by Graeme Lay
They came to the village. Around the houses fishing nets with gourd floats attached hung on poles to dry, and what seemed to be storehouses — small replicas of the houses — stood atop posts. Fish traps — conical baskets woven from some sort of vine — were heaped below the storehouses. A few small dogs slunk about the village, beyond which were tidily laid-out garden plots.
The party followed the people up to the area in front of the large house. There men, women and children gathered about Tupaia, smiling and touching his clothes. Whakata placed a dogskin and feather cloak reverently about the Otaheitian’s shoulders, at the same time chanting what sounded like a blessing.
Tupaia responded with a long speech, speaking loudly and with authority, like a king’s emissary in a foreign court. Which, James realized, in a way he was. James himself was largely ignored, and even Banks, James noticed with some satisfaction, was having to hover in the background. The other Endeavours could only look on as, in front of his now-seated audience, Tupaia spoke with great feeling, turning and gesticulating every now and then towards the east. James heard the names Raiatea, Hamanino, Taputapuatea and Hawaiiki mentioned over and over again. His audience — men, women and children — was in thrall. At times they looked perplexed as they heard some Otaheitian word, expression or inflection which was strange to them, but not once did they interrupt the outlandish, handsome visitor. James’s feelings were mixed. The man was proving to be a valuable envoy, but how would this adulation affect his already conceited nature?
The other Endeavours dispersed, leaving Tupaia still soaring on the updrafts of his oratory and genealogy: ‘Oro, Ta’aroa, Tane, Hiro … Matavai, Tahiti Nui, Mahaiatea … Hawaiiki, Raiatea, Tahaa …’
Gore and the marines, accompanied by a lesser chief deputed by Whakata, went inland to gather provisions while James and Green left to climb the hill at the southern end of the bay. Solander, Sporing and Parkinson went off towards the northern end to botanize and draw, but Banks stayed at the back of the crowd, sitting on the ground like the others.
There was a defile at the end of the bay. James and Green entered it, then pushed up through the undergrowth towards the crest of a ridge. Mature evergreen trees, some with glossy green leaves and orange berries, and a species of palm with a stout green trunk and a bulging crown shaft, grew in the hollows of the hill. Other, taller, trees had scaly, branchless trunks with a profusion of leaves sprouting from their crowns. Plump, blue-grey pigeons flew clumsily from branch to branch, and the iridescent blackbirds with tufts of white feathers at their throats croaked and warbled in the foliage. Ferns of all sizes grew amid the forest.
As the two men climbed higher the vegetation became scrubbier with shrubs with narrow, twisted trunks, roughened bark and delicate white flowers. They emerged from the scrub and stood atop the ridge. The bay, plain and rivers were laid out below them. Endeavour, reduced to Lilliputian size by distance, had her bow turned into the south-westerly breeze. The sun had broken through the cloud and was rising over the bay, creating diamonds of light on the water. Below, notched into the headland, was a sheltered cove and a beach where three small canoes had been drawn up.
Panting, his shirt-front open and damp, Green stared out over the bay. ‘’Tis a fine sight, Cook. And what a contrast with our former impoverished landing.’
‘Aye. It could not be better. Water, wood, greens …’ They had already noted the wild celery and scurvy grass which grew on the plain. ‘And agreeable natives.’ He paused. ‘Now make your observation.’
Green took the sextant box from his haversack and carefully took a bearing on the still-rising sun to the east. After checking his navigational tables he established that the latitude of the bay was thirty-eight degrees, twenty minutes south. James recorded this figure in his notebook, then the two men began to make their way back down through the foliage.
After descending the hill and coming out onto the plain they came upon Solander, Sporing and Parkinson. The botanists had their collecting bags on their backs; Parkinson was lugging his easel and paint box. Solander was at his most effusive. ‘I have never seen such a profusion of new specimens,’ he told the others. ‘This place is almost as luxuriant as Otaheite.’ He removed the bag from his back. ‘Yet very different.’ He took a stalk and a broad leaf from the bag and held it out. The stalk was dark brown with curved pods on the end of half a dozen off-shoots. The leaf was grey-green, broad and creased down the centre. Solander said, ‘The fibre of this leaf, I believe, could be used to make fine cordage. It grows in damp ground, and the natives make great use of it for weaving baskets. They call it harakeke, a woman told me when I saw her preparing it.’ He raised his wig, wiped his pate with his hand, then reset the hairpiece.
