by Graeme Lay
The marines were ordered to stand to on deck and the gunners primed the four-pounders, just in case. As the ship moved closer to the reef, they heard the sound of rapid-fire drumming coming from the shore and resounding across the water. At the same time, half a dozen canoes with attachments on their gunwales emerged from the pass. Propelled by semi-naked, brown-skinned men, their paddles were dipping and flashing. As they came closer to the ship cries from the muscular paddlers reached them across the water: ‘Taio! Taio!’
James called down to where Wilkinson and Molyneux were standing amidships, their gazes fixed on the canoeists. ‘What do they say, Wilkinson?’
‘“Friend”. They are offering us friendship.’
But there was puzzlement, too, among the crew, at the male-only welcome. Banks went up to Molyneux. ‘There are no women in the canoes,’ he said, a touch accusingly. ‘Where are they?’
The master smiled. ‘Waiting for us on shore, no doubt.’
The gunner, pock-faced Stephen Forwood, raced up to James and Gore. ‘How many cannons shall we fire, sir?’ he asked eagerly.
Mindful of Wallis’s disastrous introduction to the island, James shook his head. ‘There will be no cannon fire, Forwood. The marines will be our only show of force.’ The gunner looked disappointed. James added, ‘But keep the cannons primed and the men standing by.’ He called to Anderson. ‘The pass is a mile to larboard. You and Evans shall bring her in.’
Eighteen
ALONGSIDE PORT ROYAL WAS AN EXPANSE of level land covered with coconut palms. A river ran down from the mountains above the bay, then across the coastal plain and the promontory before debouching into the lagoon. A long black sand beach lay adjacent to the bay’s western shore. Once she was inside the lagoon it had been a relatively simple procedure to warp Endeavour into the bay, loose her anchors, then hoist out the launch to take parties ashore. The anchorage was firm, the weather fair.
But after the natives’ initial greeting of the ship from their canoes, they remained strangely distant, offering no ceremonial welcome to the land. No queen was in evidence, nor chieftains, just a few young men — who appeared untitled — who emerged hesitantly from the forest to offer a few plantains and scrawny chickens in exchange for the hatchets, cloth and beads the officers offered them. No compliant young women came to exchange their alluring bodies for nails. The Endeavours were left largely alone. This was baffling, especially for the veterans of Wallis’s expedition, who recalled vividly the initial fatal mêlée and the subsequent reconciliation and delightful licentiousness.
The advantage of this apparent disregard was that the Endeavours were relatively free to establish their encampment. A shuttle was run from ship to shore in the boats, bringing in the equipment, setting up a camp and organizing the marines to guard against any theft by the natives. The fortified camp was set up on the flat land beneath the palm trees, immediately named Fort Venus, and the marines were posted around it. Molyneux was in charge of breaking out the stores and getting them ashore; Gore took out wooding parties; Wilkinson and Pickersgill supervised the clearing of the ground and the raising of the fort’s breastwork. Some of the palms on Point Venus were felled to create a wide line of sight for the forthcoming observation.
But although a few local men continued to trade food for the Endeavours’ trinkets, they still seemed wary, apparently content to observe the visitors from a distance. Probably, Molyneux surmised to James, because they remembered the bloodshed from Wallis’s visit. But there was also no doubt, the four veterans of the Wallis expedition concurred, that in the two years between their previous visit and this one, something had changed on the island. Again they noted that the people who came to trade seemed of the lower orders. Also, the grand native houses formerly on Point Venus had gone, leaving only rough huts. Of the queen of the island, there was still no sign. There was no abundant quantity of chickens and pigs, nor breadfruit or coconuts, offered for trade. What had caused these changes? Furthermore, some of the male natives could be seen to be suffering from an itching disease, producing yellow pustules on their legs. Could Wallis’s men have conveyed venereals to the island? This was by no means certain. As Surgeon Monkhouse pointed out to the officers, a disease of the tropics, yaws, had very similar symptoms to those of syphilis.
The death came out of the blue.
