by Rob Mundle
On 13 July, after a stay of nearly three months, the time came to sail away from this paradise. Interestingly for Cook, in the preceding weeks several islanders had requested to accompany the Englishmen aboard Endeavour. After much deliberation, it was decided that such a person might ‘be of use to us in our future discoveries’, as the captain recorded:
We resolved to bring away one whose name is Tupia, a Chief and a Priest. This man had been with us most part of the time we had been upon the Island. We found him to be a very intelligent person … and was the likeliest person to answer our Purpose. For these reasons, and at the request of Mr Banks, I received him on board, together with a young Boy, his Servant [Tiata] …
The weight of emotion, both on board the ship and onshore, had become heavier by the hour as the time neared to hove the anchor and hoist sail. It had been only two years since Wallis was there with Dolphin, which was when the islanders first became aware of the alien world from which their visitors had come, an event that initiated a huge change to their way of life.
As the longboat and pinnace were hoisted aboard and secured on the waist of the ship, the wails of sadness coming from the canoes surrounding Endeavour became increasingly loud and vigorous. It was an equally dramatic moment for Tupia, who was departing paradise for experiences that were beyond his imagination. Seeking to make his farewell that bit more conspicuous, he climbed to the masthead with Banks so he could wave to his people in the canoes and onshore. With that done, he returned to the deck and from then on showed no further emotion.
Everyone else on board, especially Cook, had to determinedly disconnect themselves from the extraordinary experiences of the previous months. As commander of the mission, he needed to shift his attention, and that of his men, towards the distant horizon, and the important discoveries he hoped to make there.
Captain Wallace had made his discovery of Otaheite – or King George the Third’s Island, as he named it – simply because he happened to be sailing Dolphin some distance to the south of what, by mid 1767, was the proven safe track for square-rigged ships traversing the South Pacific. Until then, vessels making an east– west crossing in this part of the world, after having either rounded Cape Horn or sailed through the Straits of Magellan, took up a course south of the Equator in order to exploit the warm downwind sailing that came with the prevailing south-east trade winds. This was considered to be a safe route because there were established stopover points at which to replenish vital stocks of water and food. To sail in higher latitudes further south, and therefore into unknown territory, was to court fatal consequences, so, through circumstance rather than desire, a large part of the South Pacific remained beyond any explorer’s reach. Now though, following the discovery of Otaheite, there was a point from which an expedition aimed at exploring the waters to the south and west could be launched. Consequently, it was Cook’s commission to do just that: to see if there was anything of significance to be found, and in particular, to search for Terra Australis Incognita.
With his ship well prepared, and laden with as much food and water as she could carry, Cook knew he had the capacity to meet the challenge that had been presented to him in the second set of instructions from the Admiralty. These secret orders said, in part:
Whereas there is reason to imagine that a Continent or Land of great extent, may be found to the Southward of the Tract lately made by Captn Wallis in His Majesty’s Ship the Dolphin … or of the Tract of any former Navigators in Pursuit of the like kind, You are therefore in Pursuance of His Majesty’s Pleasure hereby required and directed to put to Sea … You are to proceed to the Southward [of Otaheite] in order to make discovery of the Continent abovementioned until you arrive in the Latitude of 40°, unless you sooner fall in with it. But not having discovered it or any Evident sign of it in that Run you are to proceed in search of it to the Westward between the Latitude beforementioned and the Latitude of 35° until you discover it, or fall in with the Eastern side of the Land discovered by [Abel] Tasman and now called New Zealand … if you shall fail of discovering the Continent beforementioned, you will with upon falling in with New Zealand carefully observe the Latitude and Longitude in which that Land is situated and explore as much of the Coast as the Condition of the Bark, the health of her Crew, and the State of your Provisions will admit …
Cook subsequently plotted a course, initially to the north-west, then south and finally to the west – a plan that would fulfil the requirements of these instructions.
