Edmond Halley: Astronomer and Explorer

On August 2nd, 1700, a cluster of English fishing boats settled off Toad Cove, Newfoundland. Their calm routine shattered as an ill-favoured craft bore down on the flotilla; pirates were active along the coast, and few honest sailors welcomed the sight of a strange, dishevelled vessel. Captain Humphrey Bryant's trawler had already fought off one attack, and his crew had no stomach for polite introductions. Five rounds of red-hot shot roared from their swivel guns and sliced the brigand's rigging. The ship abruptly anchored as an agitated figure jigged about the poop deck, treating Bryant to a torrent of abuse impressive even by North Atlantic standards. It was maritime history's least likely Black- beard – Edmond Halley, FRS.

Appearances deceived; Halley was no buccaneer, yet Bryant's error touched on truth. The popular image of scientists in the late 17th century was as half-crazed cranks or solitary adepts, immersed in arcane studies and shunning normal life for the 'high lonely tower' of Milton's Il Penseroso. Halley was totally different. A friend recalled him as 'naturally of an ardent and glowing temper. He always spoke and acted with an uncommon degree of sprightliness and vivacity. He was open and punctual in his dealings, candid in his judgements and blameless in his manners, sweet and affable'. Even allowing for loyal exaggeration, Halley emerges as a warm, convivial man, well-liked and good-hearted, with a schoolboy's taste for swashbuckling excitement. He cut an energetic and engaging figure.

The astronomer's reputation has suffered from his fame. Halley's Comet – the only bright comet to pass Earth at fairly short intervals – has overshadowed the extraordinary range of his interests. Few scientific histories even mention the ocean voyages contemporaries considered by far his greatest achievement.

These adventures began shortly before noon on October 20th, 1698, as His Majesties' 'Pink' Paramour slipped away from Deptford and headed for the open sea. Halley, Secretary of the Royal Society and a newly appointed naval captain, opened the sealed orders he had written for himself five days earlier. They began:

To Captn. Edmd. Halley Comandr ... You are to make the best of your way to the Southward of the Equator, and there to observe on the East Coast of South America and the West Coast of Africa, the variations of the Compasse, with all the accuracy you can, as also the true Situation both in Latitude and Longitude of the ports wher you arrive ... and, if the season of the yeare permit, you are to stand soe farr to the south till you discover the Coast of the Terra Incognito.

This wondrously optimistic final clause gave Halley carte blanche to explore and observe. The astronomer was eminently qualified for both. In November 1676, soon after his twentieth birthday, he and a friend embarked on a voyage to the remote Atlantic island of St Helena, intending to map the southern stars. They proved remarkably successful – despite the island's overcast skies and the motiveless malice of Governor Gregory Field. In the following years, Halley distinguished himself in almost every branch of science, displaying a powerful practical bent that marked him out from most of the Royal Society.

As early as 1695, he and Benjamin Middleton 'made proposals of going into ye South Sea & Round the World' to measure the variation of the compass and chart the Earth's magnetic field. Halley's reputation ensured a high level of official support, as did the obvious benefits to navigation. The causes of compass variation – or 'Declination' in technical terms – are still not perfectly understood. Like gravity, magnetism is strongest at the poles and weakest at the equator. The magnetic poles are themselves in constant motion, with the result that magnetic north varies considerably according to one's geographical location. Knowing this variation makes setting a precise course a relatively straightforward process. Ignorance invites disaster.

On April 1st, 1694, the Admiralty launched the specially constructed Paramour. lt was a 'Pink' – a frighteningly small, flat-bottomed ship just 52 feet long and eighteen wide, with a crew of twenty crammed on its single deck. Personal reasons prevented Halley sailing until October 1698, when the craft immediately proved to be faulty, necessitating major adjustments and repairs. It was not until November 22nd that Paramour finally set sail, accompanying Admiral Benbow's fleet, bound for Madeira and thence to the Cape Verde Islands.

As the ship approached St Jago it encountered the first signs of trouble. When entering the harbour, Halley wrote in his log, 'two English Marchant shipps was pleased instead of saluting us, to fire at us several both great and small shott. We was surprised at it'. Pinks were almost unknown in the British navy, with the result that other ships assumed the Paramour was a pirate vessel flying false colours. It proved a recurrent problem, although not the most serious Halley would encounter – the voyage faced enemies within. The captain's log for February 17th, 1699, records:

This Morning between two and three of the clock looking out I found my Boatswain who had the watch, steard a way NW instead of W (we now bearing clown W. for the Iseland of Feniando Loroho) I conclude [that he had] a design to miss the Iseland and frustrate my Voyage, thogh they pretend the candle was out in the Bittacle, and they could not light it.

