Secret Life of James Cook

by Graeme Lay

  ‘How long ago?’

  ‘He thinks about one year ago.’

  Tupaia stepped forward. ‘Yes, one year, at Hitia’a.’ He pointed to the east. ‘The men—’ He made thrusting movements with his hips. ‘Much with the women there.’ Banks grinned lewdly. Parkinson looked away.

  James considered this. The other ship could have come from Spain or France. Spain had its colony on the west coast of South America, from which forays into the rest of the Pacific had been made by voyagers such as de Quirós and Mendana. Also, Wallis had mentioned that there was a rumour that the Frenchman, Bougainville, had planned an expedition to the South Pacific. And if it was the French, and if their men had introduced the venereals at Hitia’a, then that partly absolved the Endeavours. But the news of the coming of the disease still troubled him. It seemed that Europe was already sullying this lovely island with its guns and diseases. And now that the world was aware of Otaheite, it was a development that could only worsen.

  ‘Do you still intend to leave the island in two weeks, sir?’ asked Parkinson.

  ‘Yes. After the scraping of Endeavour’s hull is completed. Provisioning will begin tomorrow. But first I intend to circumnavigate and chart the island. The repairs to the pinnace are completed, so we will take that vessel. We leave tomorrow, before daybreak.’

  ‘Who will accompany you?’ said Parkinson, looking hopeful.

  ‘Mr Banks,’ said James firmly. ‘It’s high time he got back to work.’

  The others chuckled, Banks included.

  As they were rowed down the east coast by the pinnace’s eight oarsmen their eyes were fixed shoreward. The island’s beauty was overwhelming. The precipitous, forested mountains — their slopes broken by shadowy valleys — rose to a line of jagged peaks. From time to time cataracts tumbled down the mountainsides. Mists rose from the falling water, precipitating rainbows. Streams and rivers poured from the valleys and crossed the coastal plain, which was dense with coconut palms, plantains, breadfruit trees, hibiscus and pandanus. Smoke from wood fires rose lazily from the wooded plain. Everywhere there was greenness, but even from the water they could see flashes of white, red and orange — the blooms of the tropical foliage. Where they saw beaches, the sand was as black as coal. Within the reef the lagoons were a turquoise shade, the seabed cobbled with coral heads, among which multi-coloured fishes darted and flashed and pale manta rays sped away like guilty ghosts.

  James sat in the bow, sketching and noting as they went, while Banks stood in the stern and the oarsmen hauled. As they passed the district of Hitia’a, Banks pointed shoreward. ‘I have noticed, Cook, that wherever a river enters the lagoon, there is a break in the reef. See.’ James followed his pointing finger to where there was a satiny stillness between the line of breaking waves. ‘Could it be that fresh water is fatal to the coral organism?’ James looked up from his sketching and grunted. As usual, Banks could be right. It was certainly an interesting theory.

  They were rowed steadily along the coast. At times they went ashore and trekked along the plain, pausing to greet the local people who were cordial and generous with their offers of food and accommodation. But in the absence of Tupaia, communication beyond the basics was not possible.

  On the third day the coast drew inwards to a low isthmus whose name, Tupaia had told them, was Taravao. Further to the south-east the land rose steeply again, culminating in peaks James estimated were over three thousand feet high. This was the sister island which the priest had said was called Tahiti Iti. Here, too, they saw evidence of the recent war: the stone maraes which had been built on most promontories were decorated with human skulls or jawbones, all with traces of fresh flesh. When they came ashore on a plain at the mouth of a wide, crystal-clear river, the recently victorious chief of Tahiti Iti, Vehiatua, came out of a meeting house to greet them. To their surprise he was aged and frail. Welcoming them to his domain, he told them the place was called Tautira.

  The east coast of Tahiti Iti was exposed, and James ordered the pinnace’s sail raised so that they could harness the brisk south-east wind. The sea developed a steep chop, and James watched with amusement as Banks hung his head over the stern, arms extended, and vomited heavily. James noted that the conjoined island, although much smaller, was in other respects almost a mirror-image of the other, with towering peaks slashed by deep valleys.

