In order that the importance of the work done by Flinders may be
adequately appreciated, it is necessary to understand the state of
information concerning Australian geography before the time of his
discoveries. Not only did he complete the main outlines of the map of the
continent, but he filled in many details in parts that had been traversed
by his predecessors. This is a convenient point whereat to interrupt the
narrative of his life with a brief sketch of what those predecessors had
done, and of the curiously haphazard mode in which a partial knowledge of
this fifth division of the globe had been pieced together.
There never was, until Flinders applied himself to the task, any
deliberately-planned, systematic, persistent exploration of any portion
of the Australian coast. The continent grew on the map of the world
gradually, slowly, almost accidentally. It emerged out of the unknown,
like some vast mythical monster heaving its large shoulders dank and
dripping from the unfathomed sea, and metamorphosed by a kiss from the
lips of knowledge into a being fair to look upon and rich in kindly
favours. It took two centuries and a half for civilised mankind to know
Australia, even in form, from the time when it was clearly understood
that there was such a country, until at length it was mapped, measured
and circumnavigated. Before this process began, there was a dialectical
stage, when it was hotly contested whether there could possibly be upon
the globe lands antipodean to Europe; and both earlier and later there
were conjectural stages when makers of maps, having no certain data, but
feeling sure that the blank southern hemisphere ought to be filled up
somehow, exercised a vagrant fancy and satisfied a long-felt want by
decorating their drawings with representations of a Terra Incognita
having not even a casual resemblance to the reality.
The process presents few points of resemblance to that by which the
discovery of America was accomplished. Almost as soon as Europe came into
touch with the western hemisphere, discovery was pursued with unflagging
energy, until its whole extent and contour were substantially known.
Within fifty years after Columbus led the way across the Atlantic (1492),
North and South America were laid down with something approaching
precision; and Gerard Mercator's map of 1541 presented the greater part
of the continent with the name fairly inscribed upon it. There were, it
is true, some errors and some gaps, especially on the west coast, which
left work for navigators to do. But the essential point is that in less
than half a century Europe had practically comprehended America as an
addition to the known world. There was but a brief twilight interval
between nescience and knowledge. How different was the case with
Australia! Three hundred years after the date of Columbus' first voyage,
the mere outline of this continent had not been wholly mapped.
During the middle ages, when ingenious men exercised infinite subtlety in
speculation, and wrote large Latin folios to prove each other wrong in
matters about which neither party knew anything at all, there was much
dissertation about the possibility of antipodes. Bishops and saints waxed
eloquent upon the theme. The difficulty of conceiving of lands where
people walked about with their heads hanging downwards, and their feet
exactly opposite to those of Europeans, was too much for some of the
scribes who debated "about it and about." The Greek, Cosmas
Indicopleustes, denounced the "old wives' fable of Antipodes," and asked
how rain could be said to "fall," as in the Scriptures, in regions where
it would have to "come up"* (* The Christian Topography of Cosmas,
translated by J.W. McCrindle, page 17 (Hakluyt Society).) Some would have
it that a belief in Antipodes was heretical. But Isidore of Seville, in
his Liber de Natura Rerum, Basil of Caesarea, Ambrose of Milan, and
Vergil Bishop of Salzburg, an Irish saint, declined to regard the
question as a closed one. "Nam partes eius (i.e. of the earth) quatuor
sunt," argued Isidore. Curiously enough, the copy of the works of the
Saint of Seville used by the author (published at Rome in 1803), was
salvaged from a wreck which occurred on the Australian coast many years
ago. It is stained with seawater, and emits the musty smell which tells
of immersion. An inscription inside the cover relates the circumstance of
the wreck. Who possessed the book one does not know; some travelling
scholar may have perused it during the long voyage from Europe; and one
fancies him, as the ship bumped upon the rocks, exclaiming "Yes, Isidore
was right, there ARE antipodes!"
From about the fourth quarter of the sixteenth century until the date of
Abel Tasman's voyages, 1642 to 1644, there was a period of vague
speculation about a supposed great southern continent. The maps of the
time indicate the total lack of accurate information at the disposal of
their compilers. There was no general agreement as to what this region
was like in its outlines, proportions, or situation. Some cartographers,
as Peter Plancius (1594) and Hondius (1595), trailed a wavy line across
the foot of their representations of the globe, inscribed Terra Australis
upon it, and by a fine stroke of invention gave an admirable aspect of
finish and symmetry to the form of the world. The London map of 1578,
issued with George Best's Discourse of the Late Voyages of Discoverie,
barricaded the south pole with a Terra Australis not unlike the design of
a switch-back railway. Molyneux' remarkable map, circa 1590, dropped the
vast imaginary continent, and displayed a small tongue of land in about
the region where the real Australia is; suggesting that some voyager had
been blown out of his course, had come upon a part of the western
division of the continent, and had jotted down a memorandum of its
appearance upon his chart. It looks like a sincere attempt to tell a bit
of the truth. But speaking generally, the Terra Australis of the old
cartographers was a gigantic antipodean imposture, a mere piece of
map-makers' furniture, put in to fill up the gaping space at the south
end of the globe.
