James Cook

[The following pages of story of James Cook and his first voyage into the Pacific and his discovery of the east coast of New Holland, which he named New South Wales are extracts from the forthcoming book – Leaders and Larrikins: Great Australian Stories. All the dates and events are factual and taken from the book What a Capital Idea – Australia 1770-1901, by Christopher Reynolds – the most comprehensive and accurate record of Australia’s history of the first 120 since settlement even put to print. The book can be purchased at https://reynoldlearning.com ]

 

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The doors opened into a meeting room at the Admiralty. It was February 16, 1768. The room was rowdy as men from the Royal Society sat before the First Lord of the Admiralty, Edward Hawke.

“Order, order,” Hawke yelled again. “This is how the matter is settled. You, because of the King’s agreeance with your venture, can go off to Tahiti on one of His Majesty’s ships but it will be commanded by James Cook. This is my final word on the matter.”

The Society men slowly took their seats, turning to each other with but one question; who was James Cook? 

 

                The Admiralty, Whitehall, London

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It was the morning of August 18, 1768, six months after the meeting between Lord Edward and the Royal Society. Lord Edward sat at his desk with his chair turned slightly sideways so he could read the opened morning newspaper.

“Jones, could you come in here please,” Hawke bellowed.

Jones entered the room and stood before the desk. Hawke closed the newspaper, but keeping his place in the paper with his fingers, and turned his chair to face Jones.

“Jones, on August 5, I read in both the Lloyds Evening Post, and, the St. James Chronicle all the details of the Tahiti voyage as obviously provided by the Royal Society. By George, they even told the press who was included in the company to observe the Venus crossing. One might have expected as much from the Royal Society to blow their own trumpet. But this morning, Jones, I read in the London Gazetter,” Hawke opened the paper found his place and read, “the gentlemen who are to sail in a few days for George’s Land with an intention to observe the Transition of Venus, are likewise, we are credibly informed, to attempt some new discoveries in that vast unknown tract, above the latitude 40.” Hawke closed his newspaper. “Now Jones, I expected those politically naïve buffoons at the Royal Society to splash news that promoted their self-interests. I mean, when I had you write ‘Secret’ on the commissions to James Cook, I suspected that the Royal Society couldn’t keep a secret even if their life depended on it. And thank goodness, their lives don’t, in this instance, depend upon it. But, Jones, the thing that is disturbing about this morning’s news story is that little phrase ‘we are credibly informed’.” Hawke lent forward on the desk, put his hands to his face, and slowly drew them down past his chin. “Jones, it would appear that this reporter believes that he has a more ‘credible’ source than any of the Royal Society fraternity and I am left to wonder who that might be. Given that the order to Cook was, after the Tahiti adventure, to sail directly south to the 40^th parallel. And given that you, I, and James Cook are the credible sources for this information, am I to presume that Cook has been interviewed by a reporter at the London Gazetter? Or, am I to presume that you have again said more than you should after a few pints at your local tavern?”

“Yes, your Lordship, it was me, and not Cook, who talked with a reporter.”

“Hmmm, I did suspect as much. Well, I suppose there is no harm done except to your reputation. If French spies had approached the Royal Society for information I am sure they would have enthusiastically agreed to even take a cage of French courier pigeons with them for the voyage. You didn’t, as a credible source, also talk to the French, did you Jones?”

“No, Sir.”

“That will be all Jones, and, in your evening devotions you might pray that the French are not on the beach of a southern continent to greet Cook when he gets there,” said Hawke with a smile.   

Jones turned, dropped his head in contrition, and left the room.

 

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It was early on the summer morning of August 26, 1768, at Plymouth Habour. Dawn was emerging from the eastern sky.

“This old coal transport has cleaned up rather well,” said Lieutenant Zachary Hicks, commenting on how the Earl of Pembroke had been transformed in recent months to become the HMS (bark class) Endeavour.

“Yes, I hear that young Joseph Banks spent as much money fixing it up as the Navy spent to buy it. Some £2,300 (US$480,000) I understand,” said Cook.

“That, and along with his hefty donation to the Navy, the cost of his staff and equipment, I reckon is going to cost him £10,000 (US$2 million) by the time he’s done,” returned Hicks.

“He’s taking a lot of blasted junk with him, if you ask me. And what was it the Admiral called him, ‘a gentlemen of large fortune’. Let’s hope this 25 year old rich Cambridge boy is capable of intelligent conversation or we are up for a terrible couple of years at sea,” said Cook.