Seeing a tall young native rushing the encampment and snatching up a sentry’s musket, midshipman Jonathan Monkhouse ordered the marines to open fire on the group of which the thief was a part. The culprit was killed, others wounded and carried away by the rest. When the skirmish and its consequences were reported to James on the Endeavour he was outraged: although the theft was most serious, to fire without first attempting to negotiate the musket’s return was a folly. The Earl of Morton’s enlightened instructions and rules of conduct, which he had recently announced to the crew and urged them to follow, had in one fell swoop been violated. Besides which, he well knew the killing could impede relations with the Indians. Already there was fatal damage to repair.
Then on the evening of the following day there was a knock on the door of the Great Cabin. ‘Sir!’ It was William Perry, Surgeon Monkhouse’s assistant.
‘What is it?’
‘It’s Buchan, sir. He’s poorly. Mr Monkhouse wants you to come.’
James strode from the Great Cabin and followed the assistant. Buchan’s cabin was off the gunroom, on the starboard side of the ship. Monkhouse was standing beside Buchan’s bunk, sleeves rolled up, attempting to hold the young Scotsman still by pinning his arms to the bed. He had succeeded only to the extent that Buchan’s arms were still. The rest of his body was writhing and his head was moving violently from side to side. His eyes had rolled far back into his head so that only the whites were showing, and his mouth was wide open, the tongue protruding. Behind Monkhouse, James said quietly, ‘When did it start?’
‘This afternoon. He was on foredeck, drawing the mountains, when he complained of a dizziness. Then, feeling a tightness in his chest, he fell down. Parkinson took him below, and the seizures started. Parkinson sent for me, but I could do nothing for him. Over the past hours the convulsions have become worse.’
At that moment Buchan gave a horrifying cry which subsided to a stricken sob. His face was the colour of candle wax, froth bubbled from the corners of his mouth and his auburn hair was matted. He lunged forward, almost breaking from the surgeon’s grip, then uttered another, louder, cry and fell back. The others watched helplessly as his moaning became weaker and lower, until at last he was still, his face a white mask, his mouth agape. Monkhouse waited for some moments, then held the draughtsman’s right wrist, feeling for a pulse. Turning to James he said thickly, ‘He’s gone.’
James nodded, unable to take his eyes from the young Scotsman’s face. He felt a constriction in his throat at the sight. Buchan was a good man and a fine draughtsman. He would be sorely missed, and not just by the gentlemen. The crew admired his drawing skills, too. James said to Monkhouse, ‘I’ll let Parkinson know.’
Parkinson’s cabin was opposite Buchan’s. When James entered it the young man was lying on his bunk. He turned, his expression imploring. ‘How is he, sir? Has the seizure passed?’
James shook his head. ‘It has taken him. It was too strong.’
With a cry, Parkinson turned away. ‘He was my friend, sir. My best friend.’
That evening they gathered in the Great Cabin to discuss the burial. Parkinson suggested they bury him on Point Venus. Banks was agreeable to this, but James demurred. ‘The Indians may have their own burial rituals,’ he suggested. ‘And it may be that they conflict with ours.’
Banks frowned. ‘But the island has already been claimed for our king. And as the land is ours, surely we can commit Buchan’s body to it?’
James shook his head. ‘We have already killed one of theirs. Unnecessarily, in my opinion. So we run the risk of further alienating the Indians if we place the body of one of ours in the ground so soon aft
er arriving here.’
‘A fair point,’ Banks admitted. He turned to the draughtsman. ‘What say you, Parkinson? You were closest to him.’
Parkinson’s eyelids were swollen. Struggling to contain his feelings, he said weakly, ‘I believe the captain is right. We should bury him at sea.’
The next morning the body was rowed out well beyond the reef, and committed to the deep. Later, with heavy heart, James added Buchan’s name to the Discharged Dead list in his journal. It now read:
Alex Weir, quartermaster (drowned), 14 September 1768
Peter Flower, able seaman (drowned), 2 December 1768
Thomas Richmond, negro servant (froze to death), 16 January 1769
George Dorlton, negro servant (froze to death), 16 January 1769
William Greenslade, marine private (suicide at sea), 25 March 1769
Alexander Buchan, draughtsman (died of epilepsy), 17 April 1769
Studying the list, his sole consolation was that not one had died from scurvy.
