by Graeme Lay
‘What does he ask?’ said James.
‘He wants to know how we are going to kill them,’ replied Tupaia. ‘With clubs or with the exploding sticks?’
‘Tell them we are their friends.’ He turned to a crewman. ‘Bring some biscuits and meat up from below.’
As Tupaia offered the boys the biscuits and pieces of salt pork, the rest of the crew looked on curiously. One of the midshipmen, Isaac Manley, came forward and handed the oldest boy a red jacket. The boy stared at it in wonderment. Then, as Isaac showed him how to put it on, his face broke into a grin. The three boys began to nibble the pork and biscuits. Then they became more animated, chatting away to Tupaia as if nothing untoward had happened. Tupaia translated, pointing first to the tallest lad. ‘This one called Te Haurangi. This one Ikirangi, this one Marukauiti.’
‘Can they remain on board?’ Banks asked James, his expression wretched. Aware that the naturalist had never shot and killed a man before, James felt sympathetic. He remembered the first time he had killed while serving against the French on Eagle in 1757. Although he had been fighting for his life, he had never forgotten running a Frenchman through the gut with his small sword. The memory had haunted him.
He said, ‘For the time being, yes. They may be able to assist us when we next go ashore.’ To Tupaia he said, ‘What else do they tell you?’
‘That the people north of here kill and eat people.’
The boys kept close to James, Banks and Tupaia after they disembarked on the riverbank. Te Haurangi was still wearing Manley’s red jacket. ‘This part of the land belongs to their enemies,’ Tupaia explained to James. ‘Their tribe usually lives further south, across the river.’
The two bodies still lay where they had fallen. ‘They are chiefs, so they are tapu,’ Tupaia said. He pointed across the river. ‘Look!’
It was another war party, led by an older, portly man. Instead of performing a war dance, the leader called at length across the river to Tupaia, who translated for the others. ‘They wish to know why the fishermen were killed.’
Suddenly Te Haurangi came forward and called across the river. Tupaia translated for James. ‘He says they have been well treated by the goblins, and given strange foods.’ The lad then took off the red jacket and placed it reverently over the bunched body of Te Rakau. At this, the mood of the warriors visibly changed. They looked subdued and thoughtful, murmuring among themselves. Then a stooped, elderly man wearing a feather cloak came across the river, bearing a leafed branch. ‘A sign of peace,’ Tupaia said to James. ‘Same as in my islands.’ Emerging from the river, the old man came forward and embraced the youngest boy, Marukauiti, who smiled warmly and clutched him. ‘Father and son,’ Tupaia announced.
The pair moved over to the body and the old man closed his eyes and began to chant, waving the leafy branch over the dead warrior. James and Banks stood back respectfully, sensing that a kind of reconciliation was occurring. Tupaia said, ‘He is what they call a tohunga, a priest. Like me. And he is praying to their gods to remove the tapu. Until it is lifted the body cannot be buried.’
The ceremony over, the old man called across the river to the others. Solemnly they crossed the river and clustered around the corpse. Then two warriors picked up the body of their dead relative and carried it back to the other bank. ‘Where will he be buried?’ asked Banks.
‘In the sand,’ Tupaia replied. ‘Above the beach.’
James felt a surge of relief. The killings had been a matter of great regret but were unavoidable as he would make clear in his report to the Admiralty. And the decision to bring Tupaia along had, he had to admit, been propitious. As an intermediary he was proving most useful. He said to the others, ‘There is nothing to detain us here. We will return to the ship.’ Feeling a tugging at his jacket, he looked down. It was the boy, Ikirangi. Neither he nor the other two had crossed the river. He said something to James in his language. James looked quizzically at Tupaia who grinned.
‘The boys wish to come with us on the giant canoe.’
‘They may do so,’ said James, ‘but only to say goodbye. They cannot sail with us.’