‘We climbed the hill,’ James reported. ‘It affords a fine view.’
Parkinson’s eyes were shining with anticipation. ‘I am sure. I cannot wait to begin my drawing.’
Sporing nodded. ‘I, too, wish to draw this place.’
‘Where is Banks?’ asked James.
Solander arched his eyebrows. ‘He is bartering with the Indians.’
‘What for?’
Solander gave a harsh laugh. ‘A woman.’
James and Green approached the cluster of thatched dwellings. In front of the largest house Tupaia was still holding forth to an audience of several dozen people. Chief Whakata, a carved stave in his hand, stood beside him, intervening from time to time to ask a question. They heard the words ‘marae’ and ‘paepae’ mentioned several times, and again such Otaheitian words as ‘oro’, ‘pahi’ and ‘arioi’.
Two bare-breasted young women with long, raven-black hair and red ochre smeared across their cheeks were sitting at Tupaia’s feet, gazing up at him, spellbound. Both wore jade pendants on woven cord around their necks, miniatures of the clubs the Maori called ‘mere’. Standing to one side and watching the scene, James blinked several times then realized that he was not seeing double. Startlingly beautiful, the young women were identical twins.
By late afternoon all except Tupaia were back on the ship. James, Hicks, Gore and the gentlemen gathered in the officers’ mess to discuss plans for the remaining time in Uawa. When James asked after Tupaia, Banks replied sourly, ‘He has been invited by the chief to stay ashore while we are here.’ He sniffed. ‘An invitation which he accepted with alacrity.’
‘He has a natural affinity with these people, I have observed,’ said Solander.
‘He certainly has.’
‘Do I detect a note of envy in your voice, Banks?’ James asked.
Banks grunted dismissively. ‘When I walked inland a little way, I came upon some young women bathing in the river. All they wore was a small cloth over their private parts. In this respect they are strikingly similar to their Otaheitian counterparts.’
‘And?’ said Monkhouse, leeringly.
‘In other respects, not. When they saw me approach they covered their breasts as modestly as any English debutante.’
The others smiled. Hicks said, ‘But not for our Otaheitian friend.’
Banks made a face. ‘No. He informed me, gleefully, that the chief has presented him with his daughters for the duration of his stay.’
‘The twins?’ asked James.
‘Yes. And a spacious cave on the hillside where the three of them can stay. Food and drink will be brought to them there.’ Banks ground his teeth. ‘The man is treated like royalty here.’
Monkhouse winked at James. ‘So you have been unable to barter for a body this time, Banks?’
The botanist pouted. ‘Not so. I bartered a piece of Otaheitian bark cloth for a very fine body this afternoon.’
The others looked intrigued. ‘Who was it?’ asked Gore.
Banks laughed. ‘A large lobster. Thompson is preparing it for our supper.’
Hundreds gathered on the shore to farewell the Endeavours. The ship was now fully provisioned with sweet potatoes, yams, live lobsters, wild celery and scurvy grass. James presented both chiefs with
more lengths of English cloth and an axe each. There were speeches, and noses were pressed and re-pressed. But when James looked about there was no sign of Tupaia. He spoke slowly to Whakata. ‘Tupaia? Where is taio Tupaia?’
The chief smiled and pointed down the beach. ‘Tupaia, Hine, Moana.’ They could see the trio approaching, Tupaia striding imperiously, still wearing the dogskin cloak over his English garments, cocked hat askew, a bare-breasted twin clutching each of his arms. When they came closer the others saw that the girls were red-eyed from weeping. The crowd stood back while Tupaia released the girls and bade his farewells to the chiefs, embracing them both. As there had been in Otaheite there were cries of ‘Ow-ay! Ow-ay!’ from the women in the crowd, and melodious chanting from the men.
Edgcumbe, the marine sergeant, approached James. ‘Shall we fire a salute, sir?’