  Doubling Tahiti Iti and turning south, they saw that the coast there had rugged cliffs and the reef was close in. The chop grew steeper, and it was a relief when the pinnace turned into the lee of the island. They were rowed through a pass and into the lagoon, which was broad there, and with the sun low in the sky reached the sheltered southern side of the isthmus. There, as arranged, in a wide, tranquil inlet, Tupaia and Taiata paddled out to meet them in an outrigger canoe. This place, they told the Englishmen, was called Papeari.

  That night the party ate well on wild pork, fish and plantains baked in an earth oven. Banks had brought a bottle of brandy which he shared with James and the oarsmen, and when the men curled up in a hut and fell asleep James, Banks and Tupaia sat around the dying fire. With the insects from the surrounding forest providing a screeching chorus they listened to the legends of Tupaia’s people and noted what he told them.

  Encased in his bark-cloth cloak, a crown of woven tiare flowers on his head, the priest told them of the origin of his world. In the beginning, he declared, there was only one god, the great Ta’aroa, who existed alone except for a rock called Te Papa. After Ta’aroa coupled with the rock a daughter was created from the union, Aone. Then Ta’aroa created the sea, the moon and the stars, and a number of demi-gods, including the most powerful, Maui. Finally, Aone and her lover, Te Tumu, created the first man. His name was Ti’i and he lived on an island far to the north called Hawaiiki. By his mother and his daughters Ti’i sired several manifestations of the goddess, Hina. She was the mother of the god of war, Oro, and had three sons. From these three men and the females, all people were descended. The fabled Hawaiiki remained his people’s spiritual homeland.

  As for the land, the responsibility for its creation lay with Maui, who was possessed of enormous strength. Before he was born the Earth was comprised of one huge piece of land, but when Maui picked it up and shook it, the land broke into many pieces. Thus the islands were created. It was Maui, too, who hauled the clouds, which before had hung over the mountaintops, into their proper place in the sky.

  His back against a palm trunk, James set his quill aside, then said to the priest, ‘They are fine legends, Tupaia, but how do you explain the presence of your people here in the middle of the ocean?’

  Keenly, and with elaborate gestures, Tupaia again launched into narrative. Waving towards the north-west, he said, ‘Out there, many, many islands. Small islands, big islands. My ancestors sailed from one to another, using stars and ocean currents for guidance. Sometimes they stopped, sometimes they continued, spreading to the east, island to island.’ He looked up at the stars, seeking a comparison, then said, ‘Like what you call stepping stones across a wide river.’ He grinned triumphantly. ‘All the way to Otaheite.’ Then he stood up, bade them goodnight, and strode over to the sleeping hut.

  James and Banks lay before the fire under their blankets. Before they dropped off to sleep, Banks said to James, ‘Do you believe his stories? About the man who copulated with a rock?’

  ‘Of course not. It’s absurd.’

  ‘Yes.’ Banks chuckled. ‘Almost as ridiculous as Adam and Eve.’

  James swiped at a buzzing mosquito. ‘But I feel there may be truth in the other story. The movement from the west, from island to island. It’s possible. Think of their great double-hulled canoes — they would be capable of crossing open ocean.’

  Banks looked doubtful. ‘But might they not have come the other way, from South America?’

  James frowned. ‘I think not. The distances are too great, and the winds unfavourable. I do believe his people came from the west, sailing from island to island. All the wa
y back to the Spice Islands, perhaps.’ He drew the blanket over his head as protection against the droning mosquitoes. ‘How else could they have got here?’

  The next morning, while the pinnace was rowed along Tahiti Nui’s west coast, Tupaia took the two Englishmen along a forest track to a promontory near the mouth of a river. This was the district of Papara, he said. With great pride he ushered them into a clearing on which stood the great temple he had designed for Oberea, the one he had named Mahaiatea. Standing under coconut palms at the edge of the clearing, James and Banks stared in astonishment. The edifice was enormous, consisting of a pyramid made from blocks of coral rock. It had eleven steps, each about four feet high.

  ‘It is called an “ahu”,’ Tupaia told them. Surrounding the pyramid was a paved area edged with a stone wall. When Banks measured the wall with his tape he found that it was 360 feet by 354 feet — almost square.

