with the care of the
scientific instruments. Now, Bligh had perfected his navigation under
Cook, on the Resolution, and actually chose the landing-place in
Kealakeakua Bay, where the greatest English seaman who ever lived was
slain. Here is a school of great sailors: Cook the master of Bligh, Bligh
the master of Flinders; and Flinders in turn had on board the
Investigator as a midshipman, his cousin, John Franklin, to whom he
taught navigation, and who acquired from him that "ardent love of
geographical research" which brought him immortal fame, and a grave
amongst the ice-packs and the snows of the North-West Passage.* (* See
Markham, Life of Sir John Franklin page 43 and Traill, Life of Franklin
page 16. Traill's graceful sentences are worth transcribing: "The example
of the fine seaman and enthusiastic explorer under whom he served must
indeed, for a lad of Franklin's ardent temperament, have been an
education in itself. Throughout his whole life he cherished the warmest
admiration for the character of Matthew Flinders, and in later years he
welcomed the opportunity of paying an enduring tribute to his old
commander's memory in the very region of the world which his discoveries
had done so much to gain for civilisation." It is pleasant to find
Flinders speaking cordially of his young pupil in a letter written during
the voyage. "He is a very fine youth, and there is every probability of
his doing credit to the Investigator and himself.") There is nothing
comparable with this direct succession of illustrious masters and pupils
in the history of navigation. The names of all four are indelibly written
on the map of the world. Three of them - Cook, Flinders, and Franklin - are
among our very foremost navigators and discoverers, men whom a race proud
of the heritage of the sea will for ever hold in honour and affection;
whilst the fourth, Bligh, though his reputation is wounded by association
with two mutinies, was in truth a daring and a brilliant seaman, and a
brave man in a fight. Nelson especially thanked him for noble service at
Copenhagen, and his achievement in working a small, open boat from the
mid-Pacific, where the mutinous crew of the Bounty dropped him, through
Torres Strait to Timor, a distance of 3620 miles, stands memorably on the
credit side of his account.
See what it meant to have been trained in a school that observed the
rules and respected the traditions of James Cook. When at the end of his
long voyage of nine months and nine days, Flinders took the Investigator
through Port Jackson heads into harbour (Sunday, May 9, 1802), he had not
a sick man on board.* (* Voyage 1 226.) His crew finished hearty,
browned, and vigorous. He was able to write from the Cape of Good Hope
that "officers and crew were, generally speaking, in better health than
on the day we sailed from Spithead, and not in less good spirits."
Scrupulous attention to cleanliness and hygiene produced this result in
an age when scurvy was more to be feared than shipwreck. On every fine
day the decks below and the cockpit were washed, dried with stoves, and
sprinkled with vinegar. Care was taken to prevent the crew from sleeping
in wet clothes. At frequent intervals beds, chests, and bags were opened
out and exposed to the sweetening influences of fresh air and sunshine.
Personal cleanliness was enforced. Lime-juice and other anti-scorbutics
were frequently served out: a precautionary measure which originated in
Cook's day, and which down to our own times has caused all British
sailors to be popularly known as "lime-juicers" in the American Navy. The
dietary scale and the cooking were subjects of careful thought. This keen
young officer of twenty-seven looked after his company of eighty-seven
people with as grave and kindly a concern as if he were a grey-bearded
father to them all; and was liberally rewarded by their affection. During
his imprisonment in Mauritius, one of his men stayed with him voluntarily
for several years, enduring the unpleasantness of life in confinement far
away from home, out of sheer devotion to his commander; and did not leave
until Flinders, becoming hopeless of liberation, insisted on his taking
advantage of an opportunity of going to England.
There is a touching proof of Flinders' tender regard for his men in the
naming of a small group of islands to the west of the bell-mouth of
Spencer's Gulf. A boat's crew commanded by the mate, John Thistle, was
drowned there, through the boat capsizing. Thistle was an excellent
seaman, who had been one of Bass's whale-boat crew in 1798, and had
volunteered for service with the Investigator. Not only did Flinders name
an island after him, and another after a midshipman, Taylor, who perished
on the same occasion, but he gave to each of the islands near Cape
Catastrophe the name of one of the seamen who lost their lives in the
accident. In a country where men are valued for their native worth rather
than on account of rank or wealth, such as is happily the case to a very
large degree in Australia - and this is a far finer thing than mere
political democracy - perhaps nothing in the career of Flinders is more
likely to ensure respect for his memory, apart from the value of his
achievements, than this perpetuation of the names of the sailors who died
in the service.
Throughout the voyage he promoted amusements among his people; "and when
the evenings were fine the drum and fife announced the forecastle to be
the scene of dancing; nor did I discourage other playful amusements which
might occasionally be more to the taste of the sailors, and were not
unseasonable."* (* Voyage 1 36.) The work may have been strenuous, and
the commander was unsparing of his own energies; but the life was happy,
and above all it was healthy.
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