Cook

by Rob Mundle

  DEDICATION

  In memory of President John F. Kennedy, who reminded us:

  All of us have in our veins the exact same percentage of salt in our blood that exists in the ocean, and, therefore, we have salt in our blood, in our sweat, in our tears. We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea, whether it is to sail or to watch it, we are going back from whence we came.

  CONTENTS

  COVER

  TITLE PAGE

  DEDICATION

  MAPS

  PROLOGUE: A Wisp of Wind

  CHAPTER ONE: From Farm Boy to Seafarer

  CHAPTER TWO: Life on the Lower Deck

  CHAPTER THREE: The Taking of Québec

  CHAPTER FOUR: Canadian Winters

  CHAPTER FIVE: A Bride – Post-haste

  CHAPTER SIX: The Captain and His Ship

  CHAPTER SEVEN: Cape Horn and the South Pacific

  CHAPTER EIGHT: Arcadia

  CHAPTER NINE: A Tale of Two Islands

  CHAPTER TEN: Bound for Van Diemen’s Land

  CHAPTER ELEVEN: Unknown Land, Unknown Reefs

  CHAPTER TWELVE: The Race to Save Endeavour

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN: The Width of One Wave

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN: A Battle of Wills

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Second Time Around

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Return to Otaheite

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: Close Calls and an Atrocity

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: One Last Look

  CHAPTER NINETEEN: Land Fever

  CHAPTER TWENTY: Islands, Ice and the Captain’s Ire

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: A Brutal End

  EPILOGUE: Mourning the Master

  PICTURE SECTION

  GLOSSARY

  SOURCES

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  SEARCHABLE TERMS

  PRAISE FOR

  ALSO BY ROB MUNDLE

  COPYRIGHT

  MAPS

  Escape from the Great Barrier Reef.

  PROLOGUE

  A Wisp of Wind

  Aboard His Majesty’s Bark Endeavour, the ship’s bell, which was mounted in its belfry on the foredeck above the anchor windlass, had just tolled twice. It was the signal for the near 100 men on board that it was five o’clock in the morning, the completion of the first hour of the morning watch.

  For the previous four months, Endeavour and her crew had travelled more than 1700 nautical miles along a coastline to the north of a headland that had appeared off the ship’s bow on 19 April 1770. In history, that date is recognised as the day the great seafarer James Cook first sighted the east coast of New Holland. In doing so he contributed significantly to solving a maritime mystery that had been debated for centuries.

  At this very moment, though, things had gone awry: it was looking increasingly likely that the ship and everyone on board would be lost, probably without trace. Endeavour, now situated beside New Holland’s reef-strewn northern coastline, was becalmed and drifting towards annihilation.

  Windless as it was in the early hours, it was not a flat calm. The ship was slowly heaving from side to side in response to powerful ocean swells that were rolling in from the south-east like liquid mountain ranges in perpetual motion – the remnants of a mid-ocean storm that had its core somewhere out in the Pacific. The crests of these monsters were only seconds apart, and as each one loomed and surged against Endeavour’s hull it would pitch her massive bulk towards the heavens and roll her to starboard then to port in a slow, pendulum-like motion. And with every lurch came an ugly discord of sound from aloft as the heavy canvas sails slatted inside-out, and the solid timber yards, from which they were set, groaned in protest.

  There was another haunting noise, however – like rolling thunder – that was originating from a source away from the ship, and it was causing escalating concern for all on board. The men knew what it was, so well that everyone, from the captain to the lowliest able seaman and servant boy, was constantly peering through the darkness and watching in dread at the dim scene that was slowly becoming defined off Endeavour’s starboard side. As their ship drifted closer to it, they saw wave after monstrous wave being compressed into a horribly powerful peak before exploding and collapsing with a booming roar into a seething mass of ghostly white water – thousands of tons of it – onto the coral reef that had so abruptly impeded its progress. The wall of water would then cascade across the reef like an unstoppable tsunami.

