Cook

by Rob Mundle

  Cook was now forced to probe his way north. He had Molyneux out in the boat ahead, sounding and signalling if it was not safe to proceed in that direction. On 28 May, the captain named Cape Townshend, 60 nautical miles north of the Keppel Group and surrounded by what would become known as the Northumberland Islands. Endeavour came to anchor not far from there, Cook’s plan being to take the opportunity to ‘examine the country’ and generally survey it while waiting for the waxing moon to bring valuable assistance to night-time navigation, should they be forced to sail through the darkness. He named one inlet Thirsty Sound because ‘we could find no fresh water’. This respite was brief, although it allowed Banks and his people the opportunity to go ashore and ‘botanize’. The number and variety of butterflies, in particular, took their attention.

  It was 6 am on the last day of May when they weighed anchor and continued on. Cook was obviously not aware that from here, the Great Barrier Reef began to converge on the coast to a point to the north where it was just 10 miles off the mainland: Endeavour was about to sail into a 400-nautical-mile potentially lethal maze of islands and reefs. From here on, until safe sea-room was achieved, Cook would have his ship sailing hundreds of yards astern of one of the boats, which was also under sail. Molyneux and his men aboard the boat were continually sounding the depths, making sure that Endeavour’s course was confronted with no threat in the form of a shoal. The moment there was any doubt, a signal would be made aboard the boat, so that Cook could either call for the bower to be dropped or the course changed. There were also signals flown from the ship when necessary. An ensign flying from the peak of the mainmast meant that the boat showing the way should either keep pace with or go further ahead of the ship. When a flag was hoisted on the boat, it signalled to the ship that she was entering dangerous waters and that the course should be changed accordingly. This flag remained aloft until the ship changed course or anchored.

  The lookouts near the masthead were equally busy, scanning the waters ahead for any sign of danger, and those on deck and on watch found the going no easier. The captain had them on a ‘split yarn’ (high alert) in case an emergency should suddenly confront the ship. All things aboard Endeavour that were vital for her manoeuvrability and preservation were either stowed or secured in a way that they could be accessed instantly and released, especially the sheets, braces and buntlines controlling the sails.

  The next stage, over a course curving to the north-west and covering 100 miles, was not without some close calls, but they continued on at between 1 and 3 knots. Eventually, at 8 pm, Cook was forced to anchor because he ‘was not sure that there was a passage this way’.

  At 5 am on 1 June, he had the ship underway once more, on the same course to the north-west. Three hours later, however, it became apparent that they were entering a large bay. He named it Repulse Bay before backtracking and sailing to the east, in search of the coast running north.

  During the middle of the day on Sunday, 3 June, the lookouts reported from the masthead that there was a passage to the north. Cook then called for the ship to be turned to larboard and the braces hauled aft, for what would be an ambling downwind run at about 3 knots through some of the most beautiful island scenery in Australia. ‘This passage I have named Whitsunday’s Passage,’ Cook later wrote, ‘as it was discovered on the Day the Church commemorates that festival, and the isles which form it Cumberland Isles, in honour of His Royal Highness the Duke of Cumberland’. Despite there being seventy-four islands in this group, Cook identified only one of them with a name: Pentecost Island – a spectacular pinnacle of rust-red rock, capped by dense green foliage. The island is situated 4 miles south-east of the now well-known holiday destination of Hamilton Island.

  The ongoing passage to the north was undertaken with great caution, while Cook did everything he could to map the remarkable coastline he and all on board had been observing off their larboard side for the 1200 nautical miles since first sighting Point Hicks. For some incomprehensible reason, though, Cook did not consider this immense seaboard to be part of a huge continent. He remained convinced that Terra Australis Incognita, if it existed, would be found elsewhere. However, his challenge right then was to safely navigate his ship through the increasingly dangerous, reef-riddled coast and back to England with news of his discoveries.