Abel Janszoon Tasman had become the first European to discover New Zealand when he sighted its Southern Alps on 13 December 1642. Although Dutch cartographers soon registered it by its modern title, the name Tasman gave his discovery was Staten Land, which he hypothesised was probably part of a huge continent that stretched across the Pacific to South America. Just a few weeks before this sighting, he had registered another important addition to the world map: the southern tip of Van Diemen’s Land (Tasmania). As with the New Zealand coast, should Cook be successful in discovering unknown lands, it was his responsibility to prepare charts of the newly found shorelines for the Admiralty, not dissimilar to those he had produced when surveying the shores of Newfoundland.
Additionally, their Lordships had ordered him to pursue friendship and potential trade opportunities with the local people, and ‘with the Consent of the Natives … take possession of Convenient Situations in the Country in the Name of the King of Great Britain: Or: if you find the Country uninhabited, take Possession for His Majesty by setting up Proper Marks and Inscriptions, as first discoverers and possessors.’ Equally, Banks and his party were obliged to collect as many samples of the local flora and fauna as possible.
There was one other proviso. The captain was reminded that this was a secret mission, and because of this, his entire crew, should they enter any foreign port, were ‘not to divulge where they have been until they have permission to do so’.
Cook’s reason for initially sailing to the north-west from Matavai Bay was so he could visit and explore islands that the natives of Otaheite had told him existed in that region. With Tupia helping to pilot the vessel, it took Endeavour two days to cover the 120 nautical miles to the first of those islands, Huaheine – one of the group that is today known as the Society Islands.
Fortunately for those on board, who were keen to regain their sea legs and thus avoid mal de mer, the weather was relatively benign. In fact, the winds were so light that Tupia felt obliged to do everything within his power to muster up a breeze and make the ship gain speed. In this regard, Banks appeared dubious of their guest’s capabilities, writing: ‘Our Indian often prayed … for a wind and as often boasted to me of the success of his prayers, which I plainly saw he never began til he saw a breeze so near the ship that it generally reached her before his prayer was finished …’
Over the ensuing weeks, Cook’s expedition discovered an impressive scattering of tropical islands and peoples who, in general, were as welcoming as those they had encountered in Otaheite. However, there were still times when the Englishmen were seen as invaders, even though Tupia did his best to assure the natives that they came in friendship and peace. One such incident saw islanders in a canoe try to capture one of the small boats that was carrying Banks and others towards the shore. It was not until the marines fired their muskets into the air that this attack came to a sudden end, with the aggressors leaping into the water and swimming towards land.
Wherever possible, Cook did as directed under his secret instructions, raising the Union flag and taking possession, in the King’s name, of any islands he discovered. He even left the chief of Huaheine a small plate stamped with an inscription that read: ‘His Britannick Majesty’s Ship, Endeavour, Lieutenant Cook, Commander, 16th July, 1769 Huaheine’. He also found previously unknown Raiatea and other islands in this group, which he claimed for Great Britain, before deciding that the time had come to turn south.
One of the reasons for the Admiralty’s instruction to sail south in this
region was because, while Dolphin had been sailing in the waters around Otaheite, crew-members firmly believed that they could see the faint outline of a coast in that direction. Cook, however, would soon confirm that this so-called sighting was, in fact, ‘Cape Flyaway’, a seafarer’s reference to something that always confused lookouts – a bank of dark cloud sitting low on the horizon.
The extent of Banks’ observations while in the South Seas was nothing short of vast, and led to him writing a 21,000-word appreciation of the findings he and his ‘gentlemen’ had made. It detailed the people, their habitats and their customs. Banks noted with interest the large outrigger canoes and catamarans, termed ‘pahees’ by the islanders, some of which were more than 50 feet in overall length. ‘With these boats they venture themselves out of sight of land,’ he wrote in wonder. ‘They [apparently] go on voyages of twenty days.’ His surprise was no doubt caused by the fact that he had no comprehension of the remarkable navigational skills of the Polynesian people. Had Banks made enquiries he would have learned little, if anything, from the natives. Their form of navigation was a natural skill handed down through the generations. It involved the observation of the position of stars at night, the flight paths of birds by day, and the angles of waves. Occasionally a crude map made from twigs or palm fronds was used.