  The motion that came from each wave as it approached the reef, and the sweep of a current being generated by a tide that was on the flood, were combining to move Endeavour at an alarming rate towards the boiling white water. And there was nothing that could be done to prevent it.

  By this time, Cook and his crew had been away from their home port in England for almost two years to the day, on a voyage that initially took them to Tahiti to observe the transit of Venus across the sun. The Royal Society had commissioned that part of the expedition, in the hope that data recorded from sights taken during this rare astronomical phenomenon in June 1769 would provide the most accurate figure yet on the distance between Venus and the sun. Such information would enable scientists to more precisely calculate the size of the solar system.

  With that undertaking completed, Cook had followed his instructions from the Admiralty, which, in taking the opportunity that came with one of their ships being in this newly discovered part of the world, directed him to take a sweep into the Southern Ocean in search of Terra Australis Incognita – the Great South Land. Should nothing be found, he was to continue west, towards where, on 13 December 1642, Dutchman Abel Tasman had discovered ‘a large land, uplifted high’ – the west coast of the southern island of New Zealand. By sailing towards that point, Cook would inevitably make landfall. Once there, he would be able to explore the largely unknown coastline and fill in the extensive gaps left by Tasman.

  Cook’s instructions from the Lords of the Admiralty for this part of the voyage were deemed to be secret, as they did not want to alert other European maritime nations to the exploratory nature of the mission. Britain wanted to keep any success to itself.

  There was another important element relating to this voyage. Any discoveries that might be made would present a unique opportunity to expand the world’s knowledge of the flora and fauna of this part of the world. As a result, there was on board a special group whose task it was, following their observation of the transit of Venus, to seek all possible samples of the previously unknown native plants and wildlife they would almost certainly find on land and sea. Leading this group was a member of the august Royal Society – more formally known as the Royal Society of London for Improving Natural Knowledge – wealthy 27-year-old naturalist Joseph Banks; he came with eight assistants, including a natural scientist, two artists and servants, as well as his two dogs.

  Eton- and Oxford-educated Banks, who would later in life become one of the world’s most prominent patrons of natural science, was so enthusiastic about this venture with Cook that he had invested around £10,000 of his personal wealth to support it. That figure converts to more than £10 million ($17 million) today. Needless to say, Banks was given the best sleeping quarters on the ship, on a par with the captain’s.

  Once New Zealand had been reached, and whatever possible exploration of that region completed, Cook had been given the option of returning home via Cape Horn or the Cape of Good Hope. He chose the latter, primarily for the safety of his ship and his men. It would be a longer but less dangerous passage that way, for Endeavour was by then showing signs of structural fatigue, and they would thereby avoid the perils that came with rounding the notorious, storm-lashed Cape Horn.

  Cook resumed a passage to the west until, on that historic day of 19 April 1770, a lookout stationed near the masthead shouted in high excitement: ‘Land ho!’ There was a coastline off
to the northwest and, soon after it was sighted, the most obvious landmark would go onto Cook’s chart with the name Point Hicks: a tribute to that man who first saw it, 31-year-old Second Lieutenant Zachary Hickes.

  As Endeavour closed in on the land, the coast was seen to disappear over the horizon to the north-east, and on considering this, Cook called for a change of course in that direction so it could be traced. But to where, no one knew.

  During the following four months, as his ship weaved her way north, this remarkable seafarer explored and mapped every possible detail of the coastline – sometimes by going ashore for a more accurate view of his surroundings.

  Now, though, he was experiencing the worst part of a nightmare that had haunted him for weeks, one caused mainly by sailing almost blindly through the hundreds upon hundreds of threatening coral cays and reefs making up what we know today as the Great Barrier Reef. It had been a harrowing passage, and Cook would later note: ‘we have sailed 360 leagues without ever having a man out of the chains heaving the lead [to measure the depth] when the ship was underway, a circumstance that I dare say never happened to any ship before and yet here it was absolutely necessary.’