  Although the lack of communication continued, the Europeans finally saw some aborigines who reacted to their presence with something other than indifference. Parkinson wrote: ‘On one of [these islands], which is not more than two miles in circumference, we saw a company of the natives, entirely naked and of a dark complexion, standing quite still and beholding the ship with astonishment. At night we saw a fire which yielded a very grateful odour, not unlike that of burning the wood of gum.’

  At 2 pm on 10 June, Endeavour was anchored off what is now Mission Beach, and Cook and others went ashore looking for a water supply.

  My intention was to have stayed here at least one day, to have looked into the Country had we met with fresh water convenient, or any other Refreshment; but as we did not, I thought it would be only spending of time, and losing as much of a light Moon to little purpose, and therefore at 12 o’Clock at night we weighed and stood away to the North-West, having at this time but little wind, attended with Showers of rain. The Shore between Cape Grafton and the … Northern point [which we could see] forms a large but not very deep Bay, which I named Trinity Bay, after the day on which it was discovered; the North point [I named] Cape Tribulation, because here began all our Troubles.

  It was the evening of Monday, 11 June. Endeavour was 17 nautical miles north-north-east of Cape Tribulation and 10 nautical miles away from the nearest part of the coast, due west. She was barely heeled in the light breeze while sailing under double-reefed topsails, and the captain was confident that, by applying considerable caution and great diligence, it would be safe to sail into the night. What he didn’t realise was that the majority of the reefs his ship was skirting were concealed just below the sea surface, even at low tide. This was a game of roll the dice to learn your fate.

  Wind at East-South-East … At 6 [pm] we shortened Sail, and hauled off shore East-North-East and North-East by East, close upon a Wind. My intention was to stretch off all Night as well to avoid the danger we saw … Having the advantage of a fine breeze of wind, and a clear Moon light Night in standing off from 6 until near 9 o Clock, we deepened our Water from 14 to 21 fathoms, when all at once we fell into 12, 10 and 8 fathoms. At this time I had everybody at their Stations to put about and come to an Anchor …

  While Endeavour was being prepared for anchoring, the man calling the depth confirmed the ship was already back in deep water. ‘I [then] thought there could be no danger in standing on,’ Cook recorded later in his journal. ‘Before 10 o’Clock we had 20 and 21 fathoms, and continued in that depth until a few minutes before 11, when we had 17, and before the Man at the Lead could heave another cast, the Ship Struck and stuck fast …’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The Race to Save Endeavour

  Endeavour blundered onto the reef doing only 2 knots, but even so, with 368 tons of momentum behind her in the form of her displacement, she gouged her way across the coral to a point where she was well aground.

  The crunch came like an explosion for the crew on deck, who, until that moment had been lounging around, chatting and enjoying light-weather sailing on a balmy, moonlit night. The impact was so abrupt that those who were standing were suddenly hurled forward, staggering like drunkards while they tried to regain their balance. Others grabbed what they could to avoid being thrown around. For a split second, there was a look of disbelief among all hands, then the flooding realisation of what had happened. With that, the adrenaline kicked in.

  Those below who had been sleeping in their hammocks were jolted out of their comatose state by the impact, and in an instant they were rushing up the companionway ladders to be topside. They knew immediately what had happened, yet the urgency of the moment hit
like a shockwave as panicked orders flew from the quarterdeck.

  Some hands took to hauling up or lowering sails to take the pressure off the ship, while others hastily hoisted out the boats in readiness for whatever task was necessary. Simultaneously, barefoot crew scampered up the ratlines towards the starlit heavens – 80 feet up to the topmasts – all responding to orders calling for the topgallants, yards and topmasts to be lowered all the way down to the deck. This alone was a monumental task, but it had to be done, and done quickly, to stop the ship from being blown further onto the reef.