The following day a canoe came alongside Endeavour, occupied by four men and a boy. Noting the men’s bearing and their fine cloaks, and thus taking them to be chiefs, James beckoned them aboard and called for Gore to join him. Three of the men had square-cut beards; the fourth was clean-shaven; all were tall and powerfully built with frizzy black hair. All wore cloaks of bark cloth. They stared around at the ship with intense curiosity, then a broad-shouldered man introduced himself as Tutaha and his compatriots as Tupaia, Tairoa and Nunahau. Tutaha, who wore a polished pearl shell pendant around his neck, pointed at himself and said, ‘Ari’i rahi, Pare Arue.’
James looked quizzically at Gore. ‘What does he say?’
‘He is the paramount chief of the island. Arue is a district a little way south-west of here.’
As the men were given a tour of the ship and presented with hatchets, James sensed that reconciliation was in the air. At last, contact had been made with local leaders. These were definitely men of chiefly bearing and importance. And the one called Tupaia, who appeared to be a kind of courtier to Tutaha, could understand and speak some English. Tupaia was also a sort of native priest, Gore explained. He remembered Captain Wallis and George Robertson from the Dolphin, he said. He was tall and graceful of bearing, with flecks of grey in his dark, top-knotted hair. He had prominent cheekbones and shrewd, slightly almondy eyes. James guessed him to be about forty. The boy accompanying the group was about twelve, and Tupaia introduced him as his foster son. Called Taiata and wearing just a loin cloth, he was slim, with bright, darting eyes.
Using gesticulations as well as speech, Tupaia told the Englishmen that after the Dolphin left there had been a great war on the island. Queen Oberea’s warriors had been defeated and her court destroyed by a rival chief, a man from Tahiti Iti called Vehiatua. There had been much loss of life. Oberea had taken refuge with a relative in the district of Papara where a giant marae, Mahaiatea, had been built under Tupaia’s instruction. With the demise of the former queen, Tutaha had assumed the mantle of leader of Tahiti Nui. But throughout the island, Tupaia said with obvious concern, there was still much tension and uncertainty.
Before his party left in their canoe, Tupaia said that Tutaha would like Cook and some of his scientists to visit his court at Pare Arue, an invitation which James was delighted to accept. The shooting of the musket thief, it seemed, had almost been forgiven.
Now that improved relations had been brokered, the produce began to flow to the Point Venus encampment in great quantities. Banks and Solander were deputed to barter for food, principally pigs, chickens, coconuts, plantains and breadfruit. Other things flowed, too. At last, the vahine came: semi-naked young women, their long black hair glossy with palm oil, approached the encampment, seeking nails and beads. Garlanded with fragrant tiare blooms, they freely expressed their gratitude to the crew with their sleek bodies, thus fulfilling the promise that the four Dolphins had assured the others would be awaiting them. The Endeavours began to satiate themselves with the vahine on the beach and in the forest, delighting in their wantonness and laughter, the scent of their bodies and their brazen quest for baubles. For men from Bristol, Wapping, Portsmouth and Plymouth, used only to the poor, pasty whores of England’s docklands, the women of King George’s Island appeared divine.
Banks now began to prove himself an effective communicator with many of the natives, first by gesture, then, assisted by Gore and Wilkinson, in a mixture of English and their language. Obviously relishing the natural and human history of the island, Banks was the first to tell James what its original name was. ‘It is called “Otaheite”, Tupaia informed me. And the other island,’ he said, pointing to the jagged profile to the north-west, ‘is called “Eimayo”. Those are their proper names.’
‘Are you suggesting that we cease using the names King George’s and York islands?’
‘I am.’
‘Why?’
‘Because Otaheite and Eimayo are their original names, given to them by their first owners, the Indians. Besides, their names have a musicality which I like.’ He waved his hands extravagantly. ‘O-tah-hi-ti, Ei-may-o. Don’t you agree?’
It was a little over a fortnight after their arrival that the queen made her first appearance, sweeping down onto the point with her entourage, which included the priest Tupaia. Seeing her old acquaintances Molyneux and Gore, the stout regal figure, resplendent in a white bark-cloth gown and garlanded with tiare blooms, was overjoyed. Taken out to the ship, she met Wilkinson, who introduced her to James, calling her ‘O-Oberea’.
