Isaac woke early on the 3rd of June. He still spent most nights on board, mostly because that was where the Goat was. And Cook hadn’t wanted to offend the Tahitians by claiming more of their island for his camp than he needed to. Perhaps he worried, too, that some of them might remember the indignities the Goat performed on them a couple of years before, when she chased them off the Dolphin.
What would the day be like? Even Tahiti had rainy days—and if clouds covered the sun there would be no way of measuring how long it took Venus to cross it. Isaac slipped out of his hammock, grabbed the milking bucket and climbed up onto the deck.
The dawn was bright, with not a cloud in the sky. Perfect! Now if the Goat behaved herself he could get her milked and fed and still have time to make it to the ship’s boat before it crossed to the shore. The transit wasn’t due to start till twenty-one minutes past nine o’clock. Plenty of time!
‘Eeegh!’ called the Goat, as he clambered up towards her. She peered at him inquisitively, wondering what he’d brought her today.
Like the rest of the crew, the Goat had to eat fresh food when it was available, instead of the familiar rations from home.
The Goat didn’t agree.
She hadn’t liked the bananas Isaac had brought her, either cooked or raw. She didn’t like coconut either. She nibbled a bit of cooked breadfruit, but only out of curiosity—as soon as she guessed that Isaac meant to replace her oats with breadfruit she stopped eating it at all.
Isaac had been worried. If the Goat stopped eating she’d stop giving milk. It didn’t matter so much here, with fresh coconut milk and all the fresh fruits they wanted. But once they were at sea and the fresh food ran out the captain would value her milk as much as before.
Today he’d bought her yams, carefully baked on shore and mashed. The Goat would eat yams—but only if he held the new food in his hand for her to slowly nibble at, peering at him all the time with her intelligent narrow eyes as though to say, ‘All right, I’m making a big concession here. If you want me to eat this stuff you need to keep apologising.’
It seemed to take forever. The boat was nearly ready to cast off when he flew over the deck and down the ladder.
‘Last one in is a seasick turtle,’ called one of the sailors, as Isaac plunked himself down at the other end of the boat.
It seemed to take forever to row over to the shore. Isaac glanced up at the sky. Still clear. The sun was nearly above the trees now.
He jogged along the beach, then up to the fort and the observatory, and joined the watching crew. There were fewer than he expected; measuring the transit of a planet across the sun was incomprehensible to most of the men. But Jonathan was there, watching intently. His brother William was one of the measurers, along with Lieutenant Cook and Mr Hicks, Dr Solander and Mr Pickersgill, the master’s mate and an expert on measuring for navigation, and the astronomer in charge, Mr Green. The captain had decided that the more people measuring the better.
‘What’s the time?’ whispered Isaac.
‘William said ten minutes to the hour,’ Jonathan whispered back. Neither boy had a timepiece; they were too rare and valuable for boys.
The day grew hotter, and hotter still. ‘One hundred and nineteen degrees,’ murmured Mr Green, glancing at the thermometer—the hottest day the crew had experienced.
Nine o’clock, then four minutes, five minutes past; Mr Green announced each minute now. The shadows were dark against the bright white sand.
Ten past. A quarter past. No one spoke. The men stood totally still, peering through their telescopes, ready to make out the exact moment when the two discs met.
Twenty past…
One minute to go…
Suddenly William Monkhouse gave a muttered exclamation.
What was wrong? Isaac glanced at Jonathan, who shrugged. They dared not look directly at the sun—they’d been warned that anyone who did so would go blind. Only the telescopes were safe.
The hours crept by. The men stayed at their posts, sweating in the heat, as they watched the little black spot of the planet creep across the sun. Still no cloud marred the sky. One hour, two, three, through the blazing midday heat, two o’clock, three…
Finally the men relaxed—Venus had crossed the sun! Six hours had passed. As Isaac watched, they began to compare their calculations.
They were too far away for him to hear what they were saying. There seemed to be an argument. Something was wrong!