A few minutes devoted to the study of a map of the Indian Ocean,
including the Cape of Good Hope and the west coast of
Australia--especially one indicating the course of currents--will show
how natural it was that Portuguese and Dutch ships engaged in the spice
trade should occasionally have found themselves in proximity to the real
Terra Australis. It will also explain more clearly than a page of type
could do, why the western and north-western coasts were known so early,
whilst the eastern and southern shores remained undelineated until James
Cook and Matthew Flinders sailed along them.
A change of the route pursued by the Dutch on their voyages to the East
Indies had already conduced to an acquaintance with the Australian coast.
Originally, after rounding the Cape, their ships had sailed north-east to
Madagascar, and had thence struck across the Indian Ocean to Java, or to
Ceylon. As long as this course was followed, there was little prospect of
sighting the great continent which lay about three thousand miles east of
their habitual track. But this route, though from the map it appeared to
be the most direct, was the longest in duration that they could take. It
brought them into the region of light winds and tedious tropical calms;
so that very often a vessel would lie for weeks "as idle as a painted
ship upon a painted ocean," and would occupy over a year upon the outward
voyage. In 1611, however, one of their commanders discovered that if,
after leaving the Cape, a ship ran not north-east, but due east for about
three thousand miles, she would be assisted by the winds, not baffled by
calms. Henrick Brouwer, who made the experiment, arrived in Java seven
months after leaving Holland, whereas some ships had been known to be as
long as eighteen months at sea. The directors of the Dutch East India
Company, recognising the importance of the discovery, ordered their
commanders to follow the easterly route from the Cape in future, and
offered prizes to those who completed the voyage in less than nine
months. The result was that the Dutch skippers became exceedingly anxious
to make the very utmost of the favourable winds, which carried them
eastward in the direction of the western coasts of Australia.
Thus it happened that in 1616 the Eendragt stumbled on Australia opposite
Shark's Bay. Her captain, Dirk Hartog, landed on the long island which
lies as a natural breakwater between the bay and the ocean, and erected a
metal plate to record his visit; and Dirk Hartog Island is the name it
bears to this day. The plate remained till 1697, when another Dutchman,
Vlaming, substituted a new one for it; and Vlaming's plate, in turn,
remained till 1817, when the French navigator, Freycinet, took it and
sent it to Paris.
After Hartog reported his discovery, the Dutch directors ordered their
ships' captains to run east from the Cape till they sighted the land.
This would enable them to verify their whereabouts; for in those days the
means of reckoning positions at sea were so imperfect that navigators
groped about the oceans of the globe almost as if they were sailing in
darkness. But here was a means of verifying a ship's position after her
long run across from the Cape, and if she found Dirk Hartog Island, she
could safely thence make her way north to Java.
But ships did not always sight the Australian coast at the same point.
Hence it came about that in 1619 J. de Edel "accidentally fell in with"
the coast at the back of the Abrolhos. Pieter Nuyts, in 1627,
"accidentally discovered" a long reach of the south coast. Similarly, in
1628, the Vianen was "accidentally," as the narrative says, driven on to
the north-west coast, and her commander, De Wit, gave his name to about
200 miles of it. In 1629 the Dutch ship Batavia was separated in a storm
from a merchant fleet of eleven sail, and ran upon the Abrolhos Reef. The
captain, Francis Pelsart, who was lying sick in his cabin at the time of
the misadventure, "called up the master and charged him with the loss of
the ship, who excused himself by saying he had taken all the care he
could; and that having discerned the froth at a distance he asked the
steersman what he thought of it, who told him that the sea appeared white
by its reflecting the rays of the moon. The captain then asked him what
was to be done, and in what part of the world he thought they were. The
master replied that God only knew that; and that the ship was on a bank
hitherto undiscovered." The story of Pelsart's adventure was recorded,
and the part of the coast which he saw was embodied on a globe published
in 1700.
To the accidental discoveries must be added those made by the Dutch
prompted by curiosity as to the possibility of drawing profit from the
lands to the south of their great East India possessions. Thus the Dutch
yacht Duyfhen, sent in 1605 to examine the Papuan islands, sailed along
the southern side of Torres Strait, found Cape York, and believed it to
be part of New Guinea. The great discovery voyages of Tasman, 1643 and
1644, were planned in pursuit of the same policy. He was directed to find
out what the southern portion of the world was like, "whether it be land
or sea, or icebergs, whatever God has ordained to be there."