  The captain had known from the moment his ship became imprisoned in the coral maze that the odds were stacked in favour of high drama. He had also known he had no alternative but to continue sailing downwind to the north, and to explore this coast to the best of his ability.

  In the middle of the night on 11 June, Cook’s fears were realised: Endeavour ploughed into an unseen reef that was lurking just below the sea surface. The ever-articulate Banks put that dramatic scene into words in his journal:

  … the tide ebbed so much that we found it impossible to attempt to get her off till next high water … Anchors were however got out and laid ready for heaving … The tide began to rise and as it rose the ship worked violently upon the rocks so that by 2 she began to make water and increased very fast … Now in my own opinion I entirely gave up the ship and packing up what I thought I might save prepared myself for the worst.

  Through great seamanship, determination and the good fortune that came with the weather being relatively benign, Endeavour was re-floated and the necessary repairs completed over a seven-week period, in a sheltered river mouth on the mainland. During that time, Cook convinced himself it was imperative to find a channel through the outer reef that was wide enough and deep enough for the ship to make good her escape to the open sea. Ironically, it was because Cook accepted that the dangers of sailing within the confines of the reef were too great that he found himself in this latest, far more perilous situation.

  Five days after Endeavour resumed her voyage, escape from inside the reef was achieved via a channel to the east of Lizard Island. Initially, all was well. The ship made good speed north, her sails billowing on the face of a strong south-east trade wind as she pursued a course well wide of the reef. This was the first time in three months that all aboard could enjoy the relief that came from having safe and deep water under the keel. It was especially the case for those with the responsibility of being a lookout – usually one or more of the mates, if not the captain or officers. Their task was now casual, not constant.

  There was one problem emerging which had to be confronted, however. Every time Endeavour surged down one of the large, deep-blue rolling seas and gouged out a white bow wave more than a metre high, a torrent of water would spew into the bilge. The carpenters were sent below and forward to find the cause, and they soon reported to the captain that the repairs made to the bow after the grounding on the reef had obviously not extended high enough above the waterline. Water was pouring in through damaged planks and open seams, filling the bilge along the entire length of the ship at the disconcerting rate of 9 inches an hour. With there being no way to make repairs, the only solution was for one of the pumps to be manned around the clock until conditions eased. Cook would later note that ‘this was looked upon as trifling to the danger we had lately made our escape from’.

  For Cook, the mental reprieve that came with being rid of the reef would be brief. By not having the coast in sight, he was now decreasing his chance of successfully completing the next stage of his mission. Having confirmed the existence of the east coast of New Holland, he still needed to discover if a channel or strait existed between wherever this new-found coast terminated and the land to the north known as New Guinea, the southern coast of which had been charted by Spain’s Luís Vaez de Torres more than 160 years earlier. So, after enjoying some forty-eight hours away from danger, the captain, ‘fearful of over shooting the passage supposing there to be one between this land and New Guinea’, issued the order to wear ship and hold a course to the west until the outer edge of the reef, or the coast, became apparent.

  The reef that threatened their very existence right now was sighted just before sunset on 15 August, about 2 leagues – 6 nautical miles – to the west, off Endeavour’s port side. Cook elected to continue sailing north and into the night on a course he hoped would parallel this considerable navigational hazard, but around midnight, when the wind suddenly changed direction from east-south-east to east-by-north – turning the reef into an intimidating lee shore – he quickly realised he must adopt a more cautious course. His well-calculated call was for the ship to be tacked immediately and sailed on a near reciprocal track back to the south and away from the danger. Soon afterwards, though, with the reef a mere 2 nautical miles to leeward, the wind faded to nothing and the sea surface went glassy.

  A shouted enquiry from the deck to the lookout aloft had him confirm that, in the dim light of the waning moon, he could still see the large surf breaking onto the reef: a long, shadowy streak of grey that was unmistakable against the blackness of the sea. Over the next hour or so, bearings were taken and calculations made, causing the captain to declare with some level of concern that Endeavour was ‘nearing the reef fast by means of a flood tide and S.E. swell’.

