Cook

by Rob Mundle

  It was Friday, 17 June, when Endeavour sailed into this river, which would soon bear her name. Just over a century later, Cooktown would be founded on its southern bank close to the entrance where Endeavour was beached.

  On approach, Cook had his men lighten the ship forward so that she could be grounded as far up the river bank as possible, bow first. Not only would this ensure that the carpenters had good access to the damaged section, once the ship was finally secured onshore, but it offered the crew the best chance of coping with the tidal rise and fall, which averaged around 8 feet. By the 17th, the weather had turned for the worse, with lashing rain and a strong wind. As a result, the ship’s entry into the river, which presented a wide, sweeping bend to port near its mouth, was far from straightforward, as reported by Cook:

  Most part strong Gales at South-East, with some heavy showers of rain in the P.M. At 6 a.m., being pretty moderate, we weighed and run into the Harbour, in doing of which we run the Ship ashore Twice. The first time she went off without much Trouble, but the Second time she Stuck fast; but this was of no consequence any farther than giving us a little trouble, and was no more than what I expected as we had the wind. While the Ship lay fast we got down the Foreyard, Foretopmast, booms, etc., overboard, and made a raft of them alongside …

  Twenty-four hours later, the remaining four cannons had been lifted out of the hold and moved aft to the quarterdeck, while the spare anchor and any stores and ballast still in the hold were taken ashore by boat. When the next high tide arrived, Endeavour was positioned half-a-mile inside the entrance ‘on a Steep beach on the south side’. The crew then set up a camp on the beach, which included a tent for the few men who were sick – those ‘8 or 9, afflicted with different disorders, but none very dangerously ill’. At this time, Banks noted that Tupia was showing the symptoms of scurvy, and that the astronomer, Charles Green, ‘was also in a poor way’.

  Five days after Endeavour had entered the river, she was finally secured in a satisfactory manner on the sand and, at low tide, ready for an assessment of the damage her hull had sustained. During Cook’s inspection, at 2 am that day, he realised that a piece of coral rock had played a role in the ship remaining afloat after she had been winched off the reef.

  … the Rocks had made their way through 4 planks … and wounded 3 more … Fortunately for us the Timbers in this place were very close; otherwise it would have been impossible to have saved the Ship, and even as it was it appeared very extraordinary that she made no more water than what she did. A large piece of Coral rock was sticking in one Hole, and several pieces of the Fothering, small stones, etc., had made its way in, and lodged between the Timbers, which had stopped the Water from forcing its way in in great Quantities.

  The carpenters began their task at 9 am while the armourers, with their equipment set up on the beach, busied themselves making bolts and nails. Other crewmen were assigned to maintenance jobs on board. Meanwhile, with the ship safely harboured and the repair work underway, the captain’s primary concern was to reduce the threat that would continue to come from shoals and reefs once they put to sea from this location. For this reason, he committed Molyneux to go offshore and sound the depths, in the hope that the sailing master could find a safe passage back to deep water.

  It would be seven weeks before Endeavour was re-floated and set to sail again – seven weeks that gave Banks and his colleagues the best possible chance to appreciate the flora and fauna of this remarkable new land. On 23 June, the day after the repairs commenced, Cook sent some men into the countryside for a pigeon-shooting excursion, during which ‘One of the Men saw an Animal something less than a greyhound; it was of a Mouse Colour, very slender made, and swift of Foot …’ Banks recorded a far more colourful description: ‘A seaman who had been out in the woods brought home the description of an animal he had seen composed in so Seamanlike a style that I cannot help mentioning it: it was (says he) about as large and much like a one gallon keg, as black as the Devil and had 2 horns on its head.’ This was, no doubt, the first reported sighting of a kangaroo – rather than its droppings.