‘I have heard and read much about you, Your Majesty,’ James said, kissing her hand. Oberea beamed with delight. He then took her below to the Great Cabin and presented her with a dressed English doll, which delighted her further. She then invited a party to go ashore.
There the Englishmen were surprised when she introduced them to a husband, a younger man called O-Amo. By making suggestive gestures towards her ample loins, then pointing at the priest, she indicated that Tupaia had been her lover, but this was no longer so. Nevertheless, he was still the high priest of Otaheite, she also told them.
Banks explained to the others the confusion over her name. ‘“O-Oberea” means “This is Oberea”, just as “O-Taheite” means “This is Taheite”. So the queen’s name is actually Oberea, her husband is Amo and her island is Taheite. I prefer to call it “Otaheite”, however, as the natives do.’
Giving Banks a derisive look, Gore said sneeringly, ‘So you have been taking language lessons too, Banks.’ It was becoming apparent that the American considered himself to be the leading authority on Otaheite and resented any rival to his self-appointed status.
‘I have,’ Banks shot back. ‘From a very learned teacher.’ He laughed, and Gore’s scowl deepened.
Banks began to spend more and more time ashore, sleeping at first in his bell tent in the fort, then making forays further inland and collecting botanical specimens for Parkinson to draw. Aware that the flamboyant naturalist was proving popular with the local leaders, James was content to leave him to his own interests while he and Green concentrated on setting up their observatory. But when on the afternoon of 24 April James required Banks to return to the ship and join the officers at a dinner for Oberea and three local chiefs, he decided to venture inland to find him.
The track followed the river, then veered to the right and began to rise. Knowing that there were houses located throughout the forest, and having been told that Banks had been using one above the bay as his collecting base, James followed the track. Although the sun was sinking it was still intensely hot, and he was relieved that he had left his jacket and hat at the fort. He made his way along the fern-lined track, marvelling at the lushness of the foliage and swiping at the undergrowth with a stick as he went. A pair of gaudy parrots swooped from the branches of a breadfruit tree, and he paused to admire its elegantly patterned leaves. Parkinson had already depicted them beautifully in his drawings and watercolours.
&n
bsp; James entered the clearing where the open-sided hut stood, its roof thatched with palm fronds. Around the hut a ginger hen and her chickens were pecking in the undergrowth, and to one side a tethered pig was rooting in the dark brown earth. Steam from what the natives called an ‘umu kai’ was rising from plantain leaves covering an earth oven.
As he approached the hut James heard sounds of human exertion coming from its interior, some deep and guttural, some high-pitched. Then, a few yards from the hut, he stopped and stared at what lay within. A naked young woman was on her knees on the mat of woven pandanus which comprised the flooring of the hut. Her legs were spread wide, her glossy black hair was hanging loose and she was peering around with an expression of ecstasy on her shapely face, so engrossed in looking back that she was oblivious to the newcomer. Equally oblivious was the man kneeling between her open legs. Dressed in only a sweat-stained shirt, he was thrusting into her with deep, urgent strokes. James watched the coupling for some moments, wide-eyed. So this was what Banks called ‘botanizing’.
Then the girl noticed the visitor. Beginning to giggle, she brought one hand up to her mouth. As she did so Banks withdrew from her and spun around. Flushed and panting, long hair in disarray, he made no effort to cover his tumescent member. ‘Cook,’ he gasped. Then, placing his hands gently on the girl’s buttocks, he said breathlessly, ‘This is my taio. Her name is Tia-tia. Tia-tia, meet James Cook.’
‘Ia orana, Ames Tute,’ the girl said dreamily.
James nodded towards her and she giggled again. Then he said, with mock sternness, ‘Banks, I note that your business here is unfinished. Carry on, then return to the ship when it is completed. Your presence is required on board.’ He turned away, suppressing a smile.
‘Thank you, thank you,’ Banks gasped. Then he turned, lifted his shirt, shuffled forward on his knees and plunged ardently into her again.