  The captain knew immediately that their predicament had the potential for calamity: it was now almost high tide, so the opportunity to re-float his ship on the next rising tide was diminishing rapidly. If there was a godsend, it was that the wind was light and the seas were near calm. But how long would that last? The prevailing wind in the region was the south-easterly trade wind that usually blew at between 20 and 30 knots, and when it was at its worst, it created a powerful and nasty sea – conditions that could only have driven the ship further onto the reef and possibly caused her to break up. There was no indication at that time that the relatively benign conditions were turning for the worse, but still there was no time to waste.

  Endeavour’s bow was pointing to the north-east, yet, as the men in the boats would soon reveal, only about 100 feet out to starboard (one ship-length) the water depth was between 8 and 12 fathoms – plenty in which to float the ship. There was also deep water a short distance off her stern. The only good news to be had was that, hard aground as the vessel was, she was taking on only a small amount of water. As yet, there was no major breach of the hull. That being the case, the first task was for the longboat to take an anchor out to the deep water off her starboard bow, the plan being to then drag the ship in that direction and re-float her. But despite every effort of the men who were on the anchor cable manning the capstan amidships, Endeavour refused to budge. A new plan had to be implemented. In anticipation of the next high tide in the morning, as Cook later recorded, ‘we went to work to lighten her as fast as possible, which seemed to be the only means we had left to get her off.’

  Toiling overnight, crewmen heaved more than 10 tons of iron ballast out of the bilge and onto the lower deck, from where it was tossed out through the two small ports in the ship’s stern. Yet, the captain reported, ‘as this was not found sufficient we continued to Lighten her by every method we could think of …’

  Six carriage guns were next to go over the side, while the majority of the water casks were emptied. Finally, almost every other heavy item not deemed essential – ‘Stone Ballast … Hoop Staves, Oil Jars, decayed Stores, etc.’ – was also jettisoned.

  As frightening as this situation was for Banks and his accompanying landsmen, he revealed great admiration for the efforts of captain and crew:

  The officers behaved with inimitable coolness void of all hurry and confusion … All this time the Seamen worked with surprising cheerfulness and alacrity; no grumbling or growling was to be heard throughout the ship, no not even an oath … About 1am the water was fallen so low that the Pinnace touched ground … after this the tide began to rise and as it rose the ship worked violently upon the rocks so that by 2 she began to [take on] water and [this] increased very fast.

  By the time of that high tide, at around 10 am on 12 June, the crew had jettisoned some 40 or 50 tons in excess weight. Fortunately, the weather remained favourable, but the attempt to re-float her failed, since the tide peaked lower than the previous evening’s high. This meant that the crew then had about twelve hours to prepare for the next high tide, while hoping that the ship did not sustain any further damage.

  The new plan involved an attempt to drag Endeavour back over the coral the way she had come. Two bower anchors were set, one off the starboard quarter and the other directly astern, after which their respective cables were ‘hove taut’ using blocks and tackles. But while this was happening, the situation with the ship only deteriorated:

  As the Tide fell the ship began to make Water as much as two pumps could free: at Noon she lay with 3 or 4 Strakes heel to Starboard … [at] 5 o’Clock p.m. the tide we observed now begun to rise, and the leak increased upon us, which obliged us to set the 3rd Pump to work … we should have done the 4th also, but could not make it work.

  At 9 pm, Endeavour had been aground for twenty-three hours. By that stage, the tide had lifted the ship into an upright position, but even so, for the first time, the captain was beginning to think that all might be lost. ‘The Leak gained upon the Pumps considerably,’ he wrote. ‘This was an alarming and, I may say, terrible circumstance, and threatened immediate destruction to us. However, I resolved to risk all, and heave her off in case it was practical, and accordingly turned as many hands to the Capstan and Windlass as could be spared from the Pumps …’

  Banks’ journal entry echoed the desperate situation they faced: ‘The dreadful time now approached and the anxiety in everybody’s countenance was visible enough … fear of Death now stared us in the face …’