In 1606 the Spaniard, Torres, also probably saw Cape York, and sailed
through the strait which bears his name. He had accompanied Quiros across
the Pacific, but had separated from his commander at the New Hebrides,
and continued his voyage westward, whilst Quiros sailed to South America.
It is needless for present purposes to catalogue the various voyages made
by the Dutch, or to examine claims which have been preferred on account
of other discoveries. It may, however, be observed that there are three
well defined periods of Australian maritime discovery, and that they
relate to three separate zones of operation.
First, there was the period with which the Dutch were chiefly concerned.
The west and north-west coasts received the greater part of their
attention, though the voyage of Tasman to the island now bearing his name
was a variation from their habitual sphere. The visits of the Englishman,
Dampier, to Western Australia are comprehended within this period.
The second period belongs to the eighteenth century, and its hero was
James Cook. He sailed up the whole of the east coast in 1770, from Point
Hicks, near the Victorian border, to Cape York at the northern tip of the
continent, and accomplished a larger harvest of discovery than has ever
fallen to the fortune of any other navigator in a single voyage. To this
period also belongs Captain George Vancouver, who in 1791, on his way to
north-western America from the Cape of Good Hope, came upon the
south-western corner of Australia and discovered King George's Sound. In
the following year the French Admiral, Dentrecasteaux, despatched in
search of the missing expedition of Laperouse, also made the south-west
corner of the continent, and followed the coast of the Great Australian
Bight for some hundreds of miles. His researches in southern Tasmania
were likewise of much importance.
The third period is principally that of Flinders, commencing shortly
before the dawn of the nineteenth century, and practically completing the
maritime exploration of the continent.
A map contained in John Pinkerton's Modern Geography shows at a glance
the state of knowledge
about Australia at the date of publication, 1802. Flinders had by that
time completed his explorations, but his work was not yet published. The
map delineates the contour of the continent on the east, west, and north
sides, with as much accuracy as was possible, and, though it is defective
in details, presents generally a fair idea of the country's shape. But
the line along the south coast represents a total lack of information as
to the outline of the land. Pinkerton, indeed, though he was a leading
English authority on geography when his book was published, had not
embodied in his map some results that were then available.
The testimony of the map may be augmented by a reference to what
geographical writers understood about Australia before the time of
Flinders.
Though Cook had discovered the east coast, and named it New South Wales,
it was not definitely known whether this extensive stretch of country was
separate from the western "New Holland" which the Dutch had named, or
whether the two were the extremities of one vast tract of land.
Geographical opinion rather inclined to the view that ultimately a strait
would be found dividing the region into islands. This idea is mentioned
by Pinkerton. Under the heading "New Holland" he wrote:* "Some suppose
that this extensive region, when more thoroughly investigated, will be
found to consist of two or three vast islands intersected by narrow seas,
an idea which probably arises from the discovery that New Zealand
consists of two islands, and that other straits have been found to divide
lands in this quarter formerly supposed to be continuous." The discovery
that Bass Strait divided Australia from Tasmania was probably in
Pinkerton's mind; he mentions it in his text (quoting Flinders), though
his map does not indicate the Strait's existence. He also mentions "a
vast bay with an isle," possibly Kangaroo Island. (* Modern Geography 2
588.)
Perhaps it was not unnatural that competent opinion should have favoured
the idea that there were several large islands, rather than one immense
continent stretching into thirty degrees of latitude and forty-five of
longitude. The human mind is not generally disposed to grasp very big
things all at once. Indeed, in the light of fuller knowledge, one is
disposed to admire the caution of these geographers, whose beliefs were
carefully reasoned but erroneous, in face of, for instance, such a wild
ebullition of venturesome theory as that attributed to an aforetime
Gottingen professor,* (*Professor Blumenbach according to Lang,
Historical Account of New South Wales, 1837 2 142.) who considered that
not only was Australia one country, but that it made its appearance upon
this planet in a peculiarly sudden fashion. His opinion was that "the
vast continent of Australia was originally a comet, which happening to
fall within the limits of the earth's attraction, alighted at length upon
its surface." "Alighted at length" is a mild term, suggestive of a
nervous lady emerging from a tram-car in a crowded street. "Splashed,"
would probably convey a more vigorous impression.
The belief that a strait would be found completely dividing New Holland
was a general one, as is shown by several contemporary writings. Thus
James Grant in his Narrative of a Voyage of Discovery (1803), expressing
his regret that his orders did not permit him to take his ship, the Lady
Nelson, northward from Port Jackson in 1801, speculated that "we might
also betimes have ascertained if the Gulf of Carpentaria had any inlet to
Bass Straits, and if it be discovered secure more quickly to Great
Britain the right of lands which some of our enterprising neighbours
might probably dispute with us. And this I trust will not be thought
chimerical when it was not known whether other Straits did not exist as
well as that dividing New Holland from Van Diemen's Land." Again, the
Institute of France in preparing instructions for the voyage of
exploration commanded by Nicolas Baudin (1800) directed a search to be
made for a strait which it was supposed divided Australia "into two great
and nearly equal islands."
