Secret Life of James Cook

by Graeme Lay

  The midshipman, face crimson with strain, reported to James. ‘The fothering’s done, sir.’

  ‘Very well. Now go below and tell the men to keep pumping.’

  Twenty minutes later Monkhouse came up from below, breathless. His face was still flushed but his eyes were shining. ‘It’s working, sir. The pumps have gained on the leak. When we let the pumps stand she stayed almost dry.’

  From all around the deck rose cries of relief. Chest heaving, Monkhouse looked down at the deck, exhausted but elated. Endeavour had been impaled on the reef for one hour short of a day.

  Almost speechless with relief, unwilling to betray what he had feared from the near catastrophe, James held out his hand to the midshipman. ‘Well done, lad,’ he said, gruffly. Then to Hicks, standing by the helm with Molyneux, he said, ‘We’ll set sail at first light, in search of a safe haven.’

  20 JUNE 1770

  Dearest Beth,

  It is a month and a half since I made an entry in this journal — but a great deal has happened, events which demanded my total attention. Lately, the ship, and hence our entire expedition, has been imperilled, and it was only through the crew’s unity, combined with good fortune, that we survived a foundering upon a coral reef. I have named the reef after Endeavour’s most reliable master, Dick Pickersgill. He is singled out in this manner, but in truth the entire ship’s company worked as one to save the ship, and ourselves.

  The blame for the foundering lies with me as I unwisely ordered the ship to maintain sail at night instead of standing to. If we had been in daylight, the reef would have been sighted from the masthead and hence avoided. I am racked with private guilt that through my imprudent decision the entire expedition came close to disaster. Never before have I made such a grievous misjudgment. I can confess this guilt to no one but yourself as my report to the Admiralty will be confined to facts, not feelings. But suffice to say that in all my years at sea I have not come so close to losing a ship, an action entirely attributable to my own indiscretion.

  My relief when we were at last released from the reef and able to set sail again is inexpressible. Yet, even free from the coral’s near mortal grip, our tribulations continued, for we had to discover and negotiate a passage which ultimately brought us to where we now are. This was a task of great complexity. Do you remember when we took a launch up the river to Hampton Court Palace, with James and Nathaniel? It was a day in June 1768, and very hot, as I recall. While there we entered the palace’s maze and spent some time going back and forth, seeking an exit from the labyrinth of hedges, not knowing which way to turn or, having turned, not sure whether that course was the correct one. Culs-de-sac confronted us constantly. Well, my love, what I have lately experienced was of a similar nature, except that coral reefs are a great deal more hazardous than hedges of hornbeam! And our passage was made even more arduous by unrelenting gales.

  But we are secure now, encamped beside the estuary of a river which I have also named Endeavour after our long-suffering vessel. After we warped her into the river and she was beached we saw just how grievous her injuries were. The false keel had been stripped away, several sheathing boards were lost, and there was a hole in the hull so large that it must have been fatal to her but for a sizeable chunk of coral rock which had broken from the reef and wedged in the breach, fortuitously serving to hinder further intake of water. So we are now labouring here beside the river during this enforced stay upon the shore of New Holland. Sleeping ashore in tents, we are becoming land creatures again.

  Our hamlet beside the river is an industrious one. The entire company is busily occupied: the carpenters with repairs to the hull, the smiths forging new nails and bolts, Surgeon Monkhouse tending to the sick (the Otaheitian, Tupaia, largely spurns European food and so became afflicted with scurvy, but he is recovering rapidly after receiving a fresh diet). The clerks seek new vegetables, the most useful of which are the hearts of palm cabbage and the leaves of a root crop which grows in a swamp. Others of the crew collect fresh spring water (the river, being tidal, is brackish), seine for fish and capture the turtles which inhabit the coastal waters. Their meat is rich and nutritious, and we will be taking some of the creatures with us when next we sail. The scientists botanize joyfully, Gore the hunter shoots everything that moves, and Banks’s greyhounds chase game merrily. The strangest of animals in this land is a kind of giant hare which leaps at great pace, upright, on powerful hind legs. The natives call it a ‘kangaroo’. After Gore brought one down with his musket the cook roasted it and we ate the creature for dinner. It made splendid eating. The omnivorous Banks made a comment over the meal which amused the rest of us. ‘I believe,’ he said, ‘that I have eaten my way into the animal kingdom farther than any other man.’

