Cook

by Rob Mundle

  As was always the case, Banks had been dining with the captain in the great cabin. His footman, James Roberts, who was eating the exotic stingray with the crew in their crowded quarters forward, saw things differently: ‘served it to the ship’s company instead of salt provisions. It was very strong and made a great many of the Ship’s Company sick which eat of it.’

  Meanwhile, the voyage continued. ‘[We] steered along shore North-North-East,’ Cook wrote in his journal, ‘and at Noon we were by observation in the Latitude of 33 degrees 50 minutes South, about 2 or 3 Miles from the Land, and abreast of a Bay, wherein there appeared to be safe Anchorage, which I called Port Jackson.’ Once more, his inspiration for the name came from among his superiors at the Admiralty, in this case George Jackson, later Sir George Duckett, First Baronet.

  One can only ponder on the thought that, if Cook had not been delayed in Botany Bay, might he have taken the time to hoist out the pinnace and sail it into this other bay to find out what was there, or at least alter Endeavour’s course to the west for a much closer look from on deck. Had he done either, he would have been in awe of what lay beyond the commanding sandstone cliffs that stood at its entrance: one of the most magnificent deep-water safe havens imaginable – Sydney Harbour. However, on this day, with a highly favourable wind coming over the aft starboard quarter, and time being of the essence, Cook decided that he must push on.

  That afternoon, after sailing just 17 nautical miles further north, he recorded another find of note: ‘Monday, 7th. Little wind, Southerly, and Serene pleasant Weather. At sunset … some broken land that appeared to form a bay bore North 40 degrees West, distant 4 Leagues. This Bay I named Broken bay …’

  There are suggestions by some historians that it was actually Broken Bay, not Port Jackson, that Captain Arthur Phillip set out to investigate in January 1788, after Botany Bay had proved to be unsuitable for the proposed penal colony. Their belief is that while he was sailing north in search of this bay, Phillip took the opportunity to enter Port Jackson in order to see if it might offer safe anchorage and a much-needed water supply for the near 1400 people in his charge, approximately half of whom were convicts (543 men and 189 women, including some wives of male convicts). He went no further. On 26 January, while the eleven ships in the First Fleet began arriving in Port Jackson from Botany Bay, Phillip stepped ashore up-harbour in ‘Sydney Cove’ and raised the British flag.

  Endeavour was barely past the northern entrance to Broken Bay when the wind went foul from the north, before evaporating altogether. The greatest influence on their passage then was the southerly current: it caused the ship to be swept back to the south more than 15 nautical miles over a 48-hour period. Finally, by 11 May, the wind pattern was back in the ship’s favour and she was again on course, paralleling the coast.

  Whenever appropriate, Cook applied names to prominent coastal features – among them, Port Stephens, Smoky Cape and the Solitary Isles. However, Endeavour’s offing from the coast, the time of day, or poor weather, resulted in him not registering many landmarks that are well known today, such as the entrance to Newcastle’s Hunter River, or the Clarence or Richmond rivers to the north.

  Ever since they had rounded Cape Howe on 20 April, the coast had tended east of north, but on 15 May, that changed. The captain would later realise that the proud promontory he saw ahead that day was the easternmost point of the coast. He named it after John Byron, a pioneer of British exploration in the Pacific and captain of Dolphin during her first circumnavigation, in 1764–66.

  Tuesday, 15th. Fresh Gales at South-West, West-South-West, and South-South-West. In the P.M. had some heavy Squalls, attended with rain and hail, which obliged us to close reef our Topsails. At 8[pm] we brought too until 10, at which time we made sail under our Topsails. Having the Advantage of the Moon we steered [north] keeping at the distance of about 3 Leagues from the land. As soon as it was daylight we made all the sail we could, having the Advantage of a fresh Gale and fair weather … A Tolerable high point of land bore North-West by West, distant 3 Miles; this point I named Cape Byron. It may be known by a remarkable sharp peaked Mountain lying in land North-West by West from it.

