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by Rob Mundle


  Cook and his party stayed at the top of the hill until near sunset, hoping the hazy weather would clear and consequently give them a better view of the outer reefs. When that didn’t eventuate, they returned to the beach and camped for the night. At 3 am next day, the captain sent out the pinnace with one of the mates in charge, to take soundings and survey one of the channels they had observed running through the reef, approximately 10 nautical miles away. Although the weather on the island that day didn’t favour Cook’s observations, the pinnace returned with encouraging news: there was deep water all the way to the outer reef. Before quitting this island, Cook named it Lizard Island, because ‘The only land Animals we saw here were Lizards’.

  On returning to the ship and consulting with Molyneux – who had carried out his own, unsuccessful search for a safe passage, to the north of their anchorage – the captain confirmed that they would be sailing east and escaping to deep water through the outer reef. Cook later wrote of their escape on 14 August and the pressure that all aboard had been under for close to three months:

  Winds at South-East, a steady gale. By 2 o’Clock we just fetched to windward of one of the Channels in the outer Reef I had seen from the Island, we now tacked and Made a short trip to the South-West while the Master in the Pinnace examined the Channel, he soon made the Signal for the Ship to follow, which we accordingly did, and in a short time got safe out. The moment we were without the breakers we had no ground with 150 fathom of Line, and found a well grown Sea rolling in from the South-East, certain signs that neither land nor shoals were in our neighbourhood in that direction, which made us quite easy at being freed from fears of shoals etc – after having been entangled among them more or less ever since the 26th of May, in which we have sailed 360 Leagues without ever having a Man out of the Chains heaving the Lead when the Ship was under way, a circumstance that I dared say never happened to any ship before …

  Freedom at last – or was it?

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The Width of One Wave

  As fate would have it, within a couple of days of Endeavour having threaded her way to apparent safety, the captain was facing the most dire situation he would ever experience under sail.

  After the three months Cook and his crew had been sounding and weaving their way through the maze of coral death traps that made up the Great Barrier Reef, the men on board were relieved to reach deep water. But the safety it brought was paid for with the lost opportunity of mapping this newly apprehended coast, and the risk of missing any passage that might exist between New Holland and New Guinea.

  After two days of sailing well wide of the reef, Cook ordered for the ship to change course to the west-north-west, so that contact could be re-established with either the outer reef or the mainland. With that objective achieved they could once again continue with their exploration towards the north. This would, however, be the moment that led to Endeavour returning to the life-threatening clutches of what loomed as an unconquerable force – the thundering surf pounding onto the reef. With the wind having faded to nothing, and the sails responding only to the continuous roll of the powerful ocean swells with a mighty thumping sound as they turned inside out, the ship was being dragged uncontrollably in the pre-dawn darkness by a tidal current towards a point of no return.

  Despite every effort by the crew, this drift towards destruction continued unabated. No setting of sails, weighing of anchors or launching of small boats to tow the ship was having any effect. Before long, on Thursday, 16 August, Endeavour was on the cusp of being picked up by a huge wave, where – as if taking one last breath – she would heave, then be rolled and slammed onto the reef with such violent force that her thick white oak hull planks and frames would be splinters in no time.

  ‘The Large Waves of the Vast Ocean meeting with so sudden a resistance [from the reef] makes a most Terrible Surf, breaking Mountains high’ was the image indelibly printed on the captain’s mind. Such that: ‘between us and destruction was only a dismal valley the breadth of one wave … we had hardly any hopes of saving the ship,’ he wrote.

  Incredibly, when only a boat-length away from the reef – just the width of one of these giant waves – there was deliverance. Had it not arrived, then the life of every man on board, and the mission, would have been terminated. Salvation came in the form of a puff of wind: barely definable, but enough to bring desperately needed pressure to the sails.

  As Cook explained, it was only because their senses were on such high alert that they were able to sense this waft at all. ‘At any other time in a calm we should not have observed it,’ he remarked. Still, it was only strong enough to propel Endeavour a mere 200 yards from the brink before the calm returned. Anxiety and adrenaline continued to pump at an unprecedented rate through the veins of every man aboard as their situation again deteriorated. Having thrown pieces of paper into the water to measure the ship’s rate of drift, those on the quarterdeck looked on in dread at the progress of these floating items. There was no doubting it: they were heading back towards the surf, back towards the relentless explosion of foam on the still frighteningly close coral reef.

  Once again, it seemed that their end was nigh.

  Further agonising torment followed until Aeolus, the God of Wind, dealt them another card, and what Banks would describe as ‘our friendly little breeze’ returned once more. It lasted about as long as the first puff: enough to take them back to a position 200 yards from the breakers, where, as Banks professed: ‘We were still, however, very in the jaws of destruction.’