They dined below decks, again on salt pork and biscuit with some baked silver-green fish the crew had seined from the bay. The boys sang harmonious songs for the men, and danced languidly and happily with Tupaia, swaying and moving their hands gracefully. From time to time they stopped and laughed uproariously. James watched, gratified that a rapprochement had been achieved. Then he ordered the trio taken ashore. When they were put into the yawl they began to weep. Uttering cries of ‘Ow-ay! Ow-ay! Haere ra, haere ra!’ they were rowed ashore.
At dawn the next morning, James ordered the anchors weighed and a southward course set. Men hastened aloft, the sails were unfurled and filled with a south-westerly breeze. As Endeavour began to move out of the bay they saw the three boys standing on the shore. They first lowered their bodies, then together threw their arms up and outward, three times. Standing on the afterdeck, James doffed his hat towards them.
Later that day, in the Great Cabin, he wrote:
11 OCTOBER 1769
I first considered naming this place Endeavour Bay, but instead I have named it Poverty Bay as it afforded us no one thing we wanted.
Their first contact with the New Zealanders had been largely a failure. And James detested failure.
13 OCTOBER 1769
Dearest Beth,
At last I have the Great Cabin to myself again, and so am able to once more communicate with you. I am in blissful solitude this morning as Banks and Solander are trawling for marine specimens in the yawl and Parkinson is busy sketching coastal features from the afterdeck. Their absence thus affords me the time and space to write.
Little James is six years of age today! How often he has been in my thoughts these past hours. His schooling is progressing, I am sure, as from his earliest years he showed an aptitude for reading, writing and drawing. Since I have marked him (and Nathaniel) for a naval career, it will not be many more years until he goes to sea himself, and he will do so with my blessing. What stories I will have to tell them upon my return!
As we make our way south, along the coast of this new land, it is my privilege to name the geographical features which appear before us. I am aware that I must be judicious in this matter, balancing the gratitude I feel towards those still in England who have supported me in the past, and those on board whose assistance I value in the present. It is also my duty as an Englishman to commemorate certain features of my home country which resemble those which we encounter. Also I feel the need to mark signal events which occur during the voyage. Accordingly, I have named a promontory in this country Young Nick’s Head after the boy who first saw the new land from Endeavour’s masthead. I have called a small island here Portland after Wessex’s Portland Bill, a large sheltered bay Hawke Bay after Sir Edward Hawke, our heroic First Lord of the Admiralty, a cape ‘Kidnappers’ to mark the abduction by local savages of the Otaheitian’s boy (who was, to the great relief of us all, but foremostly Taiata himself, later rescued).
The responsibility for this naming weighs heavily upon me. I am deeply aware that such nomenclature will not only be enduring, but will be like fiery lightships for those seamen who follow in our wake, and who employ the very charts which it is my constant occupation to construct during this voyage.
James held his quill above the page for a moment, wondering how much he should write of the killings that had lately occurred. Then, deciding that they would best be confined to his official log, he was about to resume writing when the door of the cabin burst open.
‘Cook! Look at this!’ Banks was barefoot and bedraggled, his trousers saturated. With a red scarf wrapped around his head, he looked more like a pirate than a naturalist. In his hand he held the body of a large, goose-like bird. Its plumage was white, with a yellow neck, and its breast was mashed and bloody. He raised it triumphantly, its legs and yellow feet dangling. ‘Solander and I were watching them diving for
fish, plummeting from a great height, and when this one surfaced I shot it. It is a local species of gannet, I believe, related to the Atlantic genus.’ He pulled out one of its wings. ‘It has a span of over six feet.’
Getting to his feet swiftly and with quill still in hand, James attempted to cover Elizabeth’s journal with the other. Noticing his furtive reaction, Banks said, ‘What is that you are writing?’
‘My log, naturally.’
Banks gave a half-smile. ‘Is that so? From what I glimpsed, the entry seemed more protracted than your usual ones.’
James breathed in deeply through his nose, then said coolly, ‘There is much to record. The kidnapping, the encounters with the natives. As well as the usual observations.’
‘Yes, yes.’ But the naturalist’s expression remained sceptical.
Scowling, James added, ‘Moreover, it is my understanding that the Great Cabin is to be mine at this time of day. Did we not agree on that arrangement?’
