James Cook’s Lost World

by Graeme Lay

  Later that evening, still simmering with anger, he said to King, ‘The wind here is changing. The natives are turning against us. And they have now seen how vulnerable we are without our firearms.’ He clenched his fist. ‘But they must not imagine they have gained an advantage over us. From now on we’ll all bear arms while ashore, and will use force when it’s necessary.’

  Next day the watering party was busy at the stream that was Kealakekua’s main source of fresh water. It flowed shallowly through a grove of coconut palms at the northern end of the bay and the ground surrounding it was littered with volcanic stones.

  A few commoners were helping the men fill the casks. Just before midday a group of chiefs arrived at the scene and ordered the commoners to leave. Then they began to gather up stones and put them into piles. Some of them picked up pairs of rocks and began to bang them together, at the same time staring at the sailors. Aware that the O-whyheeans could hurl stones to deadly effect, the crewmen were unnerved. Hurriedly they began to roll the filled casks down to the shoreline.

  This incident too was reported to James. He told King, ‘Inform Phillips. Tell him to get his marines to protect the watering party. All must be armed.’

  The marines went to the watering site. The chiefs were still there, guarding it. When one of them reached for a stone and threatened to throw it, a hothead in the watering party picked up an oar and struck him with it. Before the marines could deploy their weapons they were bombarded with the sharp-edged stones. Three men received deep cuts to their faces. The marines retreated to the beach, looking for their commander.

  James was not there. He, King and Gore had gone in search of the tong thief. When they asked a group of commoners where the man had gone, they indicated that he was much further along the bay. ‘Na-poo-poo,’ one man told them, pointing south.

  It took them an hour and a half to reach Na-poo-poo, near the far end of the bay. When they reached the village, hot and dishevelled, it was utterly deserted.

  James smacked his stick against a palm trunk. ‘We’ve been deceived,’ he said furiously. ‘We’ll return to the ship.’

  Something was seriously amiss. There was hostility as well as humidity in the bay’s air. Audacity had supplanted respect and the natives were displaying open defiance and deception. What was the reason for this change, they all wondered. Was it that the season of Ku had arrived, with its warlike behaviour? Was it that they no longer believed that the commander was Lono? Was it that there was now a schism between the still-amiable priests and the increasingly bold, aggressive chiefs? Could it be that the chiefs were planning to seize the sloops and the crews’ weapons and make war against their enemies on Mow-wee?

  James was now not only angry; he was deeply worried. Whatever the reason for the change, the expedition was vulnerable. There was one solution: their vastly superior weaponry needed to be displayed and, if necessary, deployed.

  He told King, ‘The natives must not imagine they have gained an advantage over us. From now on the marines must load their muskets with ball.’

  King frowned. ‘Instead of small shot, sir?’

  James gripped his stick. ‘Yes. These people will not be deterred by a scattergun. Tell Phillips and the rest of the marines: load with ball.’

  Although he followed this instruction, the policy change greatly concerned King. The captain had always held that if they were attacked, small shot should be fired first, with ball a last resort. Had it come to that stage?

  He studied the commander furtively. There were dark crescents beneath his eyes and his cheeks were as sunken as Clerke’s. Yet he did not suffer from consumption. What could be ailing him? He had always favoured negotiating with the natives rather than showing aggression towards them. Why this change? His attitude towards thieving natives was now openly vengeful. And might this hostility invite retribution?

  The morning of 14 February—the third since their return to Kealakekua—dawned fine and warm, with only a light wind. Not long after daybreak Lieutenant Burney brought a message across to Resolution from Discovery. He went below and was shown by the sentry into the Great Cabin, where James had just breakfasted.

  Burney touched his forehead. ‘Captain, Discovery’s cutter has been taken from its mooring.’

  James leapt to his feet. ‘When?’

  ‘In the night.’

  James strode to one of the stern windows. Although the bay was still in the shadow of the great cliff, it was light enough for him to see that many people had gathered on the Kawaloa shore.

  The cutter, taken. A brazen theft, of Discovery’s largest boat. This was too much. The lava within him boiled, then began to force itself upwards. The thieves must not be allowed to get away with this.

