Secret Life of James Cook

by Graeme Lay

  As the remainder of her sails were raised the flotilla of canoes which had put out from Point Venus surrounded the departing ship. Those of the Endeavours who had not gone aloft were lined along the starboard rail, most glum-faced, waving to their favourites in the canoes. The remaining marines were in formation on the foredeck, muskets at the slope, the drummer Thomas Rossiter beating a tattoo. Tupaia’s boy, Taiata, had already teamed up with twelve-year-old Nicholas Young, and the lads were climbing happily out onto the bowsprit rigging. Only the would-be deserters, Webb and Gibson, were confined below, awaiting their flogging.

  Standing on the quarter deck in his full dress uniform, heavily garlanded with tiare flowers which a tearful Oberea had placed around his neck, James waved to those of the canoes’ occupants he recognized, in particular the queen herself, her husband, Amo, and her son, Te Ri’i Rere. Another friend, the chief Potatau, was calling out, ‘Parahi, parahi!’ Farewell, farewell! Surgeon Monkhouse’s lover, a woman as plain as himself, was in another canoe with what looked like her brother, while alone in a small outrigger, Banks’s lover Tia-tia was tearing at her forehead with a shard of pearl shell and weeping piteously.

  Hearing shouts from above, James looked up. Banks and Tupaia were aloft in the main topgallant crosstrees. Both men were shirtless and barefoot, and Banks had evidently given Tupaia a pair of his breeches as he was wearing seaman’s trousers. The pair were deeply tanned, their skin so dark that as James stared up at the two men he found it difficult to tell which was the Englishman and which was the native.

  Twenty

  27 JULY 1769

  My dearest Beth,

  While our three-month stay on Otaheite can in most part be considered a success, it was not entirely so. Towards the end of our stay there was an outbreak of theft and consequent hostage-taking which threatened the peace we had been so much at pains to establish. The natives’ propensity for thievery is almost beyond belief, and is the cause of most of the troubles between us and them. Then two of the ship’s marines deserted to the island’s interior with their Indian women, occasioning the taking of more hostages by us, which caused further resentment. The pair were eventually apprehended and, after we put to sea, given two dozen lashes each. After these last weeks spent partly ashore, many of the men have become ill-disciplined and resentful of authority. That is over now. Any further breaches of discipline will be severely punished. Enforcements will be simpler now that we are at sea again.

  The Otaheitian way of life, though superficially carefree, is on closer consideration not so. Those of our men who are so besotted with the island should pause, I believe, to consider its darker side as it has been revealed to me. Tribal warfare, accompanied by much killing of innocents, the barbaric custom of human sacrifice and the people’s incurable thievery and promiscuity are all alien to our English way of life. Be assured, Beth, I have no desire to romanticize the Otaheitians or envy the way they live, however, some members of my crew have been tempted to do so. My heart remains forever with you and our children in our beloved England.

  Despite the aforementioned troubles, upon our departure most of the natives seemed unhappy that we were leaving and there were many lamentations as the ship drew away from shore. They utter a heartfelt cry at such a time, calling ‘Ow-ay! Ow-ay!’ Many of the crew, and certain of the gentlemen, had developed relationships with the local women, and so they, too, were loath to depart the island.

  My circumnavigation of Otaheite and the island connected to it I consider an unqualified success. Their coasts have been charted and soundings taken along their shores. The resulting charts, when published, will, I believe, prove of great worth to those who follow us.

  Most regrettably, the venereals have become widespread, and Surgeon Monkhouse considers that half the men are now infected. This I consider a major failure. Although I am certain that the Spanish or the French first introduced the disease, our role in disseminating it cannot be gainsaid.

  The sad loss of our landscape draughtsman, Alex Buchan, has been compensated for by the work of young Sydney Parkinson. As well as his botanical paintings and drawings, which are exquisite, he has produced some superb landscape portraits of the island. I cannot speak too highly of this young man, and his work will surely be acclaimed upon his return to England.

  After leaving Otaheite we sailed north under the direction of an Otaheitian man who Banks persuaded me to take with us. His name is Tupaia, he is about my age and height, and is deeply knowledgeable about his people’s gods and religious rituals. Banks has taught him some English and he has taught Banks some of his language, so they now converse with each other with ease. Most useful, though, Tupaia has navigational knowledge of these islands, having sailed to many of them in the course of conducting religious rites.