  The crewman running the log line out over the taffrail on the poop deck confirmed that the speed was between 5 and 6 knots as Endeavour rounded Cape Byron, and it was here that Cook observed the change: as far as he could see, the coast tended west of north. They had covered another 25 nautical miles when, just before sunset, powerful white breakers were seen pounding onto an offshore reef, fine on the larboard bow. Cook responded immediately, calling for the ship to be hauled up to an offshore easterly course. It would be maintained all night, until first light confirmed that it was safe to resume the desired northerly course under full sail. All too aware of the hazards presented by those reefs, Cook named a nearby elevated coastal feature Mount Warning and noted in his journal that the reefs ‘may always be found by the peaked mountain before mentioned, which bears South-West by West from them’. His name for the point off which the shoals lay was the similarly themed Point Danger; today, the same headland marks the border between New South Wales and Queensland, at Tweed Heads.

  Since sailing from Botany Bay, there had been regular sightings of campfires along the coast but no real sign of people. The crew noted that occasionally these local inhabitants were seen on the headlands, but they showed no interest in this modern sailing ship, which, because they had not harnessed wind energy for their own canoes, most likely appeared to be propelled by magical forces. Banks recorded something of one such group: ‘Some people were seen, about 20 … we observed them with glasses for near an hour … Not one was once observed to stop and look towards the ship; they pursued their way in all appearance entirely unmoved by the [nearness] of so remarkable an object as a ship …’

  While Banks and Solander continued their observations from the deck, Parkinson was ensconced in the great cabin, creating, with painstaking precision, drawings of all the plants that had been collected in Botany Bay. At one stage he completed ninety-four sketches in a two-week period. Banks explained that these plants had been kept fresh through being wrapped in wet cloths and stored in tin chests.

  Yet another headland soon held Cook’s interest, one that he would name Point Lookout. It is found at the northern tip of what is now identified as North Stradbroke Island – due east of where Brisbane stands today. The waters here were also named by Cook, in this case with a title that was destined to remain misspelled: ‘On the North side of this point the shore forms a wide open bay, which I have named Morton’s Bay, in the Bottom of which the land is so low that I could but just see it from the Topmast head …’

  The name came in recognition of James Douglas, 14th Earl of Morton, a Scottish astronomer who became president of the Royal Society in 1764. Unfortunately, and unbeknown to Cook, Banks and Solander, the Earl of Morton had died less than eight weeks after Endeavour’s departure from England, in August 1768. It was due to a spelling error in the published account of Cook’s voyage that the name became Moreton Bay. The mistake also applied to the next promontory he passed, which he named Cape Morton.

  Once the ship had cleared this cape, Cook’s attention was caught by three conspicuous features on the otherwise low coastline: ‘Three Hills lay to the Northward … they are very remarkable on account of their Singular form of Elevation, which very much resembles Glass Houses, which occasioned my giving them that Name …’

  By midday on 19 May, Endeavour was sailing along a 65-mile beach and approaching the northern end of what would later become known as Fraser Island. Today it is recognised as the world’s largest sand island, covered in lush subtropical vegetation and many lakes. Its highest ridge is more than 750 feet above sea level.

  This day was plagued by light winds. While the ship made headway at just 1 knot, Banks hoisted out aboard one of the small boats to see what he could find drifting by in the form of sea life or flotsam, and to observe birds. Twenty-four hours later, Cook had named
Indian Head (because natives were seen to be assembled on it) and Sandy Cape, the northernmost point on Fraser Island. Once again, though, danger loomed.

  At 7 am on 21 May, with Endeavour in deep water a few nautical miles off Sandy Cape, and with the masthead lookout unable to see land anywhere to the west – the water would prove to be a 50-mile-wide bay there – Cook called for the ship to be hauled up and trimmed for a course in that direction. That is, until ‘we discovered a Reef stretching out to the Northward as far as we could see’. With breakers seen to stretch back towards the cape, so blocking their course to the west, there was an immediate call to change course to the north. From then on, it was down to the leadsman: from his precarious position, leaning out over the side from the chains at the bottom of the foremast rigging, he continually threw the lead and called out the depth to the officers on the quarterdeck.

  This reef, which forms an impassable barrier for more than 20 miles north of Sandy Cape, was made conspicuous by the chain of surf that was breaking onto it, and Cook accordingly gave it the name Break Sea Spit. It was yet another maritime death trap lying in wait to claim the unwary, but fortunately for this crew, fair winds and clear weather enabled them to steer Endeavour wide of the threat.