  We have gradually achieved some intercourse with the natives here. Although as at Botany Bay they were initially indifferent to our presence and unimpressed with the beads and nails we offered them, they are now communicating more freely. Tupaia, in particular, has made progress with them as because of his darkened complexion and earnest attempts at speaking (though in truth they know nothing of his language) they accord him respect. He reports that they belong to a tribe which they call the Guugu-Yimithirr. They are primitive beings who walk about totally naked, sleep under crude shelters of bark and have no true agriculture, supplying themselves with food entirely through hunting and collecting. They are slim of build, very black, and paint their bodies with stripes of white and red ochre. We see mainly men — the women seldom appear. When they are surprised by something they make a strange whistling sound. They are skilled at making lances and deploying them for spearing game with the assistance of a propelling device they call a ‘woomera’. They are, I believe, contented creatures, entirely at one with the land, river and coastal waters. These offer all they require, and they appear to have no ambition whatsoever to develop or acquire the appurtenances of civilized beings.

  This morning I climbed a high hill beside the river in order to see if I could discern a passage through the reef which we can follow after we set sail from here. But I could see that shoals and reefs abound to the north so the course we follow will be testing, and soundings will have to be taken constantly. But there is much work still to be done before the ship will once more be fit for sea.

  I will conclude this entry now in the hope that you and our family are well and contented. My recent brush with mortality sheeted home to me the knowledge that you and the children are my most cherished possessions. In the depths of my secret fear that we would be cast forever on this desolate shore, my deepest dread was that I would never again see you and our children. Now that fear has abated, I look forward with all my heart to completing the charting of this lonely coast, then turning Endeavour in the direction of home.

  My love, as always,

  James

  By late June the little tent town beside the river had become a second home to the Endeavours. While the carpenters worked on the repairs to the hull the decks were freshly caulked and the sails repaired and set out to dry. The men washed their belongings in the river, sought fresh vegetables and fruit, hunted, fished and caught turtles. The natives were less unfriendly now, although communications remained hesitant.

  The twenty-ninth of June was very hot with a warm wind blowing off the land helping to dry the crew’s washing and the sails which hung from lines between two poles just above the beach. A cauldron of caulking pitch was bubbling above a fire near the tents and the yawl was drawn up on the foreshore on its side, awaiting repairs to its hull. On the mid-deck of Endeavour ten turtles caught the day before on the reef by Gore, Evans and others had been hauled aboard and were now lying on their backs, victuals for the next stage of the voyage.

  Endeavour had been refloated and Tupaia and James were standing on the afterdeck, watching about a dozen aboriginal men on the other side of the river squatting beside their canoes. Since they had begun to treat him respectfully, Tupaia had revised his opinion of the New Hollander
s. ‘They are not bad people, I now think,’ he declared to James. ‘They are just simple.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘They have no proper houses, no temples, no marae. Not even clothes.’

  This judgmental attitude continued to rankle James. ‘But they have no need of such things,’ he pointed out. ‘The sea and the land provide them with everything. And the constant heat here means that clothing is unnecessary.’

  Tupaia shrugged. ‘The weather is the same on my islands, yet our people build houses and marae. We have clothes, and we worship our gods.’ He shook his head dismissively. ‘These people have no gods.’

  Persisting in their defence, James said, ‘Banks has told me they relate stories to each other when they sit around their fires at night. And they dance while telling the stories, imitating birds and other creatures.’

  ‘Yes, I too have watched them doing this,’ Tupaia allowed. He looked thoughtful. ‘Perhaps their stories are about their gods.’

  ‘That may be the case.’ James looked across the river at the group. ‘And they are peaceable towards us. That has made our stay here more tolerable.’

  As they talked the aboriginal men got into two of their canoes and began to paddle across the river towards the ship. ‘They are coming this way,’ Tupaia said, frowning. ‘Why?’