  The destruction of the ship became more likely with the wash from each wave, and as this occurred, so the haunting sound of the pounding seas grew proportionately louder. They were nature’s death knell. ‘A little after 4 o’clock the roaring of the surf was plainly heard,’ Cook would later write in his journal, ‘and at day break the vast foaming breakers were too plainly to be seen not a mile from us towards which we found the ship was carried by the waves surprisingly fast …’.

  With no breath of breeze, it was impossible to sail away from the danger, so Cook had to consider all other options. He immediately ordered that two of Endeavour’s three boats – the 10-foot-long yawl and 18-foot longboat – be hoisted out and manned in an attempt to tow the ship away from the threat. At the same time, even though it was still dark, he had the carpenters set about making hasty repairs to the damaged pinnace (similar in length to the longboat), so that it, too, could lend assistance in the towing operation. But even with all three boats in the water and eighteen men hauling their hearts out on the oars, this desperate effort proved near futile. All they could achieve – while assisted by some of the ship’s crew manning sweep oars set from Endeavour’s two stern ports – was to get ‘the ship’s head round to the northward’, Cook noted, ‘which seemed to be the only way to keep her off the reef or at least to delay time’.

  Cook then had to accept that nature held the advantage – they were still being swept towards the reef: ‘We had at this time not an air of wind and the depth of water was unfathomable, so there was not a possibility of anchoring, in this distressed situation we had nothing but providence and the small assistance our boats could give us to trust to.’

  All the while, the crewman in the chains at the side of the ship, adjacent to the helm position on the quarterdeck, continued to heave the lead in the hope of finding the bottom. Should he make that call then the anchor, the best bower, which was at the ready, could be lowered the instant an order was shouted from the quarterdeck. But each time the leadsman deftly swung the 14-pound weight, which was attached to a long line
, and looped it into the sea, the call he made for the captain’s benefit simply added to the magnitude of the looming disaster: ‘100 fathoms. No ground Sir … 120 fathoms. No ground Sir … 150 fathoms. No ground Sir.’

  In layman’s parlance, the reef edge that appeared about to become the ship’s nemesis was the summit of a vertical coral cliff-face that descended some 300 metres to the ocean floor – the height of the Eiffel Tower in Paris!

  The leadsman’s proclamations only fed the fear that was then tearing at the minds of all on board: it would be impossible for any man to survive the incredible force the roaring seas would exert on the ship the moment it was smashed to pieces on the reef by the giant waves. In such a catastrophic maelstrom, every crew-member would either be killed by the impact or drown. The point had been reached where only a miracle could save the sailors and their ship from this terminal situation.

  Incredibly, though, while Endeavour was trapped by the calm and being drawn towards the reef as if responding to a powerful natural magnetic force, the men on board showed no evidence of panic. Every one of them who was required to sail the vessel stood at his position – most at the ready on the braces and sheets that controlled the sails to respond immediately and trim the sails to suit any puff of wind that might miraculously appear. With it still being dark – sunrise was not until 6.35 am – this task was doubly daunting, as it was all about the senses. In daylight, the sailors would be able to see any small dark patches of ripple generated by a slight breeze on an otherwise glassy sea. At this time, though, all around them was black.

  The dedication of his men was not lost on the captain:

  It was six o’clock and we were not above 80 or 100 yards from the breakers, the same sea that washed the sides of the ship rose in a breaker prodigiously high the very next time it did rise so that between us and destruction was only a dismal valley the breadth of one wave … we had hardly any hopes of saving the ship … yet in this truly terrible situation not one man ceased to do his utmost and that with as much calmness as if no danger had been near. All the dangers we had escaped [previously] were little in comparison of being thrown upon this reef where the ship must be dashed to pieces in a moment.