Finally William came towards them.
‘What happened?’ cried Jonathan. ‘It all looked perfect.’
William shrugged. ‘We all got different measurements. There was a sort of dark cloud around the planet—an atmosphere, perhaps. We none of us could agree exactly when the planet started to cross the sun.’ He wiped away the sweat. ‘I’m going to find some shade. I’m exhausted.’
Isaac watched him stride across the beach, then looked back at the captain. Cook was talking earnestly with Mr Green.
We spent eight months sailing across the world for this, thought Isaac. It’s cost ten thousand pounds.
And it’s all been for nothing.
Isaac sat in the thin shade of a clump of palms and looked at the fish-bone needles and shell of ink and the two islanders who were waiting to do their tattoos. ‘Will it hurt?’
‘Of course it hurts,’ said Jonathan. ‘That’s why the Tahitians get tattoos, to show they can bear the pain.’
Jonathan had been in trouble for ordering the troops to fire on a party of Tahitians who’d taken a musket, killing one man and wounding others. Isaac had been half-sympathetic, half-envious. He had once longed for the day he’d have some sort of authority too.
Now their time in Tahiti was nearly over.
The ship was stocked again with fresh water, hay and coconuts. Giant bunches of green bananas hung from every available beam, to ripen slowly over the next few months. Pens of Tahitian chickens and pigs again took up every spare inch of the main deck. Two of the crew had been brought back in chains when they tried to desert to stay with their new Tahitian wives.
Tomorrow the sails would be hoisted again, as the Endeavour ventured out into the ocean again, to…
To what? Isaac didn’t know. Was the rumour true that the captain had a sealed packet of new orders, to open once the transit of Venus had been measured?
What instructions were in them? Where was the Endeavour to go now? Surely not straight home; there’d have been no need for special orders if that was all they were going to do.
Maybe they were to head for China, or join the navy in India, or even to map some part of the Americas…
Or to find the Great South Land!
They’d find out tomorrow. But today there was still time for one last adventure: tattoos.
All of the islanders got tattooed when they were about thirteen or fourteen, mostly on the buttocks, but sometimes over most of their body.
Some of the sailors who’d been on the Dolphin had even got some. Already there was a tradition that a pig on one leg and a rooster on the other would prevent drowning.
‘Do you really think it works?’ demanded Isaac.
Jonathan grinned. ‘It must. None of them have drowned so far. Come on! When we’re old and grey and admirals we can tell our grandchildren how we got tattooed together while dusky maidens looked on.’
‘Keep your dreams for your pillow,’ said Isaac. He looked at the sharp bone needle doubtfully. The dye came from the soot of an oily nut which the islanders burned instead of candles, that was mixed with a little water. But he was not going to be a coward. He held out his leg. Jonathan grinned again, then held out his leg to the other islander.
It did hurt. It was impossible not to gasp as the needle poked the dye deep under his skin, bringing up a bead of blood. But Jonathan made no sound, so it was impossible for Isaac to cry out either.
It was almost night by the time it was done. Isaac got up stiffly and thanked the Tahitian. Like most of the crew he’d learned a few wor
ds during their stay. His legs felt like they were on fire. He glanced at Jonathan. The midshipman’s face was white, and the sweat on it was due to pain, not heat.
‘I think,’ said Jonathan carefully, ‘I might go to the tent and lie down.’
Isaac glanced up at the sky. Night fell swiftly in Tahiti, with none of the long chill dusks that he had grown up with. ‘I have to get back to the Goat.’ The last thing he needed now was to sit on a small milking stool, or carry hay. But duty was duty.
Isaac crossed the hot white sand for the last time and joined the other stragglers heading back to the Endeavour. He endured the pain as the boat rocked its way back to the ship, then climbed stiffly up the ladder. The Goat was waiting for him.
‘Eeegh!’ she called.
One of the sailors chuckled. ‘Your girlfriend’s waiting for you, matey.’
Isaac ignored him, and went to get the milk bucket.