.                 James Cook

Three carriages came to a halt on the dock. Men stepped down and began to sort their luggage. Bank’s four servants hurried themselves as he maneuvered his two dogs out of the way. In total, there were nine civilians making the voyage. Apart from Joseph Banks and the astronomer Charles Green, there were two scientists and Bank’s entourage made up of four servants, two artists, his secretary and a young botanist friend, and two greyhound dogs.

Joseph Banks, commanding his two dogs on leash, ascended the gangway. Charles Green walked behind him.

“Good morning Captain,” said Banks.

“Good morning Mr. Banks. Good to see you again,” said Cook with a smile as he shook hands.

The Endeavour arrived in Tahiti on April 13, 1769. A fortified observatory was built for the observations to be made by Charles Green, James Cook and Daniel Solander in the first days of June.

“Are you there Joseph?” yelled Cook.

“Yes, I am in the main room, James,” replied Banks.

Cook walked into the room with charts under one arm and holding his telescope with the other.

As Cook put down his charts on a table and his telescope in a corner, Banks said, “That’s three days you gentlemen have been out looking into the heavens. How did you get on?”

“The weather was perfect. We could not have asked for a finer day to stare ‘into the heavens’, as you say. But the three of us have three different calculations. We will have to sit and go over our findings to understand the differentials.”

Cook sat down in a chair at the large table and folded one leg over the other. “I suppose it is time to quit this Venus observation and take up the second commission from the Admiralty.”   

 

                                                                                                                                                                  Joseph Banks, 1776 by Joshua Reynolds

“Oh, the business of searching for a continent in the South Seas?”

“Yes. The Admiralty marked the commission ‘secret’, although I don’t know what for, except to keep our venture secret from the French, but everybody who reads in England, or France, knew where we were going and what we were up to before we even left port. I am highly suspicious of there being a continent in the southern seas but I will do what I am told. Cook paused. “I can’t fathom a reason for us not to set sail tomorrow.”

A month after arriving, the Endeavour left Tahiti on July 13, 1769 on its journey directly south in search of a land mass. The seas, at times, were rough and the further south they went, the temperature dropped. Animals on deck, brought from Tahiti, died of the cold. Cook reached the 40 degree latitude south in search of the continent but found no sign of land. [The 40 degree southern latitude is a little south of where Melbourne is today. If he had traveled to 60 degrees latitude south, he would have discovered what he was looking for – Antarctica, the southern continent.]

Wind and sea swept across the deck and the Endeavour climbed then fell in the waves. Everyone was wet and cold but knew Cook must persist, under orders, to search for land.

“James,” Banks yelled as he braced himself against a wall outside Cook’s cabin to steady himself, “it is now September. You have searched the ocean for months but for how long must you persist at the peril of all who journey with you?”

Cook, also with a hand out against the wall, responded, saying, “I have had enough of this search as well, we can find no land or even signs of land in this region. We will turn our sails west toward New Zealand and find some peace. I presume you will agree. I know the officers and crew will be relieved.”

“The sooner the better,” yelled Banks.

The Endeavour reached New Zealand on October 6, 1769.

.                     The HMS Endeavour

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James Cook sat at the desk in the main room and yelled for his attendant, “Henry.”

Henry opened the door and waited for orders.

“Can you please go find “Lieutenants Hicks and Gore, Ship’s Master Molineaux, and Mr. Banks and ask them to come here to me.”

“Gentlemen, it is now March 31^st. We have completed, as far as I am concerned, all that we have been directed to do. And, Banks has gathered enough specimens and plants to open a museum. Some 250, I am informed, now fill the hull. It is time to head for home.”

“Here, here,” said Hicks.

“The Admiralty has left the decision of how we venture home to us. So here are the considerations,” continued Cook. “The ship took a beating in the southern seas during the storms we suffered and could not now endure more battering adequately. Our supplies, while sufficient, are not extensive. To travel to England we can either go east and venture around Cape Horn or around the Cape of Good Hope. While both present perils, a choice has to be made.”

The men stood thoughtful. They were all aware of their situation.

“I suspect, Captain, that you would favour sailing east toward Cape Horn in the hope of finding that land which alludes you,” said Molineaux.

“That is correct.”

“But if we go west and north-west, we could reach Batavia, replenish our supplies and get repairs for the ship, if need be,” offered Hicks.

“I agree with Hicks,” said Gore. “It would be a safer trip.”