  ‘Tell Clerke the bay is to be blockaded. No canoes are to leave. If they try to, turn cannon fire on them. And tell Lieutenant Rickman to take Discovery’s launch to the south end of the bay, with an armed escort, to enforce the cordon.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Burney, and left the cabin hurriedly.

  James took his double-barrelled Bess from its rack. He loaded one barrel with small shot, the other with ball, and slung his powder horn over his shoulder. He buckled on his belt, with its short sword and hanger. He gathered the officers together on the quarterdeck.

  Only Lieutenant King was still ashore. The day remained clear, but a stronger breeze was now blowing. He told the others: ‘I’ll go ashore with Phillips and the marines.’

  ‘What’s the plan, Captain?’ asked Gore.

  ‘We’ll take Kalani’opu’u hostage. Bring him back to the ship and hold him here until the cutter is returned.’ He turned to Lieutenant Harvey. ‘You stay here and oversee the gunners. Order them to fire the cannons at any canoes that try to leave.’

  James and the marines were rowed ashore in the launch and disembarked on the shore near Kawaloa. A crowd had gathered, mostly men. They studied James and the marines, and their muskets, suspiciously. The air was thick with morning heat and simmering surmise. The haole were obviously upset and threatening. What were they going to do?

  Ignoring the brooding crowd, James and the marine contingent marched up the beach to Kawaloa village. Kalani’opu’u’s house was the largest. James stopped a little distance away, and said to Phillips, ‘Go inside and tell the king he must come with us.’

  Phillips did so, then moments later came back, embarrassed. ‘He’s asleep, sir. His wife is too.’

  James erupted. ‘Then wake them up!’

  Kalani’opu’u emerged, wearing a red loincloth. His grey hair hung loose, his face, neck and shoulders were flaked from his skin disease. He blinked his reddened eyes at James. ‘Aloha, Lono,’ he said, blearily.

  A crowd had begun to gather around the king’s house and its compound, which was kapu to the commoners. Their expressions were uniformly angry. It was kapu to make a chief wake up abruptly, as his akua—his ancestral spirit—would be roaming while he slept and must not be disturbed.

  James nodded curtly at Kalani’opu’u. Wishing King were with him to fully explain the situation, he said loudly, pointing to Kalani’opu’u, then out at the sloops. ‘Our cutter, our vaka, has been stolen. You must come with me to my ship, and remain there, until the vaka is returned.’

  ‘Uh?’ said Kalani’opu’u, frowning.

  James repeated the message, pointing at the chief, then the ship.

  Kalani’opu’u nodded. ‘Ae.’ He understood. He patted his chest, then pointed out towards Resolution. Yes, he would go with Lono until the vaka was brought back.

  Around Kawaloa, the crowd was growing. People streamed from their huts and houses and down the hillside to gather near Kalani’opu’u’s dwelling. When they realised what was happening, that their king was being taken away by the haole, many of the men picked up stones that lay on the ground.

  James gestured for the chief to follow him and they made their way back to the shoreline. Kalani’opu’u was in front, James and the scarlet-jacketed marines covering him
from the rear. James felt relief that the king had willingly become his hostage. He would now seek out Koa and entreat the priest to add to his plea for the thief or thieves to return the cutter. Once it was brought back, peace would be restored.

  They marched down to the shoreline, where there was a sloping shelf of lava rock. The tide was rising, and small waves surged at the rock shelf and the rubbly beach above it. But before they reached the water, Aolani, Kalani’opu’u’s wife, rushed out from the crowd. Long hair flying, she tugged at her husband’s arm. She began to weep, crying out, ‘Aue! Aue, pilikua!’ Husband!

  Kalani’opu’u stopped. He looked from Aolani to James, then back again. Visibly confused, he became tremulous. His wife again cried out, ‘Pilikua! Pilikua!’ Husband! Husband!

  The crowd had by now grown to several hundred men and women. When Aolani cried out in distress they moved closer to the party. Many of the men carried clubs and spears. Some held the long metal daggers they had recently traded for. Most also wore chest-protecting mat vests.