Another interesting geographical problem to be determined, was whether a
great river system drained any part of the Australian continent. In the
existing state of knowledge the country presented an aspect in regard to
fluvial features wholly different from any other portion of the world. No
river of considerable importance had been found. Students of geography
could hardly conceive that there should be so large an area of land
lacking outlets to the sea; and as none had been found in the parts
investigated so far, it was believed that the exploration of the south
coast would reveal large streams flowing from the interior. Some had
speculated that within the country there was a great inland sea, and if
so there would probably be rivers flowing from it to the ocean.
A third main subject for elucidation when Flinders entered upon this
work, was whether the country known as Van Diemen's Land was part of the
continent, or was divided from it by a strait not yet discovered. Captain
Cook entertained the opinion that a strait existed. On his voyage in the
Endeavour in 1770, he was "doubtful whether they are one land or no." But
when near the north-eastern corner of Van Diemen's Land, he had been
twenty months at sea, and his supplies had become depleted. He did not
deem it advisable to sail west and settle the question forthwith, but,
running up the eastern coast of New Holland, achieved discoveries
certainly great enough for one voyage. He retained the point in his mind,
however, and would have determined it on his second voyage in 1772 to
1774 had he not paid heed to information given by Tobias Furneaux. The
Adventure, commanded by Furneaux, had been separated from the Resolution
on the voyage to New Zealand, and had cruised for some days in the
neighbourhood of the eastern entrance to Bass Strait. But Furneaux
convinced himself that no strait existed, and reported to that effect
when he rejoined Cook in Queen Charlotte's Sound. Cook was not quite
convinced by the statement of his officer; but contrary winds made a
return to the latitude of the supposed strait difficult, and Cook though
"half inclined to go over to Van Diemen's Land and settle the question of
its being part of New Holland" decided to proceed westward. As will be
seen hereafter, Flinders helped to show that the passage existed.
There were also many smaller points requiring investigation. Cook in
running along the east coast had passed several portions in the night, or
at such a distance in the daytime as to render his representation of the
coastline doubtful. Some groups of islands also required to be accurately
charted. Indeed, it may be said that there was no portion of the world
where, at this period, there was so much and such valuable work to be
done by a competent and keen marine explorer, as in Australia.
A passage in a manuscript by Flinders may be quoted to supplement what
has been written above, as it indicates the kind of speculations that
were current in the conversation of students of geography.* (* Called an
Abridged Narrative--Flinders' Papers.)
"The interior of this new region, in extent nearly equal to all Europe,
strongly excited the curiosity of geographers and naturalists; and the
more so as, ten years after the establishment of a British Colony at Port
Jackson on the east coast, and the repeated effort of some enterprising
individuals, no part of it beyond 30 leagues from the coast had been seen
by an European. Various conjectures were entertained upon the probable
consistence of this extensive space. Was it a vast desert? Was it
occupied by an immense lake--a second Caspian Sea, or by a Mediterranean
to which existed a navigable entrance in some part of the coasts hitherto
unexplored? or was not this new continent rather divided into two or more
islands by straits communicating from the unknown parts of the south to
the imperfectly examined north-west coast or to the Gulf of Carpentaria,
or to both? Such were the questions that excited the interest and divided
the opinion of geographers."
Apart from particular directions in which enquiry needed to be pursued,
it was felt in England that the only nation which had founded a
settlement on the Australian continent was under an obligation to
complete the exploration of the country. The French had already sent out
two scientific expeditions with instructions to examine the unknown
southern coasts; and if shipwreck had not destroyed the first, and want
of fresh water diverted the second, the credit of finishing the outline
of the map of Australia would have been earned for France. "Many
circumstances, indeed," wrote Flinders, "united to render the south coast
of Terra Australis one of the most interesting parts of the globe to
which discovery could be directed at the beginning of the nineteenth
century. Its investigation had formed a part of the instructions to the
unfortunate French navigator, Laperouse, and afterwards of those to his
countryman Dentrecasteaux; and it was not without some reason attributed
to England as a reproach that an imaginary line of more than two hundred
and fifty leagues' extent in the vicinity of one of her colonies should
have been so long suffered to remain traced upon the charts under the
title of Unknown Coast. This comported ill with her reputation as the
first of maritime powers."
We shall see how predominant was the share of Flinders in the settlement
of these problems, the filling up of these gaps.