“If we go west we could get to the coast line of New Holland, which by Abel Tasman’s calculations, should be somewhere about 148 degrees longitude,” said Molineaux.

“It would be a safer way to travel, I must admit,” said Cook, but, it would not be my personal ambition.”

 Cook stopped speaking and looked at the assembled company.

“If you are choosing to sail west to reach New Holland, I will have an opportunity to gather more specimens,” said Banks with some enthusiasm.

“Joseph, I have no desire to go to New Holland, as I have stated. However, if we find the coast of New Holland to the east of the land which William Dampier has mapped to the west at the 112 east longitude, I will sail north and north-west to Batavia. I have no intention of spending time exploring New Holland, and, excepting for necessities and emergencies, we will not break our journey. I think the intention to return home directly is clear. Please do not be disappointed. Joseph. We have been at sea long enough,” said Cook

 

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“Land ho,” yelled Lieutenant Hicks from the bow of the ship. It was 8.00 am on April 19, 1770. A strong squall came from the south and the seas were rough. By Cook’s measurements, they had come to the land of New Holland at Latitude of 38 degrees 0 minutes South and in the Longitude of 211 degrees 7 minutes West. They were some 150-155 leagues (180 miles, 307 kilometres) north of where Abel Tasman had left the coast to sail to New Zealand in 1642.

Everyone on board came to the rails of the ship to look through the wind and rain at the distant coastline.

“Well Hicks, you’re the first to see the east coast of New Holland,” said Cook. “I will call this headland Point Hicks. This squall, however, will prevent us from either going ashore or sailing south to Tasman’s Van Diemen’s Land. Let’s see if the weather clears by tomorrow.”

“Mr. Molineaux, this morning reveals no sign that the gale will relent,” Cook yelled over the wind as he stood with Molineaux on the quarterdeck. “I am of a mind to now venture north along this coastline. So there are your orders. Sail us north and north-west as you follow the coast at two to three leagues (10-15 kilometres) off shore. I will be about the business of taking measurements and map the coast as we go.”

Cook moved down the stairs and Molineaux gave orders to the crew to make sail.

 

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For the next seven weeks, the Endeavour sailed north without incident. Then, on June 11, after passing a place that Cook had named Cape Tribulation, “because here began all our troubles,” the depth of water varied, becoming unsafe in places. With concern, Cook ordered the helmsman sail north-east and east. The crew were to sound a path into deep waters. At 8.00 pm, the depth of the water reduced to 8 and 10 fathoms. The main sails had come down. It was a clear moonlit night. All waited for the next sounding of the depth to be read. The ship had moved into deeper water at 21 fathoms. Cook thought they were safe and clear of the reef. But just before 11.00 pm, on June 11, 1770, the Endeavour hit the reef. The ship was 24 miles (39 kilometres) off the coast.

With a thud and the grinding noise of the wooded hull hitting the reef, men, tables, supplies and equipment jolted forward. Everyone was quickly on deck and peering over the rails to assess the damage.

“Leadsman, get me the depth of water around the ship as quickly as you can,” Cook yelled. “Take down all sails,” he yelled again. “Mr. Molineaux, order the men back to their stations and wait for my commands. Get men to several boats and sound the depth of water all around us as quickly as possible. Have several men go below deck and assess the damage and water leakage as quickly as possible.”

Men raced in several directions.

“Captain,” came the leadsman, “we have only 3 and 4 fathoms around the front of the ship. We have struck the reef where the water is only some 3 feet (90 centimetres) in depth. The ship has hit the reef at the port side of the bow. It looks like we have hit the south-east side of a large reef.”

“Captain,” said Molineaux, “we are taking in water very quickly. I have men plugging the damage but it won’t be long before we will have to pump water from the hull. If we don’t get free of the reef soon we will be in serious trouble.”

“Do what you must,” said Cook.

Molineaux turned to ‘do what he must’.

“Mr. Gore, can you please proceed to take charge of a team to help Mr. Banks get down there and move as much as he desires to upper decks as quickly as possible.”

“How is that sounding going out there?” Cook yelled into the darkness?”

“The reef surrounds the ship on port and starboard. We have deep water to the stern at 20 leagues,” came a reply from the darkness.

“Mr. Hicks, take two anchors in a pinnace and go out a stern, and see if you can winch us free,” ordered Cook.

Five hours later, the ship was still stuck firm to the reef. Water was streaming in and three pumps were in operation. Every man took a turn at the pumps, including Cook.