The pain was easier to bear sitting down. Isaac listened to the squirt, squirt, squirt of the milk. This is my last night in Tahiti, he thought, glancing back at the volcano, its green slopes dark against the sky. Would the Endeavour ever come back here? Perhaps one day he’d come back as captain of his own ship.
It was hard to leave paradise. But Tahiti had been visited by ships before.
What next? thought Isaac. Will we just limp home a failure? Or are there new lands out there to discover? Will our real adventure start tomorrow?
CHAPTER 18
The Goat
13th July, 1769
The Goat watched as the land vanished behind them. She was glad to see the last of it. New people and new noises meant she had to be alert, to make sure no intruders entered her territory.
Now she was back in the world she knew best—the sea and sky and ship. And the Boy, of course, to tend her wants, and be there when she needed him.
Down on the lower deck the ship was buzzing, as the sailors muttered to each other. The captain had announced the new orders: they were to sail south to look for the Great South Land, till they reached the latitude forty degrees south and then head west if they hadn’t found land already.
Ships had been searching for the Great South Land for over a hundred years. It was a place of gold, of fabulous spices, of untold wealth—though no one was quite able to say how any of this was known. The crew of the Dolphin were sure they’d seen its mountains far on the horizon to the south of Tahiti. The Dutch explorer Tasman had hoped he’d found it with the land now called New Zealand.
And that was where they were to go if the Great South Land stubbornly refused to be discovered: New Zealand—to see if it was an island or a great continent, and to map it before they headed home.
Meanwhile the Goat chewed her hay, and stared out at the sea, and was content.
CHAPTER 19
Isaac
16th August–6th October, 1769
He was up on the deck with the Goat—not milking her, just sitting, studying his manual—when the cry came. Isaac spent a lot of time studying now—everything from navigation to astronomy, geography and the King’s regulations.
A year ago it had seemed he’d only need to come aboard to start his great sea-going career. Now he realised that studying was as important as scrubbing or milking a goat. He had to pass examinations to be an officer. Sometimes the sheer amount he had to learn was daunting.
At least here on the upper deck no one disturbed him at his studies. And if the officers noticed that he was reading, not tending the Goat, they made no comment. Perhaps they too remembered the years they’d spent poring over their books, desperate to pass their exams. Or maybe they just thought the captain’s Goat needed some company.
‘Land! Land ahoy!’
Isaac put down his book and stared out. Yes, there to the east were high white cliffs, faint in the haze across the sea.
Had they reached the Great South Land so soon? It seemed impossible! Tupia, the Tahitian priest and navigator who’d joined the crew with his young servant Taiata, had told them there was no such land—not within an easy sail anyway. Tupia knew all the islands nearby, and had even sailed west as far as Tonga.
Had he been wrong?
The Endeavour was already changing course, her sails flapping. Was this the land that Wallis had glimpsed, that had made him so certain that the Great South Land existed?
Mr Banks was sure the Great South Land must exist as well, though Isaac had heard the captain say privately to Mr Gore that he doubted it. The strength of the wind in the Pacific was a sign that there was no land at all to slow it down. There was no driftwood to show that any land was near, no seagulls or other birds that might have made the Great South Land their home. Islands there might be, but a Great Land? No, not till you reached the barren shores of New Holland, already mostly mapped and rejected as useless by the Dutch, the Portuguese, the Spanish and the English pirate Dampier, or the land on the far side of the ocean, the Americas.
But the captain had said nothing of this to Mr Banks. No one contradicted the great man lightly—not when he had put up so much money for the expedition and had such powerful friends back home. Cook might be captain, but Mr Banks’s power was greater than his.
The Endeavour sailed towards the land for two hours. But somehow the land didn’t seem to get any nearer. Finally even Mr Banks had to admit it was a mirage—a bank of clouds imitating land. Now they were closer it was obvious that no land at all was hidden under their whiteness.