  Shaking his head in wonder, he said to James, ‘They built all this without steel hammers and chisels.’

  Catching his meaning, Tupaia nodded, his pride obvious. ‘Here the gods were worshipped, and sacrifices made to them.’ Then, abruptly, his mood changed. This was also the site, he said gravely, of the great battle of a few months earlier between the warriors of Oberea and Vehiatua. After Vehiatua’s victory the marae had been desecrated, its god images destroyed and the surrounding houses pillaged and burnt. Tupaia’s mood brightened, however, as he told them how he had later reconsecrated the marae, accompanied by many ceremonies, including human sacrifices. Now, he concluded, the mana of the great marae had been restored and the ahu was again a place of great sacredness.

  James and Banks walked out onto the nearby black sand beach alongside the river mouth. Tupaia sat some distance away, a drawing pad on his knee, sketching the ahu with a pencil. The inland mountains were shadowy in the morning sun and the lagoon had a satiny sheen. The pinnace was standing off, beyond the reef, and James drew his pistol and fired it, signalling the oarsmen to bring the boat in.

  He walked down to the edge of the lagoon, then stopped and stared at the sand. Banks did likewise. Bones, hundreds upon hundreds of bones. Ribs, scapulas, vertebrae, jawbones, arm bones, hipbones, shinbones, skulls, half-buried, strewn across the sand as randomly as driftwood. James picked up a skull and examined it. It was the size of an orange. Although bleached, it still contained teeth. Tiny milk teeth. And in one side was a jagged hole. He held it out to Banks. ‘A child,’ he said, his voice just a murmur.

  Banks grimaced. ‘This place must have been a slaughterhouse,’ he said, averting his eyes. James looked back and up across the forest to the steep, shadowy mountains. The contrast between the natural beauty of the island and the monstrous sight at his feet had rendered him speechless.

  Endeavour’s bilges were pumped out and the ship scrubbed inside and out. Laboriously the water casks were filled from the river, rolled down to the beach and taken out to the ship in the launch. The scraping and varnishing of Endeavour’s hull was complete; the caulking of the decks would be finished in a few days. The sails were brought up and hung from the yards to dry; firewood, coconuts, pork and duck meat were taken aboard and stowed. As James stood on the shore and watched Endeavour being readied it was as if the little lady bulldog, as he now thought of her, was being groomed for display. After several consultations with his clerk Dick Orton, he announced that their departure date would now be the thirteenth of July.

  Three days before the departure, James made a lengthy entry in his journal. It documented the desertion and recapture of two of the marines, Clement Webb and Samuel Gibson who had fled inland with their Otaheitian lovers. Tupaia had instigated negotiations with the local leaders which had culminated in the marines’ recapture. As James recorded these events there was a sharp knock on the door of the Great Cabin and Banks entered, a roll of paper in his right hand.

  He was hatless, his hair was tied in a tail, his shirt wide open and hanging loose with the sleeves rolled up, revealing the star tattoo which had been etched into the skin of his left breast by a tattooist friend of his lover Tia-tia. The intricate pattern of the tattoo showed up strikingly against his deeply tanned skin. Seeing the tattoo, James recalled a recent conversation he had had with Banks about the imprint on his breast. ‘I wonder, Banks, what Miss Blosset will make of this ornamentation.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Mistress Blosset. Your betrothed.’

  Banks snorted. ‘It matters not a jot. Our betrothal is cancelled.’ He sighed theatrically. ‘There are far too many wonderful women in the world to settle for just one.’

  Now taking a seat under the stern window, still clutching the rolled paper, Banks said in a businesslike tone, ‘I have a proposition for you.’

  Irritated by the interruption — had Banks forgotten their understanding that he had the Great Cabin to himself in the afternoons? — James snapped, ‘Can it not wait?’

  ‘No. It is a matter of great importance. And urgency.’

  James set down his quill. ‘Very well. But please be brief.’

  ‘I will.’ Quickly he said, ‘I wish to have Tupaia and his boy join the ship’s company.’

  It took several moments for this to sink in. Then James said, ‘To be taken to his home island?’

  ‘That first. Then with us to England. Or what he calls Peretane.’

  James sat bolt upright. ‘To England? Banks, have you lost your senses?’