  The first island we passed was low with a central lagoon, and its islets were entirely clothed in coconut palms. As Tupaia reported that it was uninhabited we did not call there. Instead he guided us north-west to a higher island named Huahine. (When I asked the priest what this name translated to, he laughed. Then, by gestures, he explained something so coarse that it would offend your delicate sensibilities to read of it so I will refrain from repeating it.)

  In spite of its vulgar title, Huahine proved to be a surpassingly pretty island with forested mountains and fertile plains on which grew a profusion of fruits and vegetables, including sweet potatoes, yams and bananas, which we made great store of. A pass through the reef admitted Endeavour to the harbour alongside a village called Fare. Tupaia here proved his worth by conversing freely with the local chief, a very tall man called Ori, and thereafter we were made welcome at his long-house near the sheltered shore. Gifts were exchanged and our visit to this island was entirely amicable. Whilst in Fare harbour I was keenly aware of another island on the horizon, which I estimated to be only a day’s sail away. Its profile was high but irregular, and its peaks were swathed in cloud. Tupaia, too, became excited at this prospect, for it was his home island, Raiatea, and he was naturally eager that we spend time there. It was the most sacred island, he said.

  Tupaia and James stood on the quarter deck watching the island loom from the purple sea. It was wide, high and serrated, and as they came closer the priest became animated. He pointed to its three highest peaks, identifying them: ‘Oropiro, Toomaru, Tapioi.’ Spyglass to his eye, James focused on the three summits. Away to the east, a separate, smaller lump of land rose. ‘What island is that?’ he asked.

  ‘Tahaa.’ His attention returned to Raiatea. He pointed towards the island’s southern extremity and said, ‘Faaroa, where pahi are made.’

  ‘Pahi?’

  ‘Canoes which sail the ocean.’ He pointed again. ‘Opoa, where canoes leave from.’ He lowered his voice respectfully. ‘And there, marae Taputapuatea.’

  James frowned. ‘Tapu —, Tapu—’

  ‘Tapu-tapu-atea. Most sacred marae.’ James saw through the telescope a level promontory, covered in coconut palms. Tupaia’s finger then swung to the right, to the eastern end of Raiatea. ‘Tupaia born there. Hamanino.’

  ‘Where is the pass to the lagoon?’

  He pointed westward. ‘Pass there. Te Ava Moa.’

  ‘Is it wide and deep enough for Endeavour?’

  ‘Oh yes. Plenty wide.’

  James called down to where Anderson and Gray were at the helm. ‘The pass is four points westward, but dispatch a man to the chains for soundings to make certain.’

  With Endeavour approaching the pass, Tupaia explained that beyond Raiatea was another island, a day’s sail away, called Bora Bora. Some years ago warriors from there had invaded his island. The men of Bora Bora were rogues and criminals of the worst kind, he said, led by a chief called Puni, who was now living on Tahaa. It was the Boraboran invasion that had caused Tupaia to leave Raiatea and sail to Otaheite eight years earlier.

  With Raiatea drawing closer and its peaks and valleys becoming clearer Tupaia gripped James’s arm and said urgently, ‘Tute, you get
ship’s big guns ready. To kill all men from Bora Bora!’

  James was dismayed. Was this the real reason why Tupaia had wanted to come along? The last thing he wanted was for the expedition to become involved in a local civil war. He shook his head, adamant. ‘No. We wish to see and chart your island, and trade. That is all. There will be no fighting, and no killing.’

  The priest’s expression darkened. ‘You do not wish to help Tupaia’s people?’

  ‘We do wish to help. But peaceably. We will trade, but not fight.’ He brought his face closer to Tupaia’s. ‘There will be no fighting by us. Do you understand?’

  Tupaia turned and walked away, muttering something which may have been an imprecation.

  They negotiated the pass and anchored within the lagoon, a quarter of a mile from the shoreline. A pair of canoes put out from the land and came alongside. The paddlers were both mature women, bare-breasted and wearing ceremonial headdresses embellished with red feathers. In each canoe there was a dead pig in a basket of woven pandanus leaves. Tupaia greeted the women joyfully and welcomed them and the pigs aboard. Although the pair looked around at the staring crew and the ship nervously, they relaxed a little when Tupaia presented them with some beads. The taller of the two women spoke at length to him, pointing inland as she did so.