Intentionally neglecting the binnacle – an illuminated box containing the ship's compass – was, short of outright mutiny, the most dangerous form of insubordination. Halley realised this was a deliberate provocation, but awaited developments as the ship approached Brazil.

The Governor of Pariaba received them hospitably, helping procure provisions and watching bewildered as Halley attempted to observe the eclipse of a Jovian moon. Sadly the 'great hight of ye Planet, and want of a convenient support for my long telescope made it impracticable'. This was unfortunate; by comparing satellite motions to those predicted in tables set to Portsmouth time, it was possible to make fairly accurate estimates of longitude, generally correct to about 45 miles. Halley contented himself with more observations of compass variations. Surprisingly, he left us no account of his methods, merely recording the results. Perhaps other issues distracted him. The log for March 16th, records, 'My officers showing themselves uneasy and refractory, I this day chose (o hear away for Barbados in order to exchange them if I found a Flagg [flagship] there'.

This effectively marked the end of the mission: the voyage was supposed. to last at least a year longer, but was now entering its final crisis. Paramour sighted Barbados in the first few days of April. Halley's second-in-command, Lieutenant Harrison, was now openly contemptuous of his captain. One night:

My Lieien’t then having the Watch, clapt upon a wind, pretending that we ought to goe to Windward of the Iseland an about the North end of it, wheras the Road is at the most Southerly part almost. He persisted in this course, which was contrary to my orders given overnight and to all sence and reason, till I came upon Deck: when hee was so Farr from excusing it, that he pretended to justifie it; not without reflecting language.

On May 10th, after stops at Martinique, Antigua and St Christopher, Halley aborted the voyage and set course for England. The storm broke on June 5th. Harrison's incessant sniping now verged on mutiny. 'He has', wrote Halley:

... for a long time made it his business to represent me, to the whole Shipps company, as a person wholly unqualified for the command their lo[rdshi]ps have given me, and declaring that he was sent aboard her, because their Lopps knew my insufficiency.

On that tense June morning, he:

... was pleased to so grossly affront me , as to tell me before my officers and. seamen on deck, and afterward owned it in his hand, that I was not only uncapable to take charge of a Pink, but even of a longboat.

Halley confined him to his cabin overnight and took sole command, bringing Paramour safely into Plymouth on June 23rd. The astronomer never understood why Harrison detested him; the reason was far more complex than anyone could have guessed. Finding an accurate method of determining longitude had come to obsess the Admiralty. The Naval Board of Longitude offered huge cash prizes – equivalent to several million pounds – in the hope of inspiring inventors. Many applied, but all were disappointed. In 1696, a London printer issued a pamphlet entitled Idea Longitudinis. The manuscript had already been submitted to the Board, the Admiralty and the Royal Society, all of whom rejected it. The published version reflected this. It contained a savage rant against 'some persons in England whose duty it is (being paid for it) to improve Navigation and Astronomy, and from whom much is expected, and little or nothing appears '.

This was instantly understood as a personal slight on Halley, as Secretary of the Royal Society, he was one of just two Englishmen paid for scientific work. His salary was not impressive; one year it amounted to 50 copies of Willughby's unsaleable De Historia Piscium, plus a generous bonus of 25 more! None of which placated the anonymous pamphleteer. Several other references made his grudge plain – Halley was a snobbish placeman who sabotaged the work of practical men like himself. The author was Mr Harrison, two years later lieutenant on Paramour.

The allegation was absurd, but Harrison's rage never faded. It must have been unbearable to serve beneath a man he so envied and despised. Halley's exuberant disposition may have made things worse; his easy-going nature could hardly fail to vex the austere and resentful Lieutenant. John Flamsteed, the curmudgeonly Astronomer Royal, had already objected to Halley's 'looseness', urging Newton against offering him the Savillian professorship, as he would 'corrupt ye youth of ye University with his lewd discourse' although 'were he ether honest or but civil there is none in whose company I could rather desire to be'. Flamsteed disapproved of almost everyone, but Halley obviously inspired strong reactions. The naval authorities knew this: when Harrison was court-martialled, he received nothing more than a reprimand. Halley complained that the court 'very tenderly styled the abuses I suffered to have been only some grumblings such as usually happen on board small shipps'. They were probably right.

The Admiralty seem to have regarded this debacle as a struggle between wholly incompatible personalities. It did not threaten the high esteem in which Halley was held. On September 27th, he and a new crew set out once again in a refurbished Paramour. The navy wisely ensured the astronomer was the sole commissioned officer, accompanied only by seamen, a mate and a one-armed boatswain whose legendary good humour would hopefully ensure a happy voyage. Halley's authority was unquestioned, and the atmosphere was vastly improved.