  In his journal entry for the day, Cook described how they found their way around the reef:

  Monday, 21st. In the P.M … when judging there was water for us [to sail] over [the shoal], I sent a Boat ahead to sound, and upon her making the Signal for more than 5 fathoms we hauled our wind and stood over the Tail of it in 6 fathoms. From 6 fathoms we had the next Cast, 13, and then 20 immediately, as fast as the Man could heave the Lead …

  Such a close call was not lost on a non-mariner like Banks:

  … our usual good fortune again assisted us, for we discovered breakers which we had certainly ran upon had the ship in the night sailed 2 or 3 leagues farther than she did. This shoal extended a long way out from the land for we ran along it till 2 O’Clock and then passed over the tail of it in seven fathoms water. While we were upon the shoal innumerable large fish, Sharks, Dolphins etc. and one large Turtle were seen …

  As Endeavour then glided to the west in a light and favourable breeze, the lookout at the masthead was focused on the horizon off the bow, looking for the coastline the captain was confident they would soon find. This was a belief founded on the Yorkshireman’s nous and instinct as a seafarer: his ability to analyse the depth of the sea, its tides, currents and the features of its surface were all part of his exemplary skill. The same talent led to him believing that the expanse of sea to the south of their position was a large and open bay (he was correct on both counts). Cook would later name it Hervey’s Bay, in honour of naval officer Augustus John Hervey, who became the Third Earl of Bristol and a Lord of the Admiralty the year Endeavour returned to England.

  Twenty-four hours later, as darkness settled on what had been a day of serene sailing in a soft south-easterly breeze, Cook opted for a slowly-slowly approach. Endeavour was then in only 6 fathoms of water, and with land then barely visible ahead, he decided it best to anchor for the night and make a cautious approach the following morning. On today’s chart, their anchorage was about 5 nautical miles offshore and 15 nautical miles north-north-west of the Burnett River, which runs through Bundaberg.

  The next day, they were 30 nautical miles further north, anchored in a ‘large open bay’ and destined to go ashore for exploration activities. The captain’s mind was firmly focused on another disturbing issue, however – a serious breach of discipline.

  Last night, sometime in the Middle watch, a very extraordinary affair happened to Mr Orton, my Clerk. He having been drinking in the evening, some Malicious person or persons in the Ship took Advantage of his being Drunk, and cut off all the Cloaths from off his back; not being satisfied with this, they sometime after went into his Cabin and cut off a part of both his Ears as he lay a Sleep in his Bed. The person whom he suspected to have done this was Mr Magra, one of the Midshipmen; but this did not appear to me. Upon enquiry, however, as I had been told that Magra had once or twice before this in their drunken Frolics cut off his cloaths, and had been heard to say (as I was told) that if it was not for the Law he would Murder him, these things considered, induced me to think that Magra was not Altogether innocent … I shall say nothing [more] about it, unless I shall hereafter discover the Offenders, which I shall take every method in my power to do, for I look upon such proceedings as highly dangerous in such Voyages as this, and the greatest insult that could be offered to my Authority in this Ship …

  Cook knew all too well the strain that came with so many men being confined on a small ship for so long, and that as a result, they took to the bottle for relief. But discipline had to be maintained, and to do that he needed to exhibit authority. His actions were swift: he dismissed Magra from the quarterdeck and suspended him from all duty aboard the ship, even though he was not found guilty of any offence. At the same time, the captain recognised that Orton ‘is a man not without faults; yet from all the inquiry I could make, it evidently appeared to me that [he was] so far from deserving such Treatment’. It was not until a note appeared in Cook’s journal on 14 June that there appeared to be any form of resolution: ‘This day I restored Mr Magra to his duty as I did not find him guilty of the crimes laid to his charge.’ The only reference to the incident that possibly shed light on who the perpetrator was came in Parkinson’s journal, when Endeavour was in Batavia some months later. Parkinson wrote of a recent deserter, Patrick Saunders: ‘One of our midshipmen ran away from us here, and it was suspected that he was the person who cut off Orton’s ears …’

  This could well have been the case. Saunders was known to have been dis-rated from midshipman to able seaman on the day that Magra was dismissed from the quarterdeck.