On 15 August 1769, Endeavour crossed the Tropic of Capricorn (approximately 350 nautical miles to the south of Tahiti) on her passage south, heading for 40 degrees latitude, as directed. Men were aloft around the clock, to ensure that there was every possible chance of sighting land. From near the masthead the observed horizon was 20 miles or more, while at deck level it was less than half that. Even so, Cook and Banks were confident that no major landmass was in close proximity to Endeavour’s position – simply because a large south-westerly swell, which had obviously been generated deep in the Southern Ocean, was making its presence felt on the vessel, and among some of the crew. Seasickness was, by then, prevalent among the men.
The incessant rolling motion of the ship, combined with the creep of cold weather that was felt more with each day as Endeavour pushed towards the higher latitudes, took an unfortunate toll. Banks noted: ‘Our hogs and fowls begin to die apace, of the latter a great many, want of proper food and cold which now begins to pinch even us is I suppose the cause …’ However, the well-insulated sheep were managing to survive.
For the crew, life on board was miserable, as a series of gales swept in from the west, bringing with them bold and bulging rain-bearing clouds that, all too often, deluged the ship. Each one of these fronts was accompanied by a considerable increase in wind strength, and that demanded a rapid response from the crew on watch: the configuration of sails had to be changed as quickly as possible – either hauled up, reefed, lowered, reset or re-trimmed.
For those on deck who were executing these manoeuvres, there was no escape from the pelting rain and biting cold, while below, where headroom was virtually nonexistent for the fifty or so men off-watch, it was dark, damp and full of fetid air. For some men, the only escape came via the bottle, and on 28 August, Cook recorded that booze beat the man:
Fresh Gales and Cloudy, with rain on the Latter part. At 10 departed this Life Jno. Rearden [John Reading], Boatswain’s Mate; his Death was occasioned by the Boatswain out of mere good Nature giving him part of a Bottle of Rum last night, which it is supposed he drank all at once. He was found to be very much in Liquor last night, but as this was no more than what was common with him when he could get any, no farther notice was taken of him than to put him to Bed, where this morning about 8 o’clock he was found Speechless and past recovery. Wind Northerly; course South …
By 2 September, Cook had fulfilled another one of his orders from the Admiralty. His journal entry that day confirmed for the Lords that he had, by sailing to 40 degrees south, achieved all that was asked of him in the waters to the south of Tahiti, with no tangible result: ‘Very strong Gales, with heavy squalls of Wind, hail, and rain. At 4 p.m., being in the Latitude of 40 degrees 22 minutes South, and having not the least Visible signs of land, we wore, and brought too under the Foresail, and reefed the Mainsail …’ In reaching this point and not making any discoveries, Cook had made another mark on history, by disproving the long-held belief that this unexplored part of the world was, most definitely, where the Great South Land would be found.
Savage storms that had mustered in the Southern Ocean were soon pushing Endeavour to the edge in survival conditions. Apart from the threat of serious damage to the sails and rig, the ship was being brutally punished by huge breaking seas. The largest of the waves saw the decks buried under tons of white foaming water: each time this occurred, she would rise like a wounded beast, bucking and tossing to rid herself of the bone-chilling water that was cascading across her decks in great torrents. The men on deck, soaked to the skin, could only hang on and hope they weren’t swept over the side.
If there was any solace for the crew, it came with the knowledge that they had a remarkable seafarer for a captain: a man whose experience over tens of thousands of ocean miles gave him the ability to preserve his ship and his crew in threatening predicaments such as this. ‘I did intend to have stood to the Southward if the winds had been Moderate,’ Cook wrote of his deliberation in these conditions, ‘but as the weather was so very Tempestuous I laid aside this design, and thought it more advisable to stand to the Northward into better weather, least we should receive such Damage in our Sails and Rigging as might hinder the further Prosecutions of the Voyage …’
Endeavour was held on this course until the weather improved to the degree whereby the helm could be put down and the ship steered to the west, towards the point where Tasman had first sighted New Zealand. By doing that, Cook knew it was inevitable that he would sight land.