  Fate’s pendulum then tipped further towards good fortune. By now, the sun was well above the horizon, and in the improving visibility, the lookout bellowed to Cook and others on the quarterdeck that he could see a narrow channel leading to the inside of the reef, about a quarter of a mile ahead. Cook immediately sent the mate out in a boat to examine it. He returned to say the channel was not much wider than the length of the ship, but that Endeavour would be able to pass through it and into smooth water. Added to this encouraging development, it became apparent during the few minutes of ensuing discussion that the tide, too, was finally turning in their favour. It was on the ebb, and before long, water was gushing ‘like a millstream’ out of the channel they could see. While this pushed them away from their newfound opportunity, it was actually good news, since the ever-increasing distance between Endeavour and the channel – and with it, the dangers posed by the reef – afforded Cook and his fellow officers more breathing space in which to plan their next move.

  Eventually, the ship was carried 2 miles from the threat, to a location where the man aloft was able to sight an even more favourable gap in the coral. The captain then sent Lieutenant Hickes to explore.

  At two o’clock Mr Hicks returned with a favourable account of the opening, it was immediately resolved to try to secure the Ship in it, narrow and dangerous as it was it seemed to be the only means we had of saving her as well as ourselves. A light breeze soon after sprung up at ENE which with the help of our boats and a flood tide we soon entered the opening and was hurried through in a short time by a rapid tide like a Mill race which kept us from driving against either side though the channel was not more than a quarter of a Mile broad …

  Once inside the reef via the pass – which he not surprisingly named Providential Channel – Cook called for the bower to be let go in 19 fathoms of smooth water. As the cable slithered rapidly along the foredeck and out through the hawsehole, the crew were still in a state of disbelief. It was the master’s mate, Pickersgill, who best put their emotions in perspective. He wrote of the recent near miss as being ‘the narrowest escape we ever had, and had it not been for the immediate help of providence we must inevitably have perished’.

  Additionally, there had been another challenging situation to contend with during their time outside the reef, yet its importance was by this time seen as being relatively trivial. It was discovered that when Endeavour was surging down large seas, water continually flooded into the
ship’s bilge as a result of the earlier repair work on her bow not having extended high enough above the waterline. As a result, several crewmen were tasked with the constant and frenetic pumping out of the bilge. The mentally drained commander of this expedition, the person responsible for the lives of all ninety men on board, went to considerable lengths to register the drama that came so close to bringing their world to an end – possibly for his own benefit as much as anyone else’s. Two days earlier, he had been rejoicing in the belief that they had escaped the perils of the inner reef. That joy compared little with the overwhelming relief he felt now that Endeavour was riding safely at anchor, within that same reef.

  … such are the Vicissitudes attending this kind of Service and must always attend an unknown Navigation: Was it not for the Pleasure which Naturally results to a man from being the first discoverer, even was it nothing more than Sands and Shoals, this Service would be insupportable especially in far distant parts like this, short of Provisions and almost every other necessary …

  He then defended his decision to explore the reef-strewn coastline as far as he did:

  The world will hardly admit of an excuse for a man leaving a Coast unexplored he has once discovered, if dangers are his excuse he is then charged with Timorousness and want of Perseverance and at once pronounced the unfittest man in the world to be employed as a discoverer; if on the other hand he boldly encounters all the dangers and obstacles he meets and is unfortunate enough not to succeed, he is then charged with Temerity and want of conduct …

  This thought caused Cook to state his belief that in no way could he be declared guilty of ‘Timorousness and want of Perseverance’, since he had never previously been confronted by more danger than at this time. He conceded that ‘perhaps in prudence’ he should never have exposed his ‘single ship’ expedition to such danger – but that was in hindsight.

  With those thoughts now spelt out via the tip of his quill, he had to contemplate where to go from here. Should they once more try to navigate their way north through a labyrinth of coral traps perfectly disguised by the sea surface, or return to the more recent plan of sailing towards New Guinea on a course outside the main reef? While the first option was like trying to dodge cannonballs in battle, the latter meant that Cook would run the risk of not satisfying his desire to confirm the existence, or not, of a strait separating New Guinea from the northern extremity of this coast of New Holland.

  He chose the former.

  The distance north from Cook’s Passage, near Lizard Island, where Endeavour had made good her escape to freedom from the confinement of the inner reef, to Providential Channel, where she now lay at anchor back inside the reef, was 150 nautical miles, and with the remainder of this coast to the north yet to be revealed, Cook could only speculate how many more miles of navigational torture lay ahead. It would prove to be 130 nautical miles to that point – York Cape – which he named in honour of Prince Edward, Duke of York and Albany, the younger brother of King George III. Originally the name applied only to the particular headland he observed, but now Cape York is the name applied to the entire peninsula, covering 53,000 square miles.

  It was now critical they get to Batavia and replenish the ship’s rapidly dwindling stores. So, at 6 am on 18 August, less than twenty-four hours after setting the best bower, the men were at the windlass for the back-breaking task of hauling it on board. Before setting sail, the captain ordered men to take the boats to an area of reef nearby, to see what they might be able to realise in the way of food. They returned with 270 pounds of meat from shellfish, ‘mostly cockles [giant clams] as large as two men can move, and contain about 20lbs of good meat’.

  The helmsman then put the wheel down and Endeavour bore away, ever so slowly, in response to the moderate south-east breeze, and set on a course to the north-west-by-west. The procedure that followed was the eighteenth-century equivalent of traversing a minefield in modern-day battle. Every one of the thousands of coral outcrops lurking just below the surface was like an explosive device capable of destroying the ship. This was to be the ultimate team effort for everyone aboard Endeavour, one in which both wind and tide – which Banks noted ‘ran immensely strong’ – also came into play.

