Captain Cook in New South Wales

In Short

This book serves as a meticulous, skeptical inquiry into the provenance of the official narrative of Captain James Cook’s 1770 voyage to Australia. By comparing numerous extant ship logs—including those discovered behind wainscoting in the Deptford Victualling Yard—against the widely accepted, stylized account published by Dr. Hawkesworth, the author demonstrates that the famous names "Botany Bay" and "New South Wales" are largely absent from the original, contemporary records. It is a vital, dense historical study for those interested in the thin line between documented fact and the later mythologizing of imperial discovery.

The Story

The narrative begins with a fundamental suspicion of the primary source for the voyage of the Endeavour: the official account compiled by Dr. Hawkesworth. Commissioned by the Admiralty, Hawkesworth was tasked with turning the raw logs of the voyage into a polished, popular narrative. However, the author argues that this editorial process was plagued by "professional jealousies" and a desire to create a romanticized, coherent "personal" record for the Captain, who was himself uneducated in the literary arts and largely absent during the book’s composition. The central conflict arises from the fact that the published version of events frequently diverges from the mundane, "plain unvarnished" details found in the handwritten logs of Cook, his officers, and the crew.

The author systematically disassembles the authority of the "official" version, particularly regarding the naming of landmarks. In almost every contemporary log—including those kept by Lieutenant Hickes, the astronomer Green, and the master's mate Pickersgill—the site famously known as Botany Bay is consistently referred to as "Stingray Harbour" or "Sting Rea Bay," named quite literally for the massive rays caught by the crew. Similarly, the sweeping claim that Cook took possession of the entire eastern coast under the name "New South Wales" is absent from these original documents. Instead, the logs describe a simpler ceremony, often mentioning the firing of volleys and the hoisting of colors without any grand designation of the territory.

A significant portion of the arc focuses on the "Corner’s Log," a controversial document that has been touted as a genuine record in Cook’s own hand. Through careful analysis, the author reveals that this log is a suspect, manipulated text. It contains erasures, entries in different hands, and suspiciously inserted names like "Port Jackson" and "Botany Bay" that appear to have been added long after the voyage. By contrasting this tampered document with the "Palliser Log" and the "Banks Log," the author highlights a systematic effort to overwrite the original, meager records with a more illustrious, imperial history.

The narrative concludes by situating these discrepancies within a broader context of historical myth-making. The author invokes the existence of the 1542 "Dauphin Map," which suggests that European knowledge of the Australian coast may have predated Cook’s arrival, further complicating the official story of discovery. Ultimately, the book serves as a final, scholarly challenge to the "legendary" status of these events, calling for a return to the evidence of the original logs to uncover the "Truth, Justice, and Honour" hidden beneath a century of editorial embellishment and state-sponsored national myth.

How It Unfolds

The critique of the official record The text opens by questioning the integrity of Dr. Hawkesworth’s 1773 publication, suggesting it was an embellished, composite narrative that prioritized literary flair over the actual, often contradictory, journals kept by the ship's company.

The discovery of the Deptford Logs A pivotal shift occurs with the revelation that numerous, long-lost logs from the Endeavour were found behind wainscoting at the Deptford Victualling Yard, providing a fresh, unvarnished look at the daily realities of the expedition.

The evidence of the original logs The middle section presents a comparative analysis of these recovered logs, showing that in every instance, the crew referred to the landing site as "Stingray Harbour" rather than the botanically romanticized name later imposed upon it.

The failure of the Corner's Log The investigation turns to the "Corner’s Log," exposing it as a flawed, manipulated artifact that reflects later editorial tampering rather than the authentic, contemporary record of a captain’s observations.

The conclusion on possession The final movement examines the act of taking possession, finding that the formal declaration of "New South Wales" is nowhere to be found in the authentic logs, which merely record a functional ceremony of flags and volleys.

The People

The central figure is Captain James Cook, characterized not as the polished narrator Hawkesworth depicts, but as a practical, "scientific pilot" whose own handwriting reveals a man of limited education, prone to repetitive spellings and focused on the immediate, tangible aspects of his voyage. Standing in his way is the editor Dr. Hawkesworth, whose pursuit of a "medley of seaman and philosopher" forced a mythic structure onto the voyage, effectively silencing the true, coarser voices of the crew. Sir Joseph Banks, the influential naturalist, looms as a figure of ambiguity; while his correspondence was sought to validate the official history, he is cited as having repudiated any assistance in the compilation of the faulty narrative. Lieutenant Zackary Hickes emerges as a reliable, if underappreciated, voice of accuracy; his log remains a bedrock of evidence, consistently referring to "Sting Rea Bay" and providing a stark contrast to the later, romanticized version of events. Finally, the author himself, James Bonwick, acts as the aging archivist and investigator, using his final years to defend the historical record against the "legendary" inventions that have obscured the reality of the Endeavour's mission.

In Its Own Voice

The Captain was represented as speaking of himself, saying, "I saw," or "I did," &c.

The author critiques the editorial decision to frame the official voyage narrative as a personal, first-person journal, arguing this forced the inclusion of invented or exaggerated details.

The great quantity of these sort of fish found in the place occasioned my giving it the name of Sting-Ray Harbour.

This quote, taken from the author’s primary evidence in the Autograph Log, shows how the Captain truly described the landing, long before it was rebranded for its botanical interest.

The Logs of the Endeavour could not have troubled the authors of "Cook's Voyage" over much, discrepancies appearing so often between them and the printed volume.

The author reflects on the ease with which the editor ignored the actual, mundane testimony of the crew in favor of a more grandiose, imaginative account.

What It's Really About

At its core, this book is an argument for the primacy of the original, unadulterated document. It explores the tension between history as it is lived and recorded by participants versus history as it is curated for national identity. The author asks why a maritime expedition—a task of navigation, survival, and mapping—needs to be transformed into an epic myth. The book highlights the danger of allowing a single, state-sanctioned narrative to override the collective testimony of those who were present. Underlying the discussion of maps and logbooks is a deeper, enduring question: who has the authority to name a place, and what is lost when we prioritize the romantic "language of the Portico" over the hard, factual "language of the Log book"?

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy detective work and are skeptical of "official" historical narratives will find this volume deeply satisfying. It offers a rare, behind-the-scenes look at how history is constructed, providing the raw, often messy evidence of the 18th-century maritime experience. The prose is warm and scholarly, reflecting the voice of an archivist who has spent a lifetime with these documents. However, readers should be prepared for the dense, repetitive nature of the analysis; the author spends significant time on the minutiae of handwriting, erasures, and logbook dates. While some of the colonial attitudes and 19th-century terminology may feel dated, the book’s core project—the exposure of historical fabrication—remains sharp. It is best suited for those who appreciate the quiet, painstaking work of historical verification and who want to look past the statues and myths to find the actual, flawed, and fascinating human beings who first navigated these waters. The experience is much like sitting in an archive with an expert mentor, turning over old pages and learning to read between the lines of what we have been told for generations.