Progress was excellent until Friday, October 13th, when the ship hit a storm off the Canaries. What happened next was to haunt the astronomer for the rest of his life:

Between 3 and 4 in the afternoon my poore boy Manley White had the misfortune to be drowned, falling overboard. We brought the shipp immediately at Stays, and hove out an oar, but the sea being high and the shipp having fresh way, we lost sight of him and could not succour him'.

For three desperate hours, Halley and his shipmates struggled to rescue the boy, but darkness fell, and he was never found. The captain was shattered. Although no stranger to sudden death – his father had been butchered by an unknown psychopath – the loss of Manley White burned into Halley's soul. Friends recalled that decades later, he wept uncontrollably at the mention of the incident.

Eight days later, Paramour dropped anchor off Sal, one of the northern Cape Verde Islands. The ship's company restored morale by feasting on antelope and turtle before heading for Brazil. They reached Rio de Janeiro in December, but left at the end of the month, proceeding south. The weather soon worsened. On January 18th, 1700:

... after midnight it blew extreme hard at NW with much Lightening and again, a little before Sunn rise with very terrible lightening which seemed to be just on board us, but God be thanked we received no damage by it.

It was only a taste of what was to come. Halley is unusually vague as to the practical scientific work he constantly carried out. We do not even know what temperature scale he was using, but obviously it was growing uncomfortably cold. On January 27th, somewhere between South Georgia and the Falklands, Paramour entered a 'great fog', which lifted to reveal:

Several fowl which I took to be penguines ... several of the diving birds with necks like swans and this morning a couple of animals which some supposed to bee Seals. but are not soe: they bent their Tayles into a sort of Bow ... and being disturbed shew'd very lardge Finns as big as those of a Lardge Shirk the head not much unlike a Turtles.

These 'Animals' were clearly Killer Whales. It was now just '4 above freezing' in the warmest part of the ship and the rum ration was even more welcome. than usual. On February- 1st, Paramour crossed latitude '53'south. The temperature plunged below freezing, and the lookouts declared they could see three large islands unmarked on any map. They were:

... all flatt on the Topp, and covered with snow milk white with perpendicular cliffs all round them ... the great high of them made us conclude them land, but theyre was no appearance of any tree or green thinge on them, but the cliffs as well as topps were very white.

The reader will have already guessed the nature of these 'islands', but the truth was as yet beyond Halley's imagination. Night fell, and fog obscured the land early next morning. When it lifted 'by a clear ¼i of an hour, wee saw the iselands very distinctly to be nothing but one body of Ice of an Increadible Hight'.

Surrounded by icebergs, the ship was now in mortal peril – a fact not fully appreciated until the next day, February 3rd. Halley's log takes on a breathless tone that perfectly expresses the dire situation:

Between 11 and 12 of this day we were in iminant danger of loosing our Shipp among the Ice, for the Fogg was all morning so thick that we could not see for long about us, where on a sudden, a Mountain of ice begun to appear out of the Fogg, about 3 points on our Lee bow; this we made shift to weather when another appeared more on head with several peices of Ice round it; this obliged us to tack and had we mist stays [abruptly changing course we had certainly been ashore on it, and had not beene halfe a quarter of an hour under way when another mountain of Ice began to appear on our Lee bow, which obliged us to tack again, with the like danger of being on shore; but the sea being, smooth and the Gale Fresh we got Clear; God be praised.

Paramour’s small size and shallow draught had probably saved their lives, but the experience had a sobering effect:

This danger made my men reflect on the hazards wee run, in being alone without a consort, and of the inevitable loss of us all in case we stared our Shipp, which might soe easily happen amoongst these Mountains of Ice in the Fogg, which are so thick and frequent there.

The ship decisively changed course, heading north to the welcoming shores of Tristan de Cunha and 'recover the warm Sunn, who we had not seen this fortnight'. They reached the island, but did not land steering instead for the Cape of Good Hope, encountering a 'Terrible high sea' which 'threw us soe we had likt to have over-sett but please God she wrighted again'.

Halley considered returning to England after this narrow escape, but 'feared to go home in the winter, which mould expose my shipps companie to greate hardshipps'. Morale was at last beginning to crack; 70 loaves plus 30 pounds of flour and cheese were ruined by leaks – exactly the type of minor disaster that quickly blew out of proportion in the confines of so small a ship. The astronomer took the safest course, making for St Helena and the comforts of civilisation. He arrived on March 11th.

