James Cook’s Lost World

by Graeme Lay

  The people living around the bay quickly realised what was happening. Watching the armed marines and their irate commander disembarking, seeing the burned canoes and shelters, eyeing the marines’ muskets and knowing what they were capable of, they fled up the valley and into the forest.

  Further inland James and his troops came across a group of three women, two men and several children running from their houses. James said to Omai, ‘Tell them to bring the goat back, or we will burn their village.’

  Omai relayed this message to the villagers. Speechless with terror, the adults gathered up the children and ran away into the trees.

  Realising the goat was not here, James left the village intact and led the troops along a trail that headed in the direction of the west coast. Two other villages they came across were deserted. It was searingly hot inland. The forest was dense and draped with epiphytes; the hillsides were slippery with ginger mud. Scratched and filthy, the party were close to exhaustion when they began its descent to the coast. Stumbling from the forest, they emerged onto the plain, where there were plots of taro, sugar cane and plantains, and stands of coconut palms. But this place too was deserted. No people, no goat.

  James led them down to the shore. This, the north-western corner of Moorea, was more exposed, and a stiff wind was blowing off the sea. Out in the lagoon were two islets, covered in palms. Five outrigger canoes were drawn up on the sand, paddles in their bows. Other canoes were slung under thatched shelters.

  Still livid that his quest had been unsuccessful, James told the men, ‘Smash it all! Canoes, paddles, shelters!’

  The marines laid their muskets down and took up their axes. Chopping, smashing and hacking, shoulders and backs pink and running with sweat, after an hour’s work they had reduced everything to kindling.

  Out in the lagoon, Williamson and his men were being pulled along by the oarsmen, parallel to the coast. James fired his pistol into the air. Alerted, the launches altered course and headed their way. Minutes later they drew up on the sand.

  Williamson stepped ashore and grinned jubilantly at James. ‘We came upon three villages. We fired the houses and smashed all the canoes.’

  ‘But did you find the goat?’

  Williamson’s face fell. ‘No.’

  James turned away, cursing. He smote a pandanus shrub with his stick. Then, whirling about and pointing at the mass of wooden wreckage, he said to Phillips, ‘Fire the lot of it!’

  It was late in the afternoon by the time they returned to Opunohu Bay, exhausted and goatless. Back in his cabin, James’s hand was throbbing. The pain in his gut had also returned, gripping his innards like pincers. He stripped and lay on his cot, sipping the black tea he had ordered his servant to bring him. Turning on his side, he thought, This island has brought us nothing but trouble.

  They should never have come here. Tomorrow he would order the ships to weigh.

  Later that evening Williamson came to the Great Cabin. Visibly abashed, he told James, ‘The goat has been returned, Captain.’

  James’s jaw dropped. ‘Where to?’

  ‘Where it was taken from. Under the coconut palms.’

  After a long pause, James said flatly, ‘Release the lad from his irons and put him ashore.’

  After Williamson left the cabin, James put his hand to his brow. What’s happening to me?

  Lieutenant King spoke to him the next day, following the midday meal which had been taken largely in a strained silence. All had been embarrassed by the goat theft and the reprisals. With just the two of them remaining seated in the officers’ mess, King said quietly, ‘Can I have a word, sir?’

  ‘Yes? What is it?’

  ‘I wondered, sir, are you unwell?’

  James started. Was it becoming obvious? ‘Unwell, King? No, I’m never unwell. Why do you ask?’

  Clearly uneasy, King said, ‘The punishments you are meting out, sir. They seem disproportionate to the offences.’ The officer stared down at his clasped hands. ‘So I wondered if perhaps you are ailing in some way. And that may be affecting your sentencing.’ He met James’s austere gaze. ‘I do not mean to be disrespectful, sir, but I’ve heard the others talking. About the ear-cropping especially, sir, and I thought I should seek the reason. And perhaps … offer you help.’