  They climbed from their canoes, leaving their spears on board, and climbed the steps on Endeavour’s hull. Tall but slim, with wide flat noses, curly black hair and beards, they looked to range in age from early twenties to mid-thirties. Standing about on the weather deck, ignoring the crew, they were preoccupied by the upturned white-throated turtles, whose flippers were waving slowly and helplessly. The tallest of the natives, who had a long bone inserted through his nostrils, pointed at the creatures and said something to Gore. Not comprehending, he looked up at Tupaia quizzically. The Otaheitian came down and put himself between the aboriginals and Gore. Through gesticulations, Tupaia asked the tall man what was wrong. He replied by pointing to the turtles, to the other aboriginals, and then out to sea. Then he bent down and laid one hand each on two of the turtles’ bellies.

  ‘What do they want?’ James called down from the quarterdeck.

  Tupaia looked concerned. ‘I think he says that the turtles belong to them because what comes from the sea belongs to his people.’

  This claim is absurd, James thought. He said to Tupaia, ‘Tell them the turtles are ours because we captured them. And that the sea and what comes from it belongs to everyone, not just them.’

  Tupaia tossed his hands in the air. ‘I cannot explain that to them, Tute. I have not the words.’ He added hesitantly, ‘Can they not have just two of the turtles? There will be plenty left for us.’

  James thought for a moment. Relations with these people had been almost completely peaceful. It would be short-sighted, perhaps, to risk amicable relations for the sake of two turtles. ‘Tell them—,’ he began.

  Before he could finish his statement the man with the bone through his septum dashed forward, grabbed the nearest turtle and deftly turned it over. Two of his companions ran to it and picked it up by the edge of its shell, one on either side. The other men grabbed a second turtle and lifted it up. Gore and Evans charged at them, pushing the aboriginals aside. Both turtles crashed to the deck.

  The aboriginal leader raised his fist defiantly, pointed at himself, then the others, then back at the turtles. Clearly, the message was: ‘They are ours.’ But Gore and the others had interposed themselves between the creatures and the natives. Banks, who had been processing plant specimens on the foredeck, rushed up and faced the aboriginals’ leader. ‘Get back!’ he commanded.

  Realizing that this would only inflame the situation, James called down to him: ‘Banks! Stand aside!’

  With open hands, the natives’ leader disdainfully pushed Banks into Tupaia, who clutched his shirt. ‘No, taio, leave them,’ he pleaded. ‘All they want is two turtles.’

  Not comprehending Tupaia’s attempt at mediation, the aboriginals suddenly sprinted down the deck, yelling angrily, picking up any loose object in their way and casting it overboard: buckets, scrubbing brushes, a fishing net, boat-hooks. Then, before they could be restrained, they clambered down into their canoes and paddled furiously the twenty yards or so to the beach, on the encampment side of the river. The Endeavours rushed to the stern, and from there saw one of the younger aboriginal men snatch up a bunch of long, dry grass. The slender black figure ran to the fire under the pitch pot, lit the grass from it, then ran to the scrub which grew close to the camp. Holding the torch to the foliage, he waited until it caught, then ran along its edge, trailing sparks from his brand. Wherever he touched the tinder-dry vegetation it burst into flames.

  The young man then sprinted back to the river where the others were waiting by their canoes.

  The Endeavours scrambled over the side and into the ship’s boats, then rowed the short distance to the shore. Too late. The scrub was ablaze and the flames, fanned by the land breeze, were swirling skywards, accompanied by spiralling plumes of smoke. In minutes the conflagration had encircled the camp and was sweeping towards the two tents and pig pen on the foreshore. James, primed fowling piece in hand, leapt from the launch and ran towards the tents, followed by Gore and three others. They dragged the tents down, then hauled them away from the encroaching flames. Two men grabbed lengths of canvas and began beating at the flames. Sparks flew into the air. Banks called, ‘Look! By the water!’

