by Anthony Hill
Indeed not. For Mr Satterley went down to the hold again. Remeasured the depth. And returned to the quarterdeck saying, ‘Captain, there has been a mistake. I measured from the floor of the hold, the Mate from the outside plank of the hull – eighteen inches lower. We are keeping the water steady.’
The lightning words, as they flashed through the ship, worked like a charm. They might all live! Every man jack redoubled his efforts at the pumps to stay afloat until dawn.
Daylight brought more hope. Midshipman Jonathan Monkhouse, the surgeon’s younger brother, had once sailed on a merchantman that sprang a leak crossing the Atlantic. The ship was saved by ‘fothering’ her with a sail, slung beneath the keel like a tourniquet, where water suction forced the canvas into the hole. It stopped the inflow, and was held in place by the pressure of the sea.
‘We completed our voyage safely, Captain.’
‘You remember how this was done, Mr Monkhouse?’
‘I believe so.’
‘And you think it will help us?’
‘I see no reason why not. The breach cannot be so great, or the pumps wouldn’t be holding the water.’
‘Very well, Mr Monkhouse. I place you in charge of the operation.’
So, while some hands were raising the foretopmast and yard, and others lifting the bower anchors, Jon Monkhouse got a lower studdingsail (‘stu’n’s’l, matey’) ready to fother the ship. Onto the canvas, sailmakers stitched handfuls of frayed old rope, teased out into what sailors called ‘junk’ and mainly used to caulk the ship’s timbers. Wool and hair from the sheep and goat were also sewn onto the sail; and on top, the boys spread manure scooped from the pig pens.
It seemed Endeavour suffered the worst damage near her bows, below the starboard chains. When the studdingsail was ready, it was carried for’ard, weighted and carefully lowered over the bows on ropes into the sea. Once the sail’s lower edge had slipped below the keel, men started to haul it aft. Hearts and eyes strained to see what would happen as the canvas slipped along the wooden hull . . .
Suddenly, a rush of water snatched the sail and dragged it into the leak. Scraps of wool and oakum junk were forced into the smaller gaps, the manure acting as a kind of caulking pitch. The main breach was stopped like a gag by the canvas – the studdingsail plugging the ship, even as it fothered Isaac’s nightmares. And within minutes the flow into Endeavour’s hold was reduced to a runnel, with only one pump needed to keep her clear.
How Isaac’s ’prentice soul soared! He’d been staring at death on the reef for twenty-four hours. Now, he’d not only been given back his life, but also offered the chance of salvation. At best, men had been hoping for an island where they might build a boat from Endeavour’s wreck to carry them to the East Indies. But with Jon Monkhouse’s help, they had the prospect of repairing and sailing their ship all the way home. There wasn’t one of them who did not offer silent thanks for deliverance.
Yes, and not so silent either when Mr Cook gave orders later that morning to make ready for sail. The anchors were hoisted – all except for the second bower, which stuck fast in the coral rock and had to be cut away. The forecourse was set. The longboat out sounding. And with a light breeze and a rousing crew behind her, Endeavour stood in for the mainland nine miles off her bows.
With the ship under way, the Master and Mates went ahead to find a suitable bay where she could be laid up. Acknowledging Isaac’s own self-discipline during the crisis, Mr Molineux let him come in the pinnace to help with the buoys.
The lad revelled in the freedom and sweetness of it: scudding across the waves, the Hope Islands already behind him, wind in his hair, salt flecking his face, as the living sun danced on the water and played with the rollicking coastline.
They looked at one possible harbour, yet after only a few casts of the lead they realised it was too shallow for the ship to approach the shore. Endeavour anchored off for the night. The boats went on ahead, and a few miles further on found what they were looking for – an estuary, where a wide river emptied into the sea.
Sandbars partly shoaled the mouth, and high dunes stood watch on the northern shore. But the river had carved a channel to the ocean, and deep water ran along the south bank where Endeavour could berth. Beyond were mudflats, where mangroves and crocodiles basked – and where the ship might easily be hauled, careened, and her hull repaired.