  James’s stare was now steely. ‘It is not your role to question my judgments, King. Or my health. I am determined to deter the natives from thieving, and severe physical chastisement, including mutilation, is an effective means of doing so. As for my health, I have never felt better.’ He stared hard at his second officer. ‘Is that understood?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ King swallowed. ‘I did not mean to pry, sir. I asked out of concern for your well-being.’

  James brought his face closer to King’s. ‘And I have given you my answers. So do not raise either of these matters with me again.’

  ‘I will not, sir.’

  But as the young man turned and left the mess, his expression remained deeply troubled.

  SATURDAY, 11 OCTOBER 1777

  The next morning we were again all good friends the people bringing to the ships fruit etc to barter with the same confidence as at first. About 9 am we weighed with a breeze down the harbour, but it prov’d so faint and variable that it was noon before we got out to sea, when I steer’d for Huahine with Omai in his canoe in company.

  Nineteen

  14 OCTOBER 1777

  Dearest Beth,

  The voyage from Moorea to Fare, on Huahine, took only three days. It was not without incident, however.

  The first complication was the discovery, just after we weighed, of a stowaway. A young native was found below, and in possession of one of the carpenter’s chisels. His unlawful presence on the ship and the theft of the tool infuriated me. I sent him to the barber to be shorn of his locks, and to have his ears cropped. King later reported to me that after receiving his punishment the thief dived overboard and swam to shore.

  Just a few hours out of Moorea, several of us developed a fever, accompanied by extreme lethargy. This malady, combined with my old afflictions of bilious colic and constipation, made the following days very unpleasant for me. Surgeon Anderson was among those laid low by the fever. His cough has worsened, too.

  While we suffered in this manner, Omai’s canoe, Royal George, was almost swamped in the open sea during a squall. What an irony that would have been, should he have drowned two days from his homeland, after sailing right around the world! But he survived.

  We have now reached the culmination of one of the principal aims of this expedition, viz, the repatriation of Omai. Although originally from the island of Raiatea (which as I write is clearly visible on the horizon), he wishes to be settled here on Huahine, which is more distant from his enemies, the warriors of Bora Bora. The two New Zealanders we took aboard at Queen Charlotte Sound, Te Weherua and Koa, I have said must stay on Huahine and live with Omai as his assistants. They have been popular crew members, and both lads lamented the fact that they would not be taken with us to England. But I insisted they stay on Huahine, since Society Island traditions are far more akin to their New Zealand ways.

  Since my last visit here, Huahine’s leadership has passed from Ori, my old friend and the island’s regent, to a boy called Te Ri’i Taria. It is he and his mother with whom we must now negotiate the terms of Omai’s settlement.

  Omai presented the boy chief with red feathers and bark cloth and a priest blessed us and our gifts. Omai then gave a long account of the wonders he had witnessed in England. His attire—an English linen suit, silk scarf, plumed tricorn and polished boots—obviously impressed the Huahine leadership, and he has been granted a one-acre plot of land on the waterfront. It is a surpassingly lovely site. To ensure that his resettlement is as secure as possible, I have ordered our carpenters to build a proper house for him on the land, to accommodate his many possessions. There will be a garden beside it, sown with the seeds of English plants. I paid the boy chief Te Ri’i Taria for the lan
d with axes, and he seemed well satisfied with this exchange.

  We are still plagued by thieving. Some days ago a party of arioi, the priestly entertainers of these islands, visited Huahine from Raiatea. During a heiva (celebration) for the group, it was reported to me that a native from Bora Bora had stolen a sextant from Bayly’s tent, which had been pitched near Omai’s property. Again I was irate at the theft of this irreplaceable instrument, so after Omai identified the wrongdoer I decided to make an example of him. I had the marines bring him out to the ship and put him in irons. When he confessed to Omai where he had hidden the sextant, I sentenced him to 12 lashes. But after he was released and went ashore, the robber tore up some of Omai’s garden plants and released his livestock. My fury was now so great that once he was recaptured and brought out to Resolution I ordered the barber to shave his head and cut off both his ears. I then instructed that he be shackled to the mainmast.

  If I bequeath anything to these islands, it will be the dictum ‘Thou Shalt Not Steal’. Although I am not given to quoting from the scriptures, that is one commandment that should be universally followed. Stealing is evil.