  The strongest men applied every ounce of strength they had to the bars of the capstan and windlass, cranking them inch by inch to the point where the load on the bower cables must have had them close to their breaking strain of 55 tons – but they held. Suddenly, the ship lifted slightly with the run of a wave along her length. With that, she moved a little aft, only for her hundreds of tons to then be jolted back down onto the reef. Another wave similarly lifted the ship, and again she moved backwards before another shuddering jolt, and another, and with each movement astern the men hurriedly took up the slack. This gain increased progressively until finally the moment came: ‘about 20 Minutes past 10 o’Clock the Ship floated, and we hove her into Deep Water …’

  There’s no doubt that the captain would have heaved a sigh of relief. His belief that the collier design was the best for an expedition such as this had just been borne out. Endeavour’s full and flat sections amidships provided exceptional buoyancy, and it was that buoyancy that had contributed so much to her being refloated. A design featuring slacker bilges would more than likely have capsized on the reef and never been saved from such a predicament.

  But the battle was only half won. There was already almost 4 feet of water in the bilge from stem to stern, and with ‘the Leak increasing upon us’, the ship remained in danger of sinking. The captain ordered all available hands to the pumps while others worked on getting some sails set.

  By 11 am, Endeavour was limping towards the coast under greatly reduced sail. The leadsman worked nonstop and the lookouts aloft scanned the sea ahead to ensure the ship was on a safe course. The best bower had been recovered, but the small bower was snagged and had to be cut away, cable and all. Meanwhile, the exhausted men at the pumps were relieved to learn that they were finally pumping more water out of the bilge than was coming in. Yet there was to be no rest. While they continued to work at the pumps, others were busy converting an old lower steering sail into a large patch so that they could ‘fother’ the forward section of the ship from the outside in the area where the leak appeared to be. In his journal, Cook explained the procedure:

  We Mix Oakum and Wool together and chop it up Small, and then stick it loosely by handfuls all over the Sail, and throw over it Sheep dung or other filth. Horse Dung for this purpose is the best. The Sail thus prepared is hauled under the Ship’s bottom by ropes, and [moved around] until one finds where it takes effect [on the leak]. While the Sail is under the Ship the Oakum is washed off, and part of it carried along with the water into the Leak, and in part stops up the hole …

  The following day, 13 June, a south-easterly breeze remained soft, so conditions were ideal for attempting the fothering exercise. And it worked: ‘the Leak decreased, so as to be kept clear with one Pump with ease; this fortunate circumstance gave new life to everyone on board …’

  The captain realised that if the leak could not be slowed, and the weather turned against them, there was littl
e hope of Endeavour remaining afloat. If that became the case, he intended to run the ship ashore on an island or the coast, ‘where out of her Materials we might build a Vessel to carry us to the East Indies’. But now, with the leak under control, a new plan was being hatched: they would sail north along the shore, in search of a suitable harbour where the damage could be repaired.

  For safety, the wounded ship was anchored during the hours of darkness. When Cook awoke next morning, he received the highly satisfying news that the light south-easterly continued to prevail. He therefore wasted no time in ordering for the anchor to be weighed at 6 am so that they could continue on their downwind run along the coast. While the crew readied the ship for sailing, he also ordered that two boats be hoisted out and sailed ahead of Endeavour, sounding the depth as they went.

  They found no port that day, so at sunset the bower was let go once again and Endeavour was set up for another night at anchor. That same evening, though, the search came to an end: ‘At 8 o’clock the Pinnace, in which was one of the Mates, returned on board, and reported that they had found a good Harbour about 2 Leagues to leeward. In consequence of this information we, at 6 a.m., weighed and run down to it, first sending 2 Boats ahead to lay upon the Shoals that lay in our way …’ Once off the port, Endeavour was anchored so that Cook could board the pinnace and be taken into what proved to be a river entrance. ‘I went myself and Buoyed the Channel,’ he wrote, ‘which I found very narrow, and the Harbour much smaller than I had been told, but very convenient for our Purpose …’