  The following day, it was Cook’s turn:

  I saw myself this morning, a little way from the Ship, one of the Animals before spoke of; it was of a light mouse Colour and the full size of a Grey Hound, and shaped in every respect like one, with a long tail, which it carried like a Greyhound; in short, I should have taken it for a wild dog but for its walking or running, in which it jumped like a Hare or Deer …

  In additions to these sightings, there was evidence that, as at Botany Bay, the indigenous people in the area were doing everything possible to avoid being seen by the foreigners.

  Monday, 9 July, was especially memorable for every man. It had been twelve months since they were in Otaheite, and that was the last time they had enjoyed fresh meat in any form. Now though, Molyneux returned from an excursion with a prize catch of three large turtles, weighing a total of 791 pounds. ‘This day all hands feasted upon Turtle for the First time,’ Cook diarised. As memorable as this occasion was, for the ship’s commander, Banks and others the following day was one of considerable historic significance. It marked the first direct contact made with the Australian aboriginal on this coast, as Cook recalled:

  In the A.M. 4 of the Natives came down to the Sandy point on the North side of the Harbour, having along with them a small wooden Canoe with Outriggers, in which they seemed to be employed striking fish, etc. Some were for going over in a Boat to them; but this I would not suffer, but let them alone without seeming to take any Notice of them. At length 2 of them came in the Canoe so near the Ship as to take some things we throwed them. After this they went away, and brought over the other 2, and came again alongside, nearer than they had done before, and took such Trifles as we gave them; after this they landed close to the Ship, and all 4 went ashore, carrying their Arms with them. But Tupia soon prevailed upon them to lay down their Arms, and come and set down by him, after which more of us went to them, made them again some presents, and stayed by them until dinner time, when we made them understand that we were going to eat, and asked them by signs to go with us; but this they declined, and as soon as we left them they went away in their Canoe … They were wholly naked, their Skins the Colour of Wood soot or a dark chocolate, and this seemed to be their Natural Colour … Some part of their Bodies had been painted with red, and one of them had his upper lip and breast painted with Streaks of white, which he called Carbanda. Their features were far from being disagreeable; the Voices were soft and Tuneable, and they could easily repeat many word after us, but neither us nor Tupia could understand one word they said …

  Banks believed, following his encounter with the natives, that the name of the odd-looking animal that so held the Englishmen’s interest was ‘Kangooroo’ or ‘Kanguru’. However, over the years a suggestion has emerged that the aborigines were actually confused by his gestures and verbal enquiry, and that the word ‘kangooroo’ actually meant ‘I don’t know’ or ‘I don’t understand’.

  It was not until the middle of July, four weeks after Endeavour had entered the river, that Lieutenant Gore shot one of these animals so that Banks and his people would have a specimen to study. Banks noted that his greyhound, Lady, had claimed a small kangaroo, but was unable to catch the larger, more mature ones because they were far too nimble for the dog. On inspecting Gore’s prize, the captain commented, ‘It bears no sort of resemblance to any European animal I ever saw.’ Then the following day: ‘Today we dined of the animal shot yesterday and thought it excellent food.’ Of greater interest to the rest of the crew, the men sent out to haul the seine net in the river were having considerable success, meaning that fresh fish was a regular part of their diet.

  On 18 July, while the men were in the early stages of preparing the ship for sea and the carpenters entered the final stages of their difficult repair to her hull, Cook, Banks and Solander crossed the river for an expedition that saw them walk 8 miles to the north, along the shore
of the coast. During the trek, they were pleased to encounter natives who showed no sign of fear whatsoever. However, this trip up the coast also brought the captain further cause for concern regarding the success of his mission. ‘[We] ascended a high hill, from whence I had an extensive view of the Sea Coast,’ he wrote, ‘it afforded us a melancholy prospect of the difficulties we are to encounter, for in whatever direction we looked it was covered with Shoals as far as the Eye could see …’

  Cook was pleased with the relationship that had formed recently between his party and the natives, but this all changed with a confrontation that came about the following day. The Englishmen had continued to catch turtles, an act that the indigenous people appeared to view as theft: the turtles were native property, dead or alive. This incident started when some of the natives accepted an invitation to go aboard Endeavour.