While working at his charts and plotting this course, no doubt Cook would have been aware also of the circumstances of Tasman’s time in New Zealand, which, in one particular instance, was most disturbing. After first sighting the alps and logging his position off the western coast, Tasman sailed his ship, Heemskerck, north in company with the armed support vessel Zeehaen, then rounded a promontory (which Cook would later name Cape Farewell) and entered a large bay, where both ships anchored. The small boats were hoisted out and rowed towards shore – an act that the Maoris there saw as an invasion by aliens transported into their world by the most unusual object they had ever seen. A group of Maoris aboard a large canoe was seen to intercept one of Heemskerck’s boats, first ramming it before attacking the occupants. Four of Tasman’s crew were killed in the fight that followed, hence the name Murderers Bay. It was renamed Golden Bay in 1857 after gold was discovered nearby.
Endeavour sailed a looping course to a point some 600 nautical miles to the north of her turning point at 40 degrees south. It was then that the wind gods finally loosened the grip that had impeded her progress west, delivering conditions that would allow the captain to put his ship on a course that aimed directly at the position given by Tasman for where he saw the alps. Cook was now certain that they would soon see New Zealand, so he made a promise to his crew that he would name a feature on the coast after the person who was first to see it. To encourage alertness, he offered an additional incentive: a gallon of rum.
Understandably, the thought of reaching land brought an increasing level of excitement to the men. On 1 October, Sydney Parkinson, now the sole artist in Banks’ research group, noted that it was decided the entire crew should share in a special treat: there were still seventeen sheep remaining in their meat supply, so ‘though we had been so long out at sea, in a distant part of the world, we had a roasted leg of mutton, and French beans for dinner, and the fare of Old England afforded a grateful repast’.
Whenever it was calm enough to launch one of the ship’s boats, Banks and his team continued to collect whatever samples they could to assist in their research. As a consequence, the great cabin was filled with examples of their finds and abuzz with speculation abo
ut what lay ahead, as Banks explained on 3 October:
Now do I wish that our friends in England could by the assistance of some magical spying glass take a peep at our situation: Dr Solander sits at the Cabin table describing, myself at my Bureau Journalising, between us hangs a large bunch of sea weed, upon the table lays the wood and barnacles; they would see that notwithstanding our different occupations our lips move very often, and without being conjurors might guess that we were talking about what we should see upon the land which there is now no doubt we shall see very soon …
Indeed, on the morning of 6 October, it became apparent that the ship was nearing the coast. Seals, which, it was known, never venture far from shore, were sighted, as were barnacle-encrusted tree branches; in addition, the colour of the ocean was becoming paler. Suddenly, at 2 pm (now 7 October ship time), a shrill cry came from high in the rig: ‘Land ho! Land ho!’ It was Nicholas Young, the surgeon’s servant boy, who was at the masthead. For some time, his sharp young eyes had been focused on a faint outline on the distant horizon, off the bow. After a while he convinced himself that what he was seeing was definitely not another ‘Cape Flyaway’. This object had not moved nor changed shape … it was definitely land!
Men on deck shouted below to those off-watch that land had been spotted. In an instant, the sleepy-heads had rolled out of their hammocks and scampered up the companionway ladders leading to the deck – every one of them hoping to see for himself what ‘young Nick’ had just sighted. They weren’t to be rewarded, however, since deck level was far too low to allow visual contact with the horizon at that distance. In fact, with Endeavour making less than 3 knots in a very light east-north-easterly breeze, those on deck would have to wait some hours yet. Not until just before sunset could they experience the satisfaction of seeing for the first time what was believed to be New Zealand. According to his journal entry, Banks was not alone in believing that it was so: ‘all hands seem to agree that this is certainly the Continent we are in search of.’