  They began to shout, calling to one another. The cause of their resentment was clear: their king was being taken away by the haole to their huge vaka, where he could be lashed, shackled or even killed. From around the bay came a humming sound, like that of bees whose hive has been upturned. It was the sound of conches being blown, a signal for battle.

  Then, from out in the bay, came the boom-boom of cannons. The gunners on the sloops were firing their cannons at some canoes that were attempting to run the blockade. Between each boom an ominous silence descended, like the pause between lightning and thunder.

  The 10 marines accompanying James marched down to the water in a phalanx, their primed muskets shouldered. The crowd parted, allowing them through. Phillips came forward, interposing himself between Kalani’opu’u and James. Musket in hand, he said to James quietly, ‘I believe they mean to harm us, sir. Shall we form up a defensive line?’

  ‘Yes. Get the others between us and the crowd.’

  Aolani grabbed her confused husband by the arm and pulled him to one side. A man came out of the crowd holding an open coconut. He held it up tauntingly to James, then withdrew.

  The crowd, now unruly and jostling, advanced, their arms raised. They were on the verge of becoming a mob. James saw again their raised clubs, spears and daggers. But he remained confident. Help was at hand. They just needed to withdraw behind the marines’ defensive wall, get into the boats, then back to the ship under covering fire. Determined to remain calm, he was also realistic. He said to Phillips, ‘We won’t proceed with taking the old fellow hostage. Release him.’

  ‘Aye, Captain,’ Phillips replied.

  James looked out towards the pinnace and the launch, which had hove to 50 yards from the shore. The sailors in both boats carried primed muskets. Raising his left hand, he beckoned them in.

  Turning to face the mob, he saw a warrior wearing a chest mat rush towards him with an uplifted dagger in his left hand, a rock in his right. James raised his musket and fired the barrel containing small shot. It struck the man in the chest. The man stopped, stared, then began to laugh scornfully. His matting vest had stopped the shot: there was no injury.

  Incited by James’s firing, the mob rushed forward, yelling. James selected a leading figure, a rotund man, aimed and fired his other barrel. The ball struck the man in the face. He fell forward, mortally wounded, his face turned to a bloody pulp.

  James turned to the marines. ‘Take to the boats!’ he shouted.

  They didn’t. Instead they raised their muskets and fired into the clamorous crowd. Out in the boats, the sailors also lifted their muskets and discharged them into the throng. Several O-why-heeans fell, dead or wounded.

  The marines now needed to reload. This would take 20 seconds. Too long. The mob surged closer, then was upon them.

  Phillips stood his ground and had almost finished reloading when a tall warrior raised his dagger and stabbed him in the neck. A second later he was struck by a stone. Bleeding from the neck, Phillips nevertheless managed to complete his reload. He raised his musket and shot one of his attackers dead.

  Now there was chaos. Dropping their muskets, some of the marines turned and ran into the sea. Corporal James Thomas did not. As he attempted to finish reloading, a warrior plunged a dagger into his guts and he fell. Private John Harrison was overcome and speared to death by several warriors. Private Theophilus Hinks was stabbed to death before he reached the water; Private Thomas Fatchett was bludgeoned to death. Private John Jackson was speared through the eye and fell into the water in agony. Phillips, the only marine who could swim, managed to help Jackson get further out into the water, then he dragged him into the waiting pinnace.

  James, separated now from the remaining marines, turned his back on the attackers. Raising his right arm, his gestured for the boats to come in closer. He remained composed, knowing that their firearms were infinitely superior to clubs, spears and daggers.

  In the boats, the sailors were busy reloading. Help was at hand. In moments he would be uplifted by his men.

  The sailors in the pinnace began to pull towards him. But Williamson, in charge of the other boat, ordered his crew to pull away.

  Seeing the pinnace coming towards him, James began to wade along the shelf of lava rock towards it, still clutching his musket. Although the shelf was half-submerged by the rising tide, the pinnace was now only a dozen yards away.

  The attackers began to hurl stones. His back still to the mob, James raised his left arm against the fusillade.