  There is much more that I must yet attend to on Huahine, so I am obliged to close this entry now.

  Your loving husband,

  James

  Using timber from locally felled trees, along with planks that Omai had purloined from some of the wrecked houses on Moorea, the carpenters built a small house on his plot of land. A ditch was dug around the house and enclosures set up for the creatures the ships had brought across the world, including a stallion and a mare and some sheep, two goats, turkeys, geese, cats and rabbits. The house was fitted with a lockable door in order to protect Omai’s English treasures, including his suit of armour. As he strode around his property, the smile on Omai’s broad face seemed indelible.

  James and King watched Omai’s goods being carried into the house while he sat astride his mare, supervising the installation of his possessions. Looking over to where Omai’s two Maori assistants were digging the garden, King remarked, ‘He is like a Sussex lord, overseeing his little piece of England.’

  James nodded. ‘Let’s hope he doesn’t attempt to usurp the authority of the real leaders of this island. That could lead to trouble.’

  ‘It is a worry,’ agreed King, ‘given all the powder and shot he has.’

  ‘Quite so,’ said James. ‘It gives me satisfaction, though, that one of our missions has been accomplished. And I have to say I’ll miss our Indian. He’s been a useful envoy.’

  King smiled. ‘One advantage for us is that with Omai and all his possessions taken off the ship, Resolution’s holds will be a great deal more commodious. What a pity that we have no access to more wine and ale casks to fill the available space.’

  Both men then contemplated the scene in silence. Behind Omai’s house the land rose steeply to the crest of a mountain range, and although the morning sun’s rays were fierce, the face of the mountains was in shadow. Further along the shore, naked brown children frolicked in the crystal-clear water of the harbour, while more children were clustered around Webber, seated at his easel on the waterfront, straw hat on his head, capturing the bucolic scene with his pencils. Entranced, the children stared at the artist’s emerging image of their island.

  Two days later Clerke and Anderson came to James in the Great Cabin, where he was making an entry in his log. Clerke carried a handkerchief which he held over his mouth. His eyes were unnaturally bright, almost glittering. Beneath Anderson’s eyes were dark crescents; his face was pallid, his breathing laboured.

  The three men took seats around the table. ‘We wish to put a proposal to you, sir,’ Clerke began. That both men were ill was obvious. Since Clerke’s incarceration his health had been poor; Anderson’s deterioration had been more recent. ‘Since Anderson and I both have the consumption, sir, we fear we cannot continue on this voyage.’

  Startled, James sat up straight. ‘You wish to leave the expedition?’

  They nodded. Anderson swallowed. ‘It is proved that the consumption thrives in cold, wet conditions. And conversely, its progress can be slowed by constant warmth.’ He waved his hand towards the land. ‘Such as the climate of these islands.’

  ‘If we stay here,’ Clerke added earnestly, ‘there is a chance that our lives will be prolonged.’ As if to emphasise his condition he spat into his handkerchief. ‘But if we sail to the Arctic Ocean, as you intend, the cold will inevitably prove fatal to us.’

  There was a long silence as James considered the proposal. He looked from one man to the other. Their expressions were expectant.

  Choosing his words carefully, he said, ‘While moved by your plight, I cannot agree to what you suggest. Illness is vile, but inevitable. We have many more months in tropical waters before we reach the Arctic Ocean, so your consumption may well be eased by the heat.’

  Anderson’s tone became pleading. ‘But sailing in ocean waters, Captain, even in the low latitudes, exposes us to the wet and cold.’ He looked down. ‘My condition has worsened these past weeks.’

  Clerke nodded. ‘Mine too. I can barely sleep from the coughing.’