Next morning Endeavour ran northward under a freshening wind to the entrance. Cook supervised sounding the narrow channel himself. Yet the wind blew up and the sea ran high – and for two days the ship stood off, not daring to risk foundering on the sandbanks within sight of safe harbour.
‘Just imagine,’ said Molineux, for once giving way to his own fancies, ‘what would have happened had this weather struck when we were aground on the reef.’
And it was Isaac who durst not think about it.
It wasn’t until Monday 18 June that the wind moderated and the ship made in for the river. Twice she got stuck on the sand: the first time floating free, the second having to be warped off at high tide. But that afternoon, she was safely brought alongside, and her anchors taken ashore.
Next day a stage was built from the deck to the riverbank, and they began unloading her. The four remaining guns were brought up from the hold and mounted on the quarterdeck. The stores and provisions, water casks, ballast, coal, spare anchors, gunpowder, the armourer’s forge . . . all were carried ashore to a camp in the dry, browning grass.
Pens were built for the animals. Mr Banks had his tent erected. One was put up for supplies, and another for the sick. No one was seriously unwell – although Tupaia, Taiata, Mr Green and five or six others had symptoms of scurvy, which didn’t improve until they got plentiful fresh food.
Once emptied, Endeavour was warped up river and dragged onto the mangrove flat, with only her stern in a few feet of water. So anxious was Cook to see the damage, he inspected her by lantern at the first low tide.
As thought, the main problem was at the starboard bow. Four planks were cut to the frame and another three badly damaged: all of them ripped by the coral as if with a saw.
‘And see here,’ Molineux showed Isaac the most remarkable thing next day. ‘When the ship hit the reef, a lump of coral the size of my fist broke off and stuck in the hole. It slowed the water before we fothered her. Without that rock we would have been sunk – literally.’
Part of the false keel had gone; yet it had done its job and protected the main keel, which didn’t appear seriously damaged. Some of the timber sheathing had been torn from the larboard bow – important because, studded with wrought iron nails, it helped keep the destructive teredo worm out of the timbers. It would have to be replaced.
‘But all in all,’ the Master said, ‘we were lucky. It could have been worse.’
Endeavour was heeled over, and men were soon at work: carpenters repairing her strakes; armourers making nails, bolts and straps; hands mending her sails and rigging. The ship looked rather forlorn out of her element, as Sydney Parkinson drew her: beached high and pretty dry, like a mangrove pod washed up on the mud. And, just like a pod, she also carried the seed of her own regeneration. The starboard bow was finished in a few days. She was heeled the other way, and men started on her larboard. In little more than a week, Endeavour began to come alive again.
Her shattered timbers had been replaced as far as possible. Part of the false keel and some sheathing could not be repaired; but despite the risk of worm, Molineux and John Satterley told Cook all would be well. Empty water casks were lashed to the bows to help refloat her, but the low neap tides kept the ship stranded for a while longer. It wasn’t until early July that the water rose high enough to bring Endeavour off and warp her down river. Even then, the Captain had her taken to a sandbar for another inspection. Reassured that the remaining damage was of little consequence, the ship was brought alongside the riverbank, ready for her topmasts and rigging.
Thus reinvigorated, Endeavour prepared to carry them home. If ever a ship lived up
to her name, this one did.
When they were not wanted at the riverbank, the lads were free to explore the country. To climb a high grassy hill behind camp, and watch the onyx-coloured sea break upon reefs as far as their eyes could travel – and to wonder at the dangers still before them. To go hunting through the gum-scented bush, past termite hills taller than a man, the undergrowth kept clear by the fires lit by the Aborigines – their ‘fire hunting’. Not that they saw any natives, though their smoke was always on the horizon, or caught much game.
Midshipman Magra, restored to his rank after the incident of Dick Orton’s ears, saw something like a wolf.
Nick Young was frightened by a bat. ‘Big as a gallon keg it were, and black as the devil wiv two horns on ’is head. Honest.’