  Only the most trusted lookouts were aloft, while the crew on deck maintained split-yarn vigilance. The bowers had been suspended at their respective catheads, and those hands nominated to be on the foredeck and tend them were ready to release one or both at a moment’s notice. The wind strength was being monitored constantly so that sails could be adjusted, in order to maintain a cautious speed of between 2 and 3 knots. Out on the water, there was almost always a couple of boats ahead of the ship: their crews sounding the depths, ever watchful for signs of danger. Finally, for added security, two men were often employed in the chains – one either side of the ship – heaving the lead and calling the depths. Then there was the helmsman: his high level of concentration could not wane for a second, nor could his hearing, as he stayed alert to any call requiring a sudden change of course. At night they would come to anchor, as it was far too dangerous to proceed in the dark.

  On 21 August, Endeavour was at what would soon prove to be the northern tip of this mighty peninsula. ‘We observed that the main[land] looked very narrow,’ Banks wrote, ‘so we began to look out for the Passage we expected to find between New Holland and New Guinea.’

  The ship was guided through this narrow, mile-long passage then anchored, with the plan being for a small party to go ashore, climb a nearby hill and survey their surroundings. This was a wise move, according to Banks, since: ‘It gave us the satisfaction of seeing a strait, at least as far as we could see, without any obstruction. In the Evening a strong tide made us almost certain [of this].’

  Banks again made note of how the natives had, all the way along the New Holland coast, held a nonchalant attitude towards the presence of the ship and its men. During this excursion ashore, three ‘Indians’ on a beach close by took only a casual interest in their arrival, then ‘walked leisurely away’. It was no different the following morning, when ‘three or four women appeared upon the beach gathering shellfish: we looked with our glasses and to us they appeared as they always did, more naked than our mother Eve’. But, as for interest in the European visitors, there was none.

  It was on Wednesday, 22 August 1770, that Lieutenant James Cook went ashore on another island, less than 10 miles from where he rounded York Cape, and made history in the name of England.

  Having satisfied myself of the great Probability of a passage, thro’ which I intend going with the Ship, and therefore may land no more upon this Eastern coast of New Holland, and on the Western side I can make no new discovery … the Eastern Coast from the Latitude of 38 degrees South down to this place, I am confident, was never seen or Visited by any European before us; and notwithstanding I had in the Name of his Majesty taken possession of several places upon this Coast, I now once More hoisted English Colours, and in the Name of His Majesty King George the Third took possession of the whole Eastern coast from the above Latitude down to this place by the Name of New Wales, together with all the Bays, Harbours, Rivers, and Islands, situate upon the said Coast; after which we fired 3 Volleys of small Arms, which were answered by the like number from the Ship …

  Gunner Stephen Forwood said of the ceremony: ‘At 6pm possession was taken of this country in His Majesty’s name, and this announcement from the shore by volleys and answered from on board with colours flying and concluding with three cheers.’

  Cook named this island Possession Island, and the passage through which Endeavour passed, after rounding York Cape, Endeavour Strait. Historians continue to debate the reasons for his naming the entire coastline New Wales and later New South Wales.

  Endeavour was soon set on a course to the north-west, but the waters she was sailing were still full of surprises, in the form of sandbanks and reefs. A most cautious approach to navigation remained paramount, therefore. By now, the last visible remnants of N
ew Holland had faded into the hazy horizon directly astern: the ship was bound for Batavia, having covered more than 2000 life-threatening nautical miles since sighting Point Hicks 126 days earlier. Along that coastline – one of the few that had remained unknown to Europeans – Cook, the explorer, had attached 112 names to outstanding topographical features, bays and capes.

  Nevertheless, the same explorer took no respite from his research into this part of the world. Right then, as Endeavour began breasting a rising swell, there was yet another satisfying conclusion to be savoured:

  … the wind had got to South-West, and although it blowed but very faint, yet it was accompanied with a Swell from the same quarter. This, together with other concurring Circumstances, left me no room to doubt that we were got to the Westward of Carpentaria or the Northern extremity of New Holland, and had now an open Sea to the Westward; which gave me no small satisfaction, not only because the danger and fatigues of the Voyage was drawing near to an end, but by being able to prove that New Holland and New Guinea are two separate Lands or Islands, which until this day hath been a doubtful point with Geographers …

  The separation between these two lands would become known as Torres Strait.

  By now, everyone aboard the ship was craving Batavia and the fresh food it would provide, but more importantly, to soon be home in England with their loved ones. They had been beyond the horizon for more than two years and had had no communication with the outside world via any other vessel; understandably, they were eager to see home waters and thereby erase the fear for their safety that families had harboured since Endeavour set sail from Plymouth. So far, every aspect of this circumnavigation had been a remarkable success – even down to the ship still being free from scurvy. Accordingly, considering all that had been achieved to date, there was no doubt that this could already be declared the most successful voyage of discovery ever undertaken.

 

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