The Endeavour turned south again. Island birds and sharks gave way to whales, and albatrosses soared across the sky, comets at night and rainbows by day…and then the storms.
The further south they sailed, the worse the weather grew—wind became gales, storms became great tempests that lashed the ship. The waves reared above them, white-crested, high as mountains but more deadly. It was impossible to sleep, impossible sometimes even to sit.
The Goat and the ship’s other animals were stowed below, between bales of hay, to try and keep them safe. The pigs and hens they’d brought from Tahiti had already been eaten, and swiftly—the poor creatures had refused to eat as soon as their country had vanished behind them.
Isaac’s hands were so cold he couldn’t feel them. The rain stung his face, so hard and strong it was almost impossible to see. Or was that because of the frost that rimmed his eyes? He had forgotten what it was like to feel warm. Even the food was cold—the ship rolled so much it was too dangerous for the cook to light a fire in the galley.
The old days of singing or dancing on the deck were also gone now. Isaac spent most of his free time in the dimness below, while Jonathan and the other midshipmen coached him on navigation and ships’ law.
Southwards, southwards, every degree was torture for both the ship and men. Thirty-six degrees, thirty-seven, it was impossible that any land could be nearby. Every person in the ship knew it. Even Mr Banks was no longer insisting it was nearby now. Besides, he had taken to his bed long before, with his servants to tend him as he retched with seasickness.
Thirty-nine degrees…forty.
They had reached their goal. The sails were tattered, the ship was battered, the men white-faced and exhausted. As the waves swelled up around them Cook noted that there was no possibility of land nearby, and turned the ship towards the land Tasman had called New Zealand.
They had travelled where no other ship had ever ventured, hunting for a land that only might exist.
They had failed. But at least they were still alive.
CHAPTER 20
Isaac
6th October, 1769
It was a miracle. Or maybe it was just the stubbornness of the Goat. But even after the torture of the southern storms, the bucket was still half full of milk every night and morning.
Isaac took the milk down to Mr Matthews, then climbed back up to the deck and leaned over the railing and stared at the sea. The colour of the water had changed. The deep ocean green had vanished. This water was paler, bluer. It almost glowed. It had to be shallower,
though when they threw out a line there was no bottom even at one hundred and eighty fathoms.
The albatrosses had vanished too. Mr Banks had shot one, despite the sailor’s superstition that shooting an albatross would lead to disaster, and demanded it be served to him at dinner. Instead, there were other sea birds like Port Egmont hens, birds that never flew too far from land—Mr Banks missed no chance to shoot them, too. And there’d been driftwood in the last few days.
Land had to be nearby. The question was, who would see it first? The captain had promised whoever did would get a gallon of rum—and have that spot named after them too.
‘Manley Heads’, thought Isaac. Or maybe ‘Isaac Mountain’. Let it be on my watch! He took his turn climbing the main mast these days, shinning up the polished wood as though he’d always done it. It was Nick Young’s turn up there now, riding the ship almost as high as a bird, the giant creaking sails below. Nick Young was known throughout the ship as Young Nick. Isaac would willingly have taken his place up there now, even if it meant a double or a triple watch. He’d even…
‘Land ho!’
It was Young Nick’s voice. Cheers rose all around the ship as men rushed to the rails, though there would be no chance of seeing anything down at this level yet. Even old Cookie Thompson swung himself up from the galley to stare across the white topped waves.
Was it really land? Or just another bank of clouds?
But it was land this time—a place that would be known as ‘Young Nick’s Head’.
‘Lucky sod,’ said Jonathan. He was speaking of Young Nick. The two boys were fishing with Joshua Magra, another sailor who was hoping to be made a midshipman. Isaac didn’t like Mr Magra much; the sailor was too fond of horseplay that hurt just a bit too much for fun. But on a small ship, sometimes you just had to grit your teeth and try to keep smiling.
These days Jonathon and the two other midshipmen spend more and more time with the other boys near their age. Rank meant less after two years away from home, most of it spent crammed together on the ship.
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