  ‘No. My proposal is entirely serious. I wish to take the pair of them to England.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘It is my belief that Tupaia will be of inestimable value to the expedition, as indeed he has been already.’

  ‘On land perhaps. But not at sea.’

  Banks unrolled the sheet of paper. ‘I disagree. Look at this.’

  It was a chart, hand-drawn, showing dozens of islands of varying size arranged in concentric circles. Each island had a name written across it. James studied the chart for some moments. ‘Did the priest draw this?’

  ‘He did. Using Parkinson’s materials.’

  ‘But this cannot be accurate. He has no instruments. No sextant, no compass.’

  ‘The chart is drawn from personal voyaging and from the accounts of other star navigators he has talked to. He has recounted to me a list of scores of islands his people know. He himself has visited many, and he knows the way to all of them from Otaheite.’

  Without taking his eyes from the chart, James said, ‘This is probably an invention. Like the stories of his ancestors.’

  Banks’s face was set, his gaze unwavering. ‘The ancestral stories perhaps, the chart not so.’ He came closer. ‘His value, I believe, will be in aiding our intercourse with other natives we encounter in the next stage of our voyage.’ He gave a knowing little laugh. ‘It takes an Indian to know an Indian, as you might say. You know how useful Tupaia was in negotiating the return of Webb and Gibson.’

  James nodded slightly.

  ‘And when he returns with us to England, we can exhibit him and the boy as living specimens of Otaheitian manhood.’ Banks’s eyes shone. ‘They will be of enormous interest to the Royal Society.’

  James considered this for some moments. As always, practical considerations nagged at him. ‘And who will provide their keep and lodging in England? The Naval Board?’

  Ignoring James’s ironic tone, Banks shot back, ‘I will. I have both the means and the inclination to do so.’ He paused. ‘Tupaia will be my most valuable specimen.’

  James walked to the cabin window which he had opened to admit the sea breeze. Placing his hands behind his back, he looked out over the lagoon and said, ‘And where on the ship would he be accommodated?’

  ‘Buchan’s berth is yet unfilled. He can have that.’

  James spun about. ‘An Indian? In the gentlemen’s quarters? Those on the lower deck will not take kindly to such an arrangement.’

  ‘At first, perhaps not. But when they realize his value to us, I believe they will come to appreciate hi
m. He will be our navigator and envoy in these islands.’ He waved his right hand. ‘As for the boy, he can sleep with the other servants.’

  James plucked his handkerchief from his sleeve and ran it over his face. Banks’s suggestion had profound implications. Tucking the handkerchief into his sleeve, he said, ‘I am unconvinced of the value of this proposition, Banks.’ He added, with deliberate slowness, ‘Have you put it to the man himself?’

  ‘I have. And he displayed great enthusiasm for the proposal. He wishes to show us other islands to the north of here. And he feels that since the war his prospects on Otaheite are greatly reduced. He is an exile here, remember.’ Banks placed his opened hands on the table hard and, leaning forward, said firmly, ‘Be assured, Cook, I will take complete responsibility for both Otaheitians.’

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘What does that mean exactly?’

  ‘It means, Banks, that Tupaia and the boy may come with us, but the responsibility for them, now and later, will be entirely yours.’ His eyes bored into Banks’s. ‘Is that understood?’

  The naturalist nodded. ‘It is. And I will let Tupaia know immediately.’ He started for the cabin door, then said thoughtfully, ‘He may even be able to direct us to the Great Southern Continent.’ He waved his hand at the sheet of paper laid out on the table. ‘The chart is yours. He wishes you to have it.’

  After bidding tearful farewells to James and the others, the Otaheitian notables — Oberea, Amo, Nunahau and Tutaha — climbed reluctantly down from the ship and into their canoes. Eight men were ordered to the capstan and shoved at its bars until the anchor was a-peak. Some sail was made, the ship eased and the anchor came up, dripping black sand. More canvas was dropped, catching the light breeeze, and Endeavour moved out towards the pass with Evans and Reading at the wheel. There was a light wind from the east and the morning mist was dissolving under the rising sun, revealing a radiant blue sky and a glittering sea. Away to the west Eimayo Island seemed to still be slumbering.