Fifteen-year-old Isaac, puffing his pipe on deck, saw a crocodile swim past, innocent as driftwood on the tide. And late one afternoon he spied one of those strange grazing animals they’d glimpsed at Stingray Harbour. Sleek as a greyhound, but with a head like a hare, and mouse-coloured fur. As he approached, the creature rose on powerful back legs and, with heavy tail outstretched, began hopping away like . . . nothing Isaac had ever heard of.
The Captain and Mr Banks soon sighted another. Lieutenant Gore led several expeditions to shoot one. It was almost a month before he managed to do so, however, when the Guugu Yimithirr people said it was called gangurru. Kangaroo. Another word that entered the English language via Endeavour. And kangaroo tasted splendid.
It was as well that it did, for the land didn’t yield them much else by way of sustenance. The berries and wild taro roots they found were bitter, and made some people sick. It was a fortnight before the seine netted enough fish to feed the whole company. And while edible greenstuff was picked, which mixed well with pease porridge, men began to wonder how they’d fare if forced to stay for any time.
Then they discovered the turtles.
In early July, Mr Molineux went out in the pinnace to seek a safe passage to the north. Isaac didn’t go with him, as the Captain proposed he help the Midshipmen sound the river entrance and make a proper survey chart – for the lad’s willingness had not gone unnoticed.
The Master returned with a boatload of large clams and news that he thought he’d found a way to the open ocean. Cook was sceptical. He’d been up the grassy hill too, and seen shoals stretching to the horizon. So he sent Molineux out again, and this time Isaac went with him.
‘High time thee got used to spending long days in a short boat.’
The days were fine, skimming across an opaline sea. Night was dreadful: the boy unable to sleep comfortably on a sandy beach, and wrapped so tightly in his sea cloak against mosquitoes that he almost stifled. Morning and the cool breeze couldn’t come too quickly!
It was soon clear that Molineux was wrong in his surmise. They followed his deepwater channel, but as the tide fell it revealed the parapets of yet another reef – with more to the north and east. There was no safe passage that way: and it was the same every other way they looked.
Returning on the afternoon of the second day, Molineux called at a reef ten miles offshore to gather more clams and shellfish for the ship’s mess. At low tide the water turned to crystal; and peering over the bow Isaac could see pink and yellow corals, through which drifted fish the colour of topaz and garnets. It was as if nature had strewn the seabed with gemstones.
Strange, that a reef which caused such grief when they ran aground, should here reveal its treasure trove.
Suddenly, across a patch of sunlit underwater sand, he saw a shadow pass: round and reptilian and swimming slowly.
‘Turtle!’ Isaac cried. ‘A green turtle!’
‘Where is it, boyo?’ Francis Wilkinson rose.
‘Just for’ard here . . .’
‘Steady there . . . steady on the oars.’
They’d already hauled down the sail approaching the reef, and the boat quickly pulled back.
‘Do you see it . . . where I’m pointing?’
‘Yes . . . and there’s another, look you! And more feeding on the bottom. Turtles everywhere! Oh damme, the things you see when you’ve not got a harpoon.’
‘Coxswain, the boathook,’ ordered Robert Molineux. ‘Lively now!’ Sam Evans passed it to Wilkinson who, leaning out, lowered the long-handled iron hook tipped with a spike into the water and began stalking turtles.
The first one had disappeared among the coral, but another was on the sand, nibbling seagrass. Carefully, Francis came up behind it with the boathook poised like a lance. Ever so gently he drew level with its outstretched head, not letting his shadow frighten the animal.
Easy . . . easy . . . with a sudden lunge the man speared the point into the soft opening between the turtle’s shoulder and shell. In as far as he could – and twist!
The startled creature jerked and struggled. A thin stream of blood stained the water, red now with rubies. The turtle tried to draw in its head, and its flippers beat, seeking to escape. Mr Wilkinson pushed with all his strength on the boathook shaft, keeping the turtle pinned to the sand. ‘Quick there, mates! Into the water. Bring ’im up.’
Isaac leaped into the sequined sea. It barely came up to his midriff, sharp and cold. And reaching down with two others into the swirling sand, they grabbed the turtle by the carapace and hauled it fighting to the surface.