‘There is no need. Save your powder.’
James doffed his hat once more towards the crowd, then ordered the men into the boats. Hine and Moana cast themselves down onto the sand, weeping inconsolably as the boats pulled away. James stood in the stern, filled with gratitude for the kindnesses these people had shown them. Would this be what it would be like from now on? If so, there was much to look forward to.
On the ship he announced that they would weigh anchor at first light on the morrow. In the Great Cabin, mementos of Uawa were laid out on the table. It resembled a museum display. New plants and flowers by the score (Solander and Sporing); a small flightless bird with a long beak, two dead pigeons and three ‘parson birds’ (Banks); several sketches of the coast, including one of the palisaded village atop the rock arch (Parkinson); and another impression of the same feature (Sporing).
With a smile of triumph, Tupaia placed his gifts upon the table. They included the dogskin and feather cloak, jade carvings of what Maori called a ‘tiki’ — a human embryo representation; a stave they called a ‘taiaha’; and a flat, sharp-edged jade club. Lastly, Tupaia picked up a delicately carved panel depicting a human figure with a protruding tongue. ‘This called poupou,’ he declared proudly. He traced the outline of the figure’s body. ‘This is tupuna. Ancestor.’ He had been taken to a special house, he told them, called Te Rawheoro, where young men were trained in the art of carving by skilled older craftsmen. He held up the panel with its exquisite whorls and spirals, shell eyes and protruding tongue for them to admire.
Looking covetously at the carving, Banks said, ‘What will you do with these things, taio?’
Tupaia grinned. ‘Take them with me to England. To give to King George.’ Then he picked up a rolled sheet of paper and handed it to James. ‘This one for you, Tute. Tupaia painted.’
James unrolled it. It portrayed in colour two side-on figures. One was a heavily cloaked Maori man, his hair drawn up into a topknot, his splayed feet bare. He was holding out to a frock-coated Englishman a large, many-legged, bright red lobster. But it was on a piece of string so that it could be withdrawn at any moment. The Englishman was proffering a piece of white Tahitian bark cloth in exchange for the crustacean, but both human figures were clearly wary of each other’s intentions.
After studying the painting, James nodded appreciatively. ‘Thank you. It is a very fine painting.’ Glancing at Banks, he said, ‘Could the figure on the right be Mr Banks, by any chance?’
Tupaia laughed uproariously. ‘Yes, yes!’ Then, still laughing, he added, ‘No vahine here for Banks. Only lobster.’
Everyone except Banks laughed. His expression had become sullen.
As they moved out of the bay Tupaia stared landward. He said to James quietly, ‘I like these people, Tute. Yes, after I have been to Peretane and met your king and queen, I will come back to Uawa.’
Twenty-three
ON THEY SAILED NORTH, shadowing the coastline in variable spring weather, passing bays, capes and headlands. Fully provisioned, they had no need to go ashore. Seated on the poop deck, James charted assiduously, relishing the work. From time to time Sporing joined him there, sketch pad on his knee. James had come to admire the Scandinavian’s drawing skills. He was particularly adept at rendering coastal features, leading James to name the small island at Uawa’s southern end Sporing’s Island. At this news, Herman blushed with pleasure. ‘Me, a clock-maker from Turku, haff a whole island named for him. Marvellous.’
More names came. When they doubled what James was certain was this land’s eastern extremity he noted East Cape on the chart he was constructing. Then, bearing due west and passing a pretty, sheltered cove, and mindful that poor Zachary’s cough was worse, he named it Hicks’ Bay. Following a skirmish during which some hostile canoeists had a warning shot fired upon them and subsequently retreated, James carefully inscribed the nearest landmark Cape Runaway. A cone protruding from a coastal plain he marked as Mount Edgcumbe after the Lord Admiral who had farewelled them at Plymouth. And there were more islands, some large, many small. He named one near the eastern end of a long, broad bay White Island for its pale plume of volcanic steam, and one at the other end Mayor Island for its authoritative solitude.