  The clothesline had been set up just above a flat rock where the men washed and beat their laundry clean. Tied on the line were items of their washing — shirts, breeches, drawers and cloths — along with several fishing nets. A second arsonist stood under the line, fire-brand in his hand, holding it under a pair of breeches. Furious, James ran down the beach, aimed and fired his scattergun. Small shot struck the man in the lower back. He screamed, dropped the burning brand and ran down to where his companions were waiting. Not bothering to collect up all their spears, the men ran into the nearby trees.

  Exhausted, the crewmen stood on the foreshore. The fire had burned itself out, but the air was filled with an acrid stench and a swath of the grass was blackened and smouldering. The collapsed tents were further down the beach, saved from the fire, but the seared corpse of a piglet, which had panicked and run into the flames, lay among the ashes. The other pigs were uninjured.

  Banks sank to the ground. ‘What a mercy it is that most of our equipment is already aboard. All could have been lost.’

  James, gun on the sand beside him, nodded. He was bitterly disappointed that it had come to this after their previously sociable relations.

  ‘What now?’ Gore asked James.

  ‘We cannot leave the place in a state of discord. We must try to make peace again.’ He gathered up the spears the men had abandoned. ‘We’ll follow where they went.’

  Emerging from the trees, they came to an expanse of scrubby bushland from which a number of tall brown ant hills protruded, resembling primitive obelisks. Tupaia, who by now knew the area well, led the way. ‘Their camp is down this hill,’ he said. Minutes later, they saw the men sitting in a circle beneath a tall eucalyptus tree with a pale trunk, strips of its bark peeling away like flayed skin. Some of the men held spears. Tupaia stopped. ‘Don’t come close. If we sit down, away from them, it will show them we mean no harm.’

  They did so, also arranging themselves in a circle. Tupaia collected up the spears they had seized. When he gestured for the fowling piece, James relinquished it, reluctantly. Tupaia placed the weapons on the ground between the two groups. The two parties stared at each other across the open ground. No one spoke or moved for several minutes. Here, away from the sea, the heat was like a blanket which wrapped itself stiflingly around the Englishmen, and the bush insects screamed at them accusingly. James could see blood on the midriff of the man he had peppered. He began to feel uneasy. Was another attack coming?

  With the aboriginals wa
s another man, smaller and much older than the rest, with curly grey hair and beard. After a time, at some unspoken command, the old man stood up and came forward. He walked with a limp, his shoulders were hunched and the skin of his chest and torso was slumped into folds. Coming closer, he beckoned to Tupaia who got up and walked towards him. The old man spoke animatedly, then made a loud clicking noise with his tongue.

  James called out. ‘What does he say?’

  ‘I’m not sure,’ Tupaia said. ‘But I think he speaks of friendship.’

  The old man beckoned all of them forward, and they obeyed, James collecting up the confiscated spears. Approaching the group, he offered the weapons to them, but kept his scattergun in his left hand. The man with the nose bone came forward and accepted the offered spears, nodding and saying, ‘Hiee, hiee, hiee.’ The other men got up, placed their spears under the tree, then came over to James and the others, lifting their splayed feet in high stepping movements. The aboriginals were all chatting and chuckling as if nothing untoward had ever happened.

  Twenty-eight

  4 AUGUST 1770

  In the pm having pretty moderate weather I ordered the coasting anchor and cable to be laid without the bar to be ready to warp out, that we might not lose the least opportunity that might offer for I am very anxious of getting to sea. Laying in port spends time to no purpose, consumes our provisions of which we are very short in many articles, and we have a long passage to make to the East Indies through an unknown and perhaps dangerous sea.

  The wind continued moderate all night and at 5 o’clock in the morning when it fell calm this gave us an opportunity to warp out. About 7 we got under sail having a light air from the land which soon died away and was succeeded by the sea breeze from SEBS with which we stood off to sea EBN having the pinnace ahead sounding. The yawl I sent to the turtle bank to take up the net that was left there, but as the wind freshened we got out before her, and a little after noon anchored in 15 fathoms and a sandy bottom, for I did not think it safe to run in among the shoals until I had well viewed them at low water from the masthead, that I might better judge which way to steer.