The taverns of Jamestown worked wonders. The crew were soon so well restored that Halley decided to continue his mission and head for Brazil, landing at Recife on April 29th. The Governor was exuberantly friendly, but the 'English Consull', Mr Hardwicke, had Halley arrested as a pirate. He found the purpose of the voyage so absurd as to he wholly unbelievable; it was obviously a cover for nefarious activities. The incident, on May 2nd, lasted only a few hours and involved little more than Portuguese marines shamefacedly inspecting ill-smelling beef. Despite profuse apologies and mutual recriminations, Halley left the next day – almost. inevitably heading into storms.

Paramour reached Barbados 18 days later. Halley donned dress uniform and:

... went up into the Country to Wait on the Governour the Honable Ralph Grey Esqr. who advised me to make no more Stay than was absolutely nessersery by reason the Iseland had not been knowne so sickly as at present the Bridge Towne especially.

Paramour slipped anchor after hastily gathering water. All aboard agreed that at least on this occasion, the captain had steered clear of trouble. Yet within minutes of setting sail, Halley began to feel ill. By the following day, nearly all the ship's company had contracted the 'Barbadoes Disease'. There was no choice but to anchor off St Christopher's and sweat it out; by June 5th all had recovered, thanks in great part of 'the extraordenary cure of my Doctor'. A fortnight later, Paramour and her somewhat shaky crew reached Bermuda.

The last leg of the voyage now began; a theoretically simple passage along the coast of British North America to Cape Cod and thence Plymouth. The seas being high, Halley travelled up to Newfoundland, narrowly avoiding running aground on numerous occasions. His encounter with Captain Bryant was mercifully the last excitement. On September 10th, Paramour regained her dock at Deptford.

It was not Halley's last voyage. In 1701, Paramour surveyed the English Channel on a mission as much concerned with spying out French harbours as with measuring magnetic variations. Interestingly enough, it was impossible to find volunteers to crew the ship, suggesting that the misadventures of the earlier voyages were well known. It may be the case that Harrison was right about Halley's inexperience, which could easily have led him to take risks and remain calm in situations which would have panicked more knowledgeable sailors. Yet no one questioned the astronomer's relish for nautical life; the ever-outraged Flamsteed wailed, 'He now talks., swears and drinks brandy like a sea captain'. Paramour was totally worn out and sold off for a mere £122.

The mission had proved a brilliant success. Halley had mapped the variation of the compass and explored mysterious waters. For the rest of his life, he was probably best known for his magnetic charts. The first, published in 1701, was entitled A New and Correct Chart Shewing the Variations of the Compass in the Western and Southern Oceans as observed in ye Year 1700. It covered the Atlantic from 60' North to 59' South and marked Paramour's course amid amusing observations on the 'Animalls of a Middle Species between a Bird and a Fish' that haunt the Antarctic seas. This picturesque throw-back to the 'here be dragons' school of cartography was dropped the next year, when Halley issued a far larger and much improved chart. Frequently reprinted, it remained an indispensable shipboard companion for more than a century.

The voyage of Paramour marked a first, extraordinarily ambitious, step in the great tradition of 18th-century maritime exploration. It was a mission of a wholly new type, seeking no trade routes, colonies or commercial advantage. For the first time in history, scientific research was the sole motivation for what Johnson grandly called 'the Encouragement of Naval Investigation'. Halley's journeys lacked glamour, but the knowledge they amassed outweighed all the curios, bad maps and monkeys that formed the end-product of many great voyages. Comparisons are simply irrelevant. Others searched for spice islands or gold, but Paramour paved the way for Cook and the Enlightenment.

Recording magnetic variation made accurate navigation much easier, but did not solve the sailor's main problem – how to determine longitude at sea. In 172,8 the astronomer received an unexpected visitor. John Harrison was a self-taught clockmaker who believed he could build an accurate timepiece for use aboard ship; the only good clocks available used pendulums, so were useless in unstable conditions. Precise timekeeping would make finding one's longitude a straightforward mathematical process; Halley had tried various methods during the voyage of Paramour, but none had really succeeded. Most depended on astronomical observations and a navigational system that only worked at night was hopelessly impractical Harrison's confidence impressed his host, who introduced him to George Graham, an instrument maker and close personal friend. Graham's encouragement and financial support led directly to Harrison's Marine Chronometer, an instrument which – used in conjunction with Halley's magnetic charts – formed the basis of nautical navigation for over 150 years.

On January 14th, 1742, the 86-year-old astronomer 'being tired, did ask for a glass of wine, and having drunk it, presently expired, as he sat in his chair, without a groan'. Halley's life was crammed with adventure and discovery. The journeys of Paramour, important though they were, are merely incidents in an extraordinary career. Edmond Halley was far more than a man who watched comets.