‘Watch it, boyo . . . keep a grip . . .’ as eager hands reached over the gunwale to drag their catch into the pinnace.
‘It’s a big ’un, look you. Near full grown, I’d reckon.’
‘We’ll feast tomorrow, mates!’
‘There’ll be hundreds more where that came from.’
Released from the iron point, the turtle tried to heave itself away. It was quickly dragged to the stern and turned on its back. After ten minutes of helpless kicking, the creature ceased to struggle and seemed to resign itself to its fate.
The bloody contest had disturbed the other turtles. Isaac and the men jumped back into the pinnace, to let sea and sand and the grazing prey settle down again, before they resumed the hunt. By late afternoon, they’d caught two more turtles, so that despite unwelcome news about the channel, the boat returned to Endeavour laden with fresh food.
Between them, the animals weighed nearly eight hundred pounds: enough to feast the whole ship’s company for days on turtle meat – divided equally between every man and boy, as Cook always insisted. The meat was sweet and succulent as plump chicken. Juice and oil ran down chins and beards. And as they wiped greasy mouths and hands, and their bellies groaned, men no longer worried if they’d have enough to eat, were the ship forced to stay at the river for a whole year.
Hundreds of turtles! Isaac whistled on the riverbank with deepest satisfaction.
The Captain sent Mr Molineux back to the reef next day, properly equipped for the hunt. And there were many more expeditions after that.
11
THE BREADTH OF ONE WAVE
Endeavour River to Cape York, July to August 1770
On the day of the turtle feast, the Guugu Yimithirr people first appeared near Endeavour.
Crew had already started getting the ship ready for sea: rigging her, stowing ballast, hoisting the water barrels. Satiated by turtle meat, men were lethargically going about their afternoon labours, when seven or eight Aborigines were seen on the opposite bank. Two came onto the sand spit to stare more closely at the spectacle. Cook at once set out to talk to them: but as his boat approached, the natives disappeared – as the Gweagal had done at Botany Bay.
Next morning, however, four men – bama – came down with a hollow log canoe and out-rigger, like those seen in the islands. Knowing the season for all things, the Aborigines had returned to the river they called Wahalumbaal birri, and were soon spearing fish in the warm shallows.
Isaac was among those aboard Endeavour all for going out to them again, but the Captain said nay. ‘We shall ignore them, and perhaps they will come to us.’
Drawn by curiosity about
these seeming white Wangarr spirits, two bama did paddle closer until the canoe was within hailing distance. Greetings were shouted, although the words were not understood. Gifts were more accessible. And while the Guugu Yimithirr knew nothing of the cloth and nails passed down to them, they were sufficiently pleased to bring their two clansmen over for more.
They landed near the camp and stood waiting: black skins painted red and white, chests incised with initiation scars, the eldest with a bone through his nostril. Weapons ready, in case these strangers really were spirits of the dead.
Isaac crowded eagerly with the others on the riverbank. Afraid the visitors would be overwhelmed by numbers, Cook told his crew to stay back. Tupaia alone went to meet them. The Tahitian, in his role of peacemaker once more, advanced across the grass. Then he sat down and gestured to the Aborigines to do the same.
They did so at length, sitting with spears beside them near the priest, and talking softly. Neither knew the others’ language: yet human contact was established. The bama touched Tupaia’s hands and face, and felt his clothes, uttering sounds of wonder. Yir-ke. As trust grew, Endeavour men drew closer – although the Aborigines became tense if anyone touched their weapons or came between them and the canoe.
They stayed a little while, even allowing Mr Banks to hang a medal about their necks, before paddling back across river. More returned next day – and in the days that followed, they brought gifts of fish for the clothes and beads given to them. They wouldn’t eat the Wangarr food, however, and were reluctant to exchange their own shell adornments and dilly baskets, for these were useful to them.
Women and children were always kept at a distance. But the men spent much time at the camp, especially with Tupaia, exclaiming Yir-ke over the many new objects they saw. In return, they told the men from Endeavour the Guugu Yimithirr names for the familiar – though to the Europeans exotic – things in their collections: plants, birds and animals, including Mr Gore’s gangurru.