  James came down from the quarter deck from where he had been observing the arrival of the women. ‘What does she say?’ he asked.

  ‘The Boraborans are close. At Uturoa.’ Tupaia’s tone was bitter.

  James considered the implications of this. It was important to see the great marae which he had heard about, and have Parkinson portray it, but they were not going to become embroiled in an inter-island feud. Shoulders braced, he announced, ‘We will protect you and your people, Tupaia. You, Banks and I will go ashore in the pinnace first.’ He called down to Edgcumbe. ‘Call out the marines and have them stand by, sergeant.’

  Taputapuatea was a vast complex of coral rock platforms, thatched god-houses and carved wooden boards, placed upright. Some of the coral slabs were upright, too. These were the backs of seats, Tupaia explained, where royalty sat. The entire area, about a mile square, was overlooked by towering palms whose fronds littered the ground. Sacrificed pigs, black with blowflies, slumped atop several of the platforms.

  Tupaia led James and Banks to a platform of stones and boards at the shoreline — a kind of marae within a marae — which he told them was the place where sacrifices were made before voyagers set sail. Adorned in his cloak and headdress, Tupaia recited prayers at the shoreline temple, then led them to the main marae, stopping every few moments to produce lengthy incantations but glancing inland with obvious apprehension all the while. A light rain was falling, and the place seemed gloomy and full of foreboding. ‘What’s wrong?’ James whispered in Banks’s ear.

  Banks murmured, ‘He fears that the Boraborans are watching us, and that they will attack and kill him.’

  At last the prayers were over, concluded by Tupaia taking a chunk of volcanic rock from under his cloak and placing it reverentially on one of the stone platforms. He had brought it from the Mahaiatea ahu as a tribute, he explained to them. Obviously bored by all this ritual, Banks wandered over to the nearest god-house. He peered inside it. Then he bent down, pushed his hands into the little hut and brought out a long bundle, wrapped in woven pandanus. Holding it upright with his left hand, he began to tug with his right hand at the strings that held the wrapping in place.

  With a cry, Tupaia ran forward, waving his hands frantically. ‘Aita! No! To’o is tapu!’

  Ignoring his cries, Banks kept tugging at the bundle’s ties, but they were too tight. With a dismissive grunt he shoved the god image — the to’o — back into its shelter and walked away.

  With cries of ‘Ow-ay!’, Tupaia wrung his hands in despair. The damage had been done, the god-house’s sanctity had been violated. He stood before it, his hands over his face, reciting more prayers. James, too, was furious with Banks. Had he not been instructed to respect local customs? Did he not appreciate the singular nature of this place? Tupaia had explained that Taputapuatea was the most sacred marae in all the islands, and the spiritual font of his people. Here royalty was crowned and vital ceremonies were carried out. The place had to be respected by everyone, natives or Europeans. Back on Otaheite, Monkhouse had been attacked by a man after he merely picked a frangipani flower from a tree which grew on a burial ground. That act had been widely discussed, constituting a violation of what the Indians called ‘tapu’, and thus was something now well known to the Endeavours.

  What Banks had just done — rifling one of the most sacred marae’s god-houses — was much worse. If an Indian had strolled into York Minster and snatched a chalice from its altar, Banks would be outraged. So why had he acted so thoughtlessly in a place so sacred to his friend? He cursed to himself. Sometimes Banks’s crassness knew no bounds.

  He put a comforting hand on the priest’s shoulder. ‘Tupaia, I am sorry,’ he said. ‘I will ensure that this will not happen again.’

  Still glowering, the priest turned and pointed towards the seaward fringe of the marae where three other men in ceremonial robes stood under the palms, clubs in their hands, watching them silently. ‘Tute,’ he said quietly, ‘if I was not here with you, you and all your men would be attacked and killed for what he did.’ He pointed at another nearby god-house in the form of a small upright canoe. Dangling from it were several human jawbones, gobbets of flesh attached to them. Tupaia was tearful as he muttered, ‘Much killing here, Tute, much killing.’

  By suppertime that evening Tupaia had recovered. He told them more about his island. The inlet of Faaroa was the place where the pahi were launched. The inlet was deep and sheltered, and at its headwaters rainforest trees were felled and shaped. They were then rolled into the sound and floated down to Opoa for the addition of their prow and stern posts, cabins, thwarts and rigging. After priestly blessings, from there the pahi sailed, under the command of star-navigators like himself, to distant islands of the Pacific.