The wide bay’s coastal plain was obviously productive with many cultivated fields and fortified villages visible that James unhesitatingly named it the Bay of Plenty. A cluster of small, rugged islands a day’s sailing north of Mayor Island moved him to extend his metaphor and call them The Aldermen. Then, as they sailed to the west of these and James noted two small islands closer to the shore, he called the first Slipper and the second Shoe. This was work he savoured. He was leaving his mark on the world, as he had long wished to.
As Endeavour plodded along New Zealand’s eastern coast, more and more canoes came out to greet them. A pattern was established. The occupants of the canoes first challenged them by hurling stones and spears at the ship then, after being warned with a firing of grapeshot or cannonballs, either beat a retreat or traded fish and vegetables for the exotic goods the ship carried. Tahitian bark cloth continued to be the New Zealanders’ most desired item. At each encounter Tupaia would call down in their language to the men in the canoes, explaining the visitors’ needs, but usually the challengers would shout him down. No further fatalities occurred, however, and the Endeavours now realized that such confrontations carried more ritual than menace.
On the morning of 4 November James and Green met on the quarter-deck. The wind was a steady sou’wester and Endeavour was averaging four knots as she continued north. In the distance to larboard was a long line of pinkish, fissured cliffs, capped by forest, and spiky islets and promontories. Inland was a continuous wall of rugged, forested mountains.
James peered at the broken coast. ‘Only another five days, Green, and Mercury’s transit will occur.’
Green looked worried. ‘Five days? There will be no time to set up a Fort Mercury as on Otaheite.’ He mopped his brow.
James looked at the sugary cliffs. ‘Very little time. But we will still need, along with a clear sky, a suitable shore camp.’ Then, trying to keep anxiety from his voice, he added, ‘Let us hope that we come upon a sheltered bay within the next two days.’
They did.
On the afternoon of 4 November Endeavour rounded a headland, then several steep-sided islands. From the masthead Molyneux reported that there was a sheltered bay due west, and James ordered the ship to put into it. Coming closer, they saw steep, white-cliffed headlands to the north and south of the bay, a long sandy beach between them and a river estuary at the eastern end. The beach was backed by a broad plain.
James ordered soundings taken. Eight fathoms, with a sandy bottom. A reef-free bay. Perfect.
‘Could not be more suitable,’ Green mused in a rare utterance of enthusiasm. On the foredeck, Pickersgill was supervising the lowering of Endeavour’s anchor.
James held his spyglass to his eye. ‘Indeed. But first we must negotiate with the local natives.’
Several canoes had put out from the shore and were paddling furiously towards the ship. There were the now-familiar challenges — stone-throwing
and a war dance — and Tupaia again called down from the deck and explained what it was they wanted. The ritual continued: James ordered the marines to fire a volley of warning shots into the air and one of the cannons to be fired. At the sight and sound of these discharges, the canoeists paddled hastily back to a small cove. Satisfied that a kind of truce had been established, James ordered the launch hoisted out. Then he, Green, Banks, Tupaia, Solander and Sporing, accompanied by six armed marines, were rowed to the river mouth and disembarked on the adjacent beach, leaving Gore in charge of the ship.
On the beach a hefty, dogskin-skirted warrior who had been in one of the canoes greeted them all by pressing noses. He had a large bone pendant around his neck and a piece of jade dangling from each earlobe. Brandishing a carved stick, he launched into a speech. ‘Haere mai, haere mai, manuhiri. Nau mai, haere mai.’ He tapped himself on the chest, said ‘Eruera’, then waved his stick at the bay where Endeavour was at anchor. ‘Te Whanganui-O-Hei,’ he declared.
Tupaia translated. ‘This is the great bay of Hei,’ he said. ‘Hei was his tupuna. A famous ancestor.’
The man nodded, muttering ‘Ay, ay.’ Pointing to the river, he said ‘Awa Purangi’, then into the distance, ‘Whitianga’.
The introduction over, he waved the others away and beckoned to Tupaia to come inland with him, pointing to a path which ran alongside the river. ‘He wishes me to see his kainga, his village,’ the Otaheitian told James with a triumphant smile. He set off eagerly with the Maori, matching him stride for stride.
Watching the pair, Banks observed disagreeably, ‘Doubtless our Otaheitian is hoping to duplicate his amorous activities with the women here.’