  For a few seconds, the O-why-heeans paused, as if to let him go. Then a thickset man rushed out of the crowd, wielding a club. He raised it in both hands then brought it down on the back of James’s head.

  Behind his eyes, an explosion of red, then a constellation of stars. Through the stars emerged a parade of faces. An ageing woman, collecting wildflowers. An elderly man tending his garden. A kindly Quaker shipowner. A smiling young woman in a tavern. Two boys playing around a pond. A newborn child, handed to him by a midwife. And a boy, climbing a hill.

  An instant later, the other images had gone.

  Just one remained. A solitary woman, sitting beside a fire, knitting a scarf.

  Then she too was gone. And there was nothing.

  The mob fell upon the body as it lay in the shallows. One man plunged an iron dagger deep into James’s neck. Another warrior brought a rock down on his head. Another dagger struck deep into his back. Then another rock rose and fell. And another, and another, until the skull was completely crushed and the back was penetrated, over and over again.

  Leaking blood from a score of wounds, the limp body slipped into the sea.

  Thirty-three

  ALL ON BOARD THE SHIPS WERE engulfed by shock, disbelief, grief. Several had witnessed the killing through their spyglasses; others had seen the event from the boats. Men stumbled about the decks, unable to believe or comprehend the killing.

  He was their patriarch, the leader supremely confident in his decisions, the man who knew no self-doubt. His presence was towering, his abilities unquestioned, his rule absolute. Their faith in their commander was not greatly different from the O-why-heeans’ belief in their Lono: it did not seem possible that he could die.

  After the disbelief began to subside, it was replaced with anger. Much of this was directed at Williamson, who had ordered the men in his boat to row out. It was now known that when the sailors aboard had questioned the officer’s decision not to row in and pick up the captain, Williamson had threatened them with his musket. Merely disliked before, he was now the object of loathing.

  Mainly, though, it was the desire for vengeance that dominated the decks: the natives must not go unpunished for their heinous crime.

  As next in line of authority, Clerke assumed command of Resolution. He decided that Gore would move across to Discovery and take command of her. Clerke’s first action as commander was to call a meeting of all the officers, along with Bligh and Edgar, in Resolut
ion’s Great Cabin. Phillips was also present, his wounds dressed by Law. Edgar’s face still bore the cuts and bruises sustained when he had attempted to confiscate the canoe. Williamson attended, but sat apart and remained silent.

  Clerke, his face candle-white, addressed the others between laboured breaths. ‘There are two matters of urgency to consider. First, the remains of the captain, which the natives carried away, must be recovered and accorded proper burial. Secondly, the repaired foremast and rigging, and the astronomical instruments, must be retrieved from the shore encampment, before the natives steal or destroy them.’

  Bligh’s hand shot up. ‘Sir, I believe there are three matters to be dealt with.’

  Clerke looked at him coldly. Bligh was exceeding his authority. But before he could reprimand him the sailing master continued, his voice cracking with anger. ‘We must also immediately seek out and punish those responsible for our commander’s death. There must be reprisals.’

  There was silence for a few moments. Then Gore said, ‘I agree. We cannot allow the captain’s death to go unpunished. But a higher priority must be given to recovering the mast and instruments. The voyage cannot possibly proceed without them.’

  Clerke agreed. ‘Yes, they must be retrieved. But it’s my belief that the attack on our captain was not premeditated. Rather, it was the result of a chain of misunderstandings. Therefore we should not be o’er hasty in inflicting retribution on the natives. Remember, we will still need their support before we leave.’

  Around the table there was little sympathy for this view. The general opinion was that they could not allow the deaths to go unpunished, and they would not.

  Even Clerke’s mind was changed the following day when they observed the attackers’ shameless jubilation. The O-why-heeans swaggered along the shore, dressed in the slain marines’ uniforms, waving the captain’s tricorn and hanger mockingly. This was too much.

  A plan was drawn up, but before it could be executed a canoe came out to Resolution. In it was a middle-aged priest, an associate of Koa’s. The sailors watched the slightly built figure as he came aboard, carrying something wrapped in hala leaves. Some began to abuse him verbally.