  Those that came on board were very desirous of having some of our Turtle, and took the liberty to haul two to the Gangway to put over the side; being disappointed in this, they grew a little Troublesome, and were for throwing everything overboard they could lay their hands upon … I offered them some bread to Eat, which they rejected with Scorn, as I believe they would have done anything else excepting Turtle. Soon after this they all went ashore, Mr Banks, myself, and 5 or 6 of our people being there at the same time. Immediately upon their Landing one of them took a Handful of dry grass and lighted it at a fire we had ashore, and before we well knowed what he was going about he made a large Circuit round about us, and set fire to the grass in his way, and in an instant the whole place was in flames. Luckily at this time we had hardly anything ashore, besides the Forge and a Sow with a litter of young Pigs, one of which was scorched to Death in the fire. As soon as they had done this they all went to a place where some of our people were washing, and where all our nets and a good deal of linen were laid out to dry; here with the greatest obstinacy they again set fire to the grass, which I and some others who were present could not prevent, until I was obliged to fire a Musket loaded with small Shott at one of the Ring leaders, which sent them off …

  By 20 July, Endeavour was deemed to be ready to put to sea. But on that same day, the captain’s deep concern about the navigational hazards ahead was further roused. He had sent Molyneux out in the pinnace yet again, looking for an escape route through the coral maze, but on returning, the master’s news was everything Cook did not need to hear: there was no safe passage for the ship to the northward at low water. Dwindling food supplies put additional pressure on this stage of the voyage, one that would be of undetermined duration and distance to the East Indies, ‘through an unknown and perhaps dangerous Sea’.

  Contrary winds and unsuitable tides kept Endeavour in port for another frustrating twelve days, until the morning of 4 August. ‘The wind continued moderate all night,’ Cook recorded of that day, ‘and at 5 a.m. 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 breezes from South-East by South, with which we stood off to Sea East by North, having the Pinnace ahead sounding …’

  At midday, when Endeavour was in a comfortable depth of water, Cook called for the best bower to be dropped. They were less than 10 nautical miles east-north-east of the Endeavour River, alongside what Molyneux had named Turtle Reef. When the anchor was set, the captain climbed up the ratlines to the masthead to get a view of the reefs that surrounded them. It was a vista that left him in no doubt that their situation was dire – so serious, in fact, that at one stage he even considered sailing back to the south. That would have been upwind, however, and ships like this were incapable of sailing upwind effectively, especially when in restricted water. After assessing the situation, he decided to hove the anchor and proceed north, but now with even greater caution.

  The gain was only 8 miles, to a position a similar distance to the east of Cape Bedford, before it became too dangerous to proceed any further, so Cook called for the ship to come to anchor once more. Minutes later, another challenge appeared: the south-east wind had quickly increased in strength to gale force, and soon after, Endeavour ‘drove’ – began to drag her anchor. All 1¼ tons of it was being dragged through the muddy bottom like a giant plough. Now there was real danger. The captain called for additional cable to be released – close to 200 fathoms’ worth – in the expectation that this would be sufficient for the anchor to take a bite. But still it didn’t. His next call was to release the small bower as well, in the forlorn hope that two anchors would arrest their drift. That too failed, and Endeavour continued on her path towards the submerged coral and apparent destruction, still at the mercy of the relentless gale.

  Cook, the master mariner, knew there was only one option remaining, one that would reduce the load on the anchor cables, and therefore give the bowers a greater chance to halt the ship’s alarming charge towards the reefs downwind. They had to reduce windage aloft. The best men were ordered to climb the rig and strike – that is, lower almost to the deck, 80 feet below – the topgallant yards, the topgallant mast, other yards and the remaining topmasts, some of which weighed close to a ton. The tactic worked, although Endeavour dragged for 3 nautical miles through the reefs before the anchors finally held.