  ‘So,’ mused Banks, ‘Opoa is the Plymouth of these islands.’

  ‘And Faaroa the Deptford,’ added James. To Tupaia he said, ‘Could I see the place where the canoes are made?’

  Tupaia nodded. ‘Yes. I will take you there.’ He went to the open cabin window and looked towards the mountains which were bathed in a buttery light from an almost-full moon. Turning back to the others, he said, ‘And Banks, you will wish to collect plants from Raiatea.’

  ‘Certainly. Are the plants here different from Otaheite’s?’

  ‘Yes.’ He pointed upwards. ‘And there, on the top of the mountain Temehani, where god Oro was born, a special flower grows.’

  Solander and Banks were instantly alert. ‘Why special?’ asked Solander.

  ‘It grows nowhere else. On no other island.’ He held up one hand with the fingers splayed. ‘The flower has five petals, one for each finger of a beautiful girl called Apetahi. She fled to the mountaintop in sorrow when she learned that her husband had taken another lover. Wanting to kill herself, she dug a hole on the mountaintop, cut off her hand and buried it there. She then died from the bleeding.’ Tupaia held up both his own hands dramatically. ‘Later, when her friends found her body, they saw that a strange plant, with a flower having five petals, was growing where Apetahi’s hand had been buried.’ He looked down. ‘Very sad story.’

  Banks looked sceptical. ‘Are you sure the flower grows nowhere else?’

  ‘Yes. My people have tried to grow it on the other mountains. It will not grow anywhere else.’

  ‘A unique soil type perhaps,’ mused Solander.

  ‘We must get a specimen,’ said Banks crisply.

  Tupaia said, ‘But you must climb the mountain. It is very high.’

  Banks looked at him defiantly. ‘We’ll do it. At first light tomorrow.’

  With James and Tupaia seated in the stern, the pinnace was rowed deep into Faaroa sound. Anticipating the ex
treme heat, James had left his jacket on the ship but he still wore his cocked hat. The sound was sheltered by the sheer slopes of the mountain Toomaru, and the water was glassy, the shores overlooked by rank upon rank of coconut palms, their crowns inclined gracefully towards the water. High above the sound, groups of fairy terns were performing an elegant minuet.

  The inlet narrowed, then at its head they came to the place where a river entered the sound. Tupaia directed the oarsmen to draw up to its bank where two outrigger canoes were tied to a mangrove root.

  Above the bank a clearing had been made in the forest. It was surrounded by huge trees, their boughs draped with luxuriant epiphytes, their buttress roots like giant scapulas. It had rained heavily in the night, and the foliage was dank and dripping. Unseen insects screeched from the trees and vines as James and Tupaia walked up into the clearing.

  In the centre were two logs side-by-side, several feet in diameter, lying across a row of palm tree trunks. Six muscular young men wearing bark loin cloths were chipping away at the logs with basalt adzes, which were lashed to their carved handles with coconut fibre. The men’s hair was long and glossy, their upper arms heavily tattooed. Wood chips littered the ground surrounding the twin trunks.

  James and Tupaia approached the men who looked at them in a curious but not unfriendly way. Clearly, the presence of the Endeavour was by now common knowledge on the island. Tupaia spoke formally to the men, gesturing at James, who caught the words ‘Ari’i rahi’. Then the priest explained the first stage of the canoe-building process, waving his hand at the surrounding forest. ‘Tamanu trees. Very strong. From them, pahi are made.’ He placed a hand on one of the trunks. ‘What is your name for the main part of your canoe?’

  ‘The hull.’

  ‘Yes. Hull.’ He smiled mischievously. ‘Your canoe has only one hull. Raiatea canoe has two.’

  James examined the work, astonished at what was being accomplished with just stone tools. The giant trunks were twenty yards long. They were already shaped into a prow at one end, and the workers were now concentrating on hollowing out their centres. Having been forewarned by Tupaia of what to expect here, James took from his pack two axes. But before he presented them to the workers he went up to one of the logs and, holding one of the axes in both hands, plunged it deep into the hollow. The craftsmen gasped, then nodded eagerly as he handed the axes over. They passed the tools from hand to hand, testing their edges, and grinning when they felt their sharpness and hardness. Tupaia held up his hand and recited a blessing, then they farewelled the workers and returned to the pinnace.