  Again James was silent for a time, moved by the gravity of their situation. Although sympathetic to both men, whom he liked well, he decided that their request could not be acceded to. To leave Clerke and Anderson in the Society Islands would inevitably encourage other crew members to desert. And should the pair be left here without kith or kin, they would struggle to survive. Unlike some members of the expedition, such as Burney, King and Gibson, neither one had learned the natives’ language or made any other meaningful connection with the people here. If they were left, they would in all likelihood take up with local women. As consumption was contagious, that would mean that the disease would be transmitted to the islanders. An abhorrent thought. The venereal distempers which European seamen had brought to these islands were bad enough; to introduce the deadly consumption among the natives could have horrific consequences. Moreover, the expedition needed both men.

  Still sombre, he told them, ‘The expertise of both of you is indispensable.’ Employing their Christian names, which he rarely did, he said, ‘Your vast nautical experience in these seas, Charles, and your medical and astronomical knowledge, William, cannot be dispensed with.’ He drew a deep breath and exhaled slowly. ‘Therefore I must decline your request.’

  For a time no one spoke. Both men stared past James. Clerke put his handkerchief to his nose; Anderson closed his eyes and rubbed his brow. Then Clerke got to his feet. ‘Thank you for considering our position,’ he said dully.

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ Anderson echoed.

  As James watched them go, he thought, Good men both. But how much longer would they last?

  Later that day a perturbed Lieutenant Phillips reported to James. ‘Captain, the man who stole the sextant has been released.’

  Jolted, James said, ‘By whom?’

  ‘By two of the marine sentries, I was told.’

  ‘Who were they?’

  ‘William Midd and John Harrison.’

  ‘Tell them to report to me on the mid-deck. Now.’

  Midd was narrow-faced, swarthy and long-haired; Harrison had a deeply tanned face and a shaved pate. They stood bare-footed before James, staring down at the deck.

  ‘You released the sextant thief?’

  Both nodded.

  ‘Why?’

  Midd avoided James’s gaze. ‘We felt sorry for him, Captain. What wiv ’is ears an’ all.’

  James was incredulous. ‘You felt sorry? For the fellow who stole Bayly’s sextant, then tore up Omai’s garden?’ James’s burning rage became even hotter. How dare mere marines, or anyone else for that matter, override his authority!

  He called to Ewin and Doyle, who had been watching the proceedings. ‘Take these men below and put them in irons. They’re to be given twelve lashes a day. For the next three days!’

  As he watched Doyle and Ewin take the cringing
pair down, James felt none of his anger subsiding. Clenching and unclenching his aching right hand, he decided that from now on the cat would be employed heavily.

  Omai came aboard Resolution for the last time. His canoe, Royal George, was tethered to the starboard side of the ship. Earlier in the day both Resolution and Discovery had been warped out through the pass and were now at anchor outside the reef.

  Dressed in his full English regalia, sword at his side, Omai stood amidships, bowing and shaking hands with each of his shipmates. ‘Farewell, Gore. Farewell, King. Farewell, Harvey. Farewell, Brigh,’ he said to each in turn.

  James came down from the quarterdeck. Holding out his hand, he said, ‘Parahi, taio Omai. Fa’aitoito!’

  Instead of taking James’s hand, Omai’s face crumpled. He fell forward, threw his arms around James and began to sob. ‘Tute, Tute. Best ever taio.’

  James recoiled. Such displays of emotion were unbecoming. Instead, standing at arm’s length from Omai, he reached out and gripped both his shoulders. ‘Goodbye, friend. Take good care of your garden and your animals.’ He had another thought. ‘If matters are going well for you, send a string of white beads to me in Raiatea. If you are in any trouble, send black beads. And always keep the door of your house locked.’

  Nodding, still sobbing, Omai turned away. With the eyes of his erstwhile shipmates upon him, he went to the starboard gate and climbed down the hull steps to his canoe. The two New Zealanders, Te Weherua and Koa, were sitting in it, paddles in their hands.

  Standing in the bow, Omai removed his tricorn. Hat in hand, tears streaming down his face, he waved and cried out, ‘Parahi, parahi. Farewell, farewell.’

  The following day James called a meeting of all the officers in the Great Cabin. It was the second day of November, 1777. The wet season had begun and rain was beating down heavily on the deck above, causing him to raise his voice as he addressed the men around the table. ‘After we have weighed, we will sail to Raiatea.’