  Before bringing down the topmasts, Cook had scaled the mainmast so he could get an overview of their surroundings. What he observed confirmed his worst fears: ‘I saw that we were surrounded on every side with Shoals and no such thing as a passage to Sea but through the winding channels between them dangerous to the highest degree in so much that I was quite at a loss which way to steer when the weather will permit us to get under sail …’ One sight brought some semblance of optimism, however. ‘On the Easternmost [reef] that we could see the Sea broke very high, which made me judge it to be the outermost; for on many of those within the Sea did not break high at all …’

  Cook’s conclusion would prove correct. It was the outer edge of the reef, which was just 15 nautical miles away. He now knew that if he could thread Endeavour through the incalculable number of coral barriers that stood between the ship’s present position and that ‘outermost’ reef, it would take them to the much-needed sanctuary of the open sea. To achieve that, he would have to call on every seafaring and navigational skill he possessed. In recognising the challenge, Cook was also convinced that it was highly probable no explorer before him had ever had his ship imprisoned by such a threatening circumstance. This was one challenge from which it could be said that there was little chance of escape, but if anyone had the ability to do so, it was Cook.

  In the time since Cook discovered this remarkable barrier of reefs, a plethora of ships have been claimed by it. Ironically, one of the most noteworthy of these came almost exactly twenty-one years after Endeavour’s entanglement, and it came as a direct result of the mutiny involving a young seafarer who would be sailing master for Cook on his fateful final voyage: William Bligh. HMS Pandora was returning to England in 1791 with some of the arrested Bounty mutineers on board when she slammed onto the Great Barrier Reef some 200 nautical miles north of where Endeavour was sailing at this time. Thirty-five lives were lost.

  Endeavour lay in wait for the gale to subside, and all that time a careful watch was kept on the highly strained anchor cables, and the chafe points that existed where these heavy ropes exited through the hawseholes. Every time the ship pitched in response to a wave, or lay back due to yet another savage gust, an enormous shock-load was exerted on the cables at those points.

  After lying at anchor for over two days, Endeavour was finally under sail again at 3 am on 10 August, heading northwards along the coast, hoping to find a safe channel between the coral reefs that would take them east to the outer reef, then the open sea. The ship’s master was again in the pinnace out ahead, taking soundings and showing the way. Simultaneously, the crew set about re-hoisting into place the topmasts and yards and re-rigging the halyards and lines. As Cook recalled, everyone was beginning to believe
they might be safe: ‘We now judged ourselves to be clear of all Danger, having, as we thought, a Clear, open Sea before us; but this we soon found otherwise …’

  The captain’s ‘found otherwise’ moment came when he, Molyneux and others had been to the masthead yet again to observe their surroundings. It took very little time for them to agree that, once more, Endeavour appeared to have nowhere to go, so she was brought to anchor close to shore, 9 nautical miles northwest of a headland he called Cape Flattery – so named because of the false sense of security they had just experienced.

  Endeavour was then 40 nautical miles north of present-day Cooktown. When the ship was settled on the anchor, Cook went to the shore in the hope that, by climbing a high hill, he might be able to see a path through the hazard-strewn waters and out to the far edge of the reef. This effort was to no avail, however. As an alternative strategy, he, Banks and a select crew boarded the pinnace, carrying a twin-mast settee rig, and sailed to the highest of three islands visible about 20 nautical miles to the north-east. They took sufficient provisions to last three days, during which time Cook recorded in his journal:

  Sunday, 12th … I immediately went upon the highest hill on the Island, where, to my Mortification, I discovered a Reef of Rocks lying about 2 or 3 Leagues [to the east] extending in a line North-West and South-East, farther than I could see, on which the sea broke very high. This, however, gave me great hopes that they were the outermost shoals, as … there appeared to be several breaks or Partitions in the Reef, and Deep Water between it and the Islands …