  Try as they did while at Hervey Bay, those who went ashore saw no natives. Just some smouldering fires and abandoned bark huts, which indicated that the local people had left quite recently, possibly to escape the aliens on their shores. Now, though, at this anchorage 50 nautical miles to the north, about twenty of them were seen by men remaining on board the ship. This group walked down to the water’s edge, looked at the ship for a few minutes, then casually returned to the woods as if nothing was out of the ordinary. Those sailors on land saw a wide variety of birdlife, and shot a bustard – which led to the area being named Bustard Bay. The town of 1770 is now on the shore of that bay.

  This newly discovered land was again proving to be awe-inspiring for Banks and Solander. It was a naturalist’s heaven. Banks wrote that some of the plants they had seen were known to be native to the East Indies.

  The research team came across many nests of ants, which, when disturbed, ‘came out in large numbers and revenged themselves very sufficiently upon their disturbers, biting sharper than any I have felt in Europe’. Then, among the mangrove swamps, there were the green caterpillars that ‘ranged by the side of each other like soldiers’; and if ‘these wrathful militia were touched but ever so gently,’ Banks observed, ‘they did not fail to make the person offending them sensible of their anger, every hair in them stinging much as nettles do’.

  Sails were set and the anchor weighed at 5 am on 24 May. After cruising north in light airs at no more than 3 knots, they came across a headland that, as Cook calculated, lay almost directly on the Tropic of Capricorn. As a result, he named the headland, 20 nautical miles north of where the city of Gladstone is now found, Cape Capricorn. The presence of an increasing number of small islands and associated reefs then caused him to see the ship brought-to for the night, essentially holding station until daylight, so that unseen dangers were avoided. A harrowing forty-eight hours was to follow, and that was merely a precursor to what lay ahead.

  On 27 May, while sailing through the Cook-named Keppel Group of islands, Endeavour went within 2 feet of running aground. It was an urgent holler from the leadsman of ‘Three fathoms!’ that saw Cook instantaneously shout for the best bower to be
released, in the desperate hope that the ship’s progress could be brought to a halt. Prudent seamanship had seen him earlier order for both bowers to be hauled to their respective catheads and be ready for release at a moment’s notice; and this was the moment. By the time the ship settled back on the anchor cable, Cook recorded: ‘we had only 16 feet, which was not 2 feet more than the Ship drew …’

  There was then a great sense of urgency because if the tide dropped that much, or more, Endeavour would be on the bottom. The captain directed Molyneux to take out two boats and search for a channel that was deep enough to get the ship back into safe water. But the master returned with the news that in some areas there was only 2½ fathoms. By day’s end, it was as if divine providence had intervened – or maybe the ‘usual good fortune’ that Banks referred to had played a hand in their favour. ‘In the Evening the wind veered to East-North-East,’ Cook recorded, ‘which gave us an opportunity to stretch 3 or 4 miles back the way we Came before the Wind Shifted to South …’

  Circumstances could not have been better, as winds from the east-north-east are extremely rare at that time of the year. Cook was able to backtrack his ship to a point where she was anchored in deep water, while the search for a passage north was carried out. The eventual track that Cook adopted was first towards the east, until Endeavour was well clear of the islands and reefs, and then to the north.

  Unknown to the captain, there was now an outside barrier existing some 60 miles to the east of the ship, one that would offer few opportunities to sail a course to the open ocean, should that become necessary. The Great Barrier Reef is one of the world’s seven natural wonders: the largest feature on earth established by living creatures. It is made up of myriad islands, lagoons, atolls, coral outcrops and sand cays – a work of nature that stretches over more than 2300 kilometres (1800 nautical miles) along the coast. In total, it covers an area almost identical in size to Germany. Cook had no reason at this stage to consider changing course and sailing to the outside of the reef, but the rapidly growing labyrinth of navigational challenges was beginning to frustrate this usually well-composed master mariner. He was virtually sailing blind, by day and night. His only charts were the ones he was creating as he went, so every ounce of navigational talent he possessed was being drawn on.