‘But I wish to dissect this creature,’ Banks protested. ‘Solander is coming with the scalpels.’ He brandished his trophy again, and blood from its shattered breast dripped onto the table.
James paused, aggrieved at both the disturbance to his writing and the discovery of his alternative journal. He said coldly, ‘Very well, carry out your dissection. But not on this table when I am writing. I suggest the foredeck.’
Banks glowered. At the door he paused and said over his shoulder, ‘After the dissection I will take the body to the galley and give it to Thompson. We’ll dine on the bird tomorrow.’
Still resentful of the thoughtless interruption, James carefully wiped the gouts of blood from the table with a cloth, then dipped his quill in the ink pot and resumed his writing.
We have made numerous attempts at intercourse with the natives here, our need for fresh water and other provisions now being pressing, but have found no suitable landing place. There is also mutual suspicion when the natives appear in their canoes. Several times it has been necessary to fire warning salvos to curb their natural tendencies to theft and violence. Gifts have been exchanged, however, and the New Zealanders continue to show great curiosity towards Tupaia, our native, who regales them with his personal history and the beliefs of his people. These are so broadly similar to those of the New Zealanders that it is clear from whence they originally came — his island of Raiatea, which they also refer to as Hawaiiki. They call themselves ‘Maori’; Tupaia calls his people ‘Maohi’, generations of time likely having modified the word but slightly.
It is my earnest hope that we will soon be able to establish amicable relations with these people. Unless we do there will be little hope of charting the country in the thorough manner with which I hope to. We will sail south to forty degrees latitude, then will put about and go northward, following the east coast of this land in search of a suitable provisioning place and natives who are not inimical to our intentions.
I will conclude now. I trust the autumn is proving its usual benign self in England and that the oaks and elms on the common are displaying their golden beauty. Autumn was always my favourite season. Mostly, though, I hope that you and the children — especially little James on this auspicious day — are well and contented. Be assured, Beth, that my fondest thoughts are with you all, wherever I may be.
Your loving husband,
James
19 OCTOBER 1769
Latitude observed, 38° 44' South
The first part had gentle breezes at east and ENE. In the night fresh gales between the south and SW, dark cloudy weather, with lightning and rain. At half past 5 pm tacked, and stood to the SE. Soon after a canoe came off from the shore wherein were five people. They came on board without showing the least sign of fear and insisted upon staying with us the whole night for indeed there was no getting them away without turning them out of the ship by force and that I did not care to do. But to prevent them playing us any tricks I hoisted their canoe up alongside. Two appeared to be chiefs and the other three their servants. One of the chiefs seemed to be of a free, open and gentle disposition. They both took great notice of everything they saw and were very thankful for what was given them. The two chiefs would neither drink nor eat with us, but the other three ate whatever was offered them.
After talking at length to the chiefs who had come aboard Tupaia reported that the news of the great canoe had already spread. Everywhere along the coast, he told them, the natives were talking about the strange newcomers and their giant canoe, exploding sticks and peculiar garments.
‘It seems that we are already famous in this land,’ Banks remarked delightedly to James after hearing Tupaia’s report. James made no reply. Fame was a frivolity which could be left to others; he had more important matters to attend to. Buoyed by the cordiality of these chiefs and the sighting that afternoon of two sheltered bays, he ordered the anchor dropped in the more northern of the two and declared that parties would go ashore the next day. They discussed a proposed programme over supper in the Great Cabin. James decided that he and Green would take observations from a suitable high point while Banks and Solander botanized and Parkinson drew. Gore and the marines would collect much-needed firewood and fresh water.
There was now an atmosphere of keen anticipation in the cabin, a feeling that after the tragedies of Poverty Bay this place offered a new and more positive beginning. From the ship they had espied streams and sheltered beaches backed by lowlands. Forested hills rose to the north and south of both bays.
‘Very suitable for taking observations, Green,’ James remarked to the astronomer.
‘Indeed,’ he replied.
‘There look to be some wonderful promontories, too,’ added Parkinson, ‘which I must draw.’
Tupaia’s eyes were bright. ‘I, too, wish to make some paintings. Can I use your brushes, taio?’