“Mr. Molineaux, it is time to lighten the vessel. Guns, anchors, extra sails, equipment, supplies, and whatever Banks can spare, all need to be jettisoned as quickly as possible.”

By 5.00 pm on Tuesday, June 12, more than 50 tons of equipment and supplies had been jettisoned. With time to position two anchors to the stern and then to position the winches into place, everyone waited for the tide to rise. The officers and crew were calm under Cook’s command.

At 9.00 pm, the tide was high. The ship lifted and straightened. However, the flow of water into the hull was now dangerously quick. Cook, knew the ship was in danger of sinking. He resolved to risk all in his attempt to get free of the reef.

“Mr. Molineaux, give the order for the wrenching to begin. The time is right for our only chance,” ordered Cook from the quarterdeck.

Molineaux moved to the rail just behind him and gave the signal. The wrenching started. The pumping continued frantically below.

At 20 minutes past 10 o’clock, the ship came free and floated in deep water. A cheer went up among the crew. Cook smiled with relief and shook hands with Molineaux, Hicks and anyone nearby.

“Set sail Mr. Molineaux and make for shore, sail quickly but carefully. We are taking in a lot of water. Time is of the essence,” said Cook. “Send two pinnace in front of the bow to guide us.”

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On Thursday, having passed by Hope Island, which Cook thought was an appropriate name, they came near a river and harbour, which would be called Endeavour River, and later, Cooktown. However, gale force winds and rain kept the ship off shore until on the morning of Sunday, June 16, when they were able to enter the river. During the 55 days the crew worked to repair the ship, Cook was able to converse and befriend Aborigines. On August 4, 1770, The Endeavour set sail to travel north to Batavia.    

 

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After carefully navigating the journey north through and past, what Cook called the Great Barrier Reef, and facing the danger of the ship sinking yet again, the Endeavour reached the top of the mainland on August 22, 1770. Cook rounded the cape of the land, which he called Cape York, and came to an island just off the mainland, he called Possession Island, which lies in Endeavour Strait, just south of the Prince of Wales Island.

 

“Mr. Molineaux, lower the pinnace and the yawl into the water and invite Mr. Banks, Lieutenants Gore and Hicks, Mr. Green, Mr. Solander, Mr. Spoöring to join me in crossing to this island we see before us. Oh, and have young Isaac join us. I will need a few men at arms, and a flag please. Today is a day to remember,” said Cook.

Within 30 minutes, all were in the boats and moving to the island.

Everyone alighted the vessels and stood upon the shore.

“What a fine day, said Hicks.

“It is a fine day in more ways than one,” replied Cook. “I am certain that we have now reached the norther point of the east coast of New Holland and discovered a passage between New Holland and New Guinea, and in doing so, have proved that the two land masses are separated. While the Dutch, and that disreputable but brilliant navigator, William Dampier, have discovered and mapped the west coast, I am certain that we are the first to discover and traverse the east coast of this continent.”

“You honour us, Captain James Cook, by including us in this outstanding achievement,” said Joseph Banks. “I know I speak for all present and every man who has sailed with you in the journey that we owe you our lives.”

The men gave Cook three cheers.

“The discovery and the cartography is yours and may you take all honours for it,” said Banks.

“Well, let us complete the task and claim the coast and all that we have seen for our King. Sailor, hoist the flag. Mr. Gore, why don’t you do the honour of marking a tree with the King’s name and date for which this day we take possession of this coast?”

 

“With pleasure, Sir,” responded Gore.

When all was ready, Cook stood before the gathering and said, “I, Lieutenant James Cook, Captain of His Majesty’s Ship, the Endeavour, on behalf of His Majesty, King George III, take possession of the whole Eastern coast from the Latitude 38 degrees South down [to] this place [at 10.6 degrees latitude south and 142.5 east Longitude] by the Name of New South Wales, together with all the Bays, Harbours, Rivers, and Islands, situated upon the said Coast.”

With that, the marines fired three volleys of small arms. The ship returned the salute with a responding three volleys.

“I think I will call this place Possession Island,” said Cook.

 

James Cook’s map of East Coast of New South Wales

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While the venture by Cook to find a continent east of New Zealand was of no real importance and wishful thinking, the accidental discovery of the east coast of New Holland was of considerable significance and was made all that more remarkable by Cook’s attention to detail, his abilities as a cartographer and as a ship’s captain – in fine weather and in foul.