Parkinson nodded. ‘Most certainly.’
Banks, swirling the brandy in his glass, said, ‘I wonder if their women will be as luscious as those of Otaheite.’
James gave him his sternest look. ‘Exercise discretion in that regard, Banks. We do not wish to introduce the venereals here. Since the Spanish or French have not been here before us this time we will not be able to apportion blame to them.’ To Surgeon Monkhouse he said, ‘Check all the men tomorrow. No one infected will be permitted ashore.’
Canoes came out from the shore to greet the Endeavour after she anchored. The leading vessel contained two grey-haired men — clearly chiefs — whom Tupaia called down to and invited aboard. One was short and rotund, the other tall but stooped. The faces of both were covered in dark-blue tattoos, human molars dangled from their earlobes and they wore cloaks made of animal skin, the taller man adorned with brown feathers. Jade clubs hung from their belts.
They went directly to Tupaia and offered him their noses. In turn, he pressed his to theirs. They then turned to James, standing behind him. ‘You, Tute. Hongi,’ ordered Tupaia. James came forward, knowing now what was required, and pressed noses with the pair. Tupaia indicated the taller chief. ‘His name Whakata te Aoterangi. Ariki. Paramount chief. This one—’ He pointed to the stocky figure — ‘Whakarua te Uawa.’ Hearing their names pronounced, the two men nodded, uttering grunts of ‘Ay, ay.’ They told Tupaia that the northward bay was called Anaura and the one further to the south was Uawa.
James gave each man a spike nail and a length of English linen. The nails they handed back but the cloth they accepted, nodding with pleasure. Then they all retired to the Great Cabin, whose sash windows had been lowered to admit the sea breeze. The chiefs were offered salt pork and ship’s biscuit which they waved away. Tupaia then told them what the visitors needed — food, water, firewood — and that they would pay with Tahitian bark cloth, beads and axes.
Both chiefs nodded thoughtfully, but at that moment there came a shout from the stern. They all turned and looked through the windows. A warrior in a canoe was yelling at them, rolling his eyes wildly and brandishing a lance. The five other oc
cupants of the canoe were waving their paddles and calling out what were, unmistakeably, hostilities towards the Englishmen.
The taller chief ran immediately to the window, put his head out and unleashed a torrent of what was, with equal unmistakeability, bitter invective. He concluded his tirade with an upraised fist and a cry of ‘Ha!’ The man in the canoe sank down and turned away, clearly shamed. The others, too, looked down, then began to paddle the canoe away. The chief put his hand on Tupaia’s shoulder and said something to him. James asked, ‘What does he say?’
‘His tribe will welcome you to his rohe. His land.’
The next day there was a strong swell rolling into Anaura bay, making a landing there and the transfer of water casks impossible, so James ordered the anchors weighed. After several tacks to the south, Endeavour entered the bay called Uawa.
It was deeply indented into an almost perfect U-shape, with a sandy beach and foreshore. Two rivers flowed down from forested hills, meandered, then came together in the centre of a broad lowland before flowing into the bay. There was a rocky island off a headland at the southern end of the bay, joined to the mainland by a natural arch, on the top of which was a palisaded settlement. Plots of cultivated land showed up as green patches on the hillsides.
On a terrace above the confluence of the rivers were a number of houses, their thatched eaves extending almost to the ground from central ridges. There were porches at the front of the houses, and through their spyglasses James and the others could see adults and children moving about around the houses and maintaining fires in front of them. One larger house which stood apart from the rest had ornately carved bargeboards.
The sky was overcast but the temperature mild as the two ship’s boats came ashore near the river mouth. A large number of people were waiting there, and five canoes with decorated prows were drawn up on the sand. As the Endeavours had fervently hoped they were greeted peaceably. And although James pressed noses with several of the Maori men, it was immediately apparent that it was Tupaia who was the object of greatest interest to the New Zealanders. James observed their curious expressions as they followed the Otaheitian up onto the plain. Children ran alongside him, touched his coat-tails daringly, then ran away, big-eyed, as if they had stroked a spirit.