by Hughes, Ben;
Lookouts sighted the southernmost part of Albemarle at 4 p.m. on 21 October. As the ships passed to windward, Schoolmaster Brady made three sketches of the island. The first, drawn twenty-four miles to the south-southwest, showed thick black smoke spewing from a volcano on the southernmost point. As the ships beat up towards the island Captain Tucker punished two more seamen, Jonathon Lamb and Joseph Haimsely, with thirty-six and twelve lashes respectively for insolence to a superior officer, and at 5.15 p.m. Hillyar hove to five miles off Banks’ Bay. The next morning, guided by Able Seaman Charles Turner, the former Greenwich taken on board at Tumbez, the ships ran into Elizabeth Bay. ‘This is the general rendezvous for all the Whalers in these seas’, Gardiner explained, ‘but we found it quite deserted as the greater part of them had been captured … all the Capes and headlands we passed had very much the same appearance, rising inland to a great height and shelving gradually towards the sea.’ Gardiner was keen to go onshore, but was disappointed. ‘Our present situation would not allow of the smallest delay and having … [failed to find] our American friends, we hauled to the wind, without even sending a boat onshore and made sail … to Lima.’11
The fair winds which had carried the British to the Galapagos prevented them from returning to the continent. Blowing down from the Andes, they forced the flotilla to run southward parallel with the coast while the captains continued to prepare for the battle both longed for. The Cherub’s gunner turned the powder and made up cartridges, while a party of men beat the iron roundshot with hammers to even out any irregularities and ensure that they would fly true. On 25 October Hillyar and Tucker put their men on two-thirds rations of bread and meat, while allowing extra cocoa to be served. Three days later John Eves, the marine private who had been given two dozen lashes for stealing a pipe of wine at Cumberland Bay, fell overboard. The Phoebe hove to, the cutters and jollyboat were lowered, but due to ‘the darkness of the night’, as Gardiner explained, ‘all our efforts to save him were ineffectual’.12
The contrary winds continued into November. The Phoebe and Cherub had long since passed the latitude of Lima, but Hillyar had little choice but to continue running down the coast as the weather deteriorated. Periods of calm were interspersed with violent squalls and heavy showers. On 13 and 14 November, the Phoebe was twice taken aback. The sails were plastered against the masts and several of the stays and spars split under the pressure. Wanting the Phoebe to look her best for the Peruvian viceroy, Hillyar had the main deck re-caulked; the quarterdeck scraped and painted, the ship’s sides scrubbed, the Nelson Chequer on the hull retouched and the gunroom and ship’s boats repainted. On 23 November, the men’s prayers were answered. With the British ships at the latitude of 26° South, parallel with northern Chile, the wind swung round to the southeast. Piling on all sail, the Phoebe and Cherub turned north for Lima.13
Chapter 10
Death in Paradise: USS Essex, 4 October 1813 – 13 December 1813
With fresh breezes blowing from the southeast, on 4 October 1813 the American flotilla left the volcanoes of Albemarle behind. The next day, with the Greenwich springing her main topmast, it dawned on Porter that his prizes would cause him considerable delay. Not wishing to miss out on an opportunity of taking the Mary-Ann, he ordered Downes to sail ahead, before the ‘richly laden’ former East Indiaman left the Marquesas for the Atlantic. The next eighteen days passed uneventfully. A steady breeze blew out of the east, and with barely a cloud in the sky the sun beat down on the awnings stretched over the ships’ decks and the temperature increased as they sailed westward accompanied by ‘vast numbers’ of flying fish. With the Essex leading, the Greenwich, Seringapatam and Sir Andrew Hammond became strung out behind while the dull-sailing New Zealander struggled to keep pace at the rear. A current, surging along at a rate of twenty-five miles a day, aided their progress.1
On 15 October, John Hughes, the boy recruited at Tumbez, had his fourteenth birthday, while the men speculated as to their destination. Soon afterwards Porter posted an official communique round the fleet. ‘We are bound for the Western Islands, with two objects in view’, he announced. ‘First, that we may put the ship in a suitable condition to … take advantage of the most favourable season for our return home. Secondly, I am desirous that you should have some relaxation and amusement after being so long at sea, … If every person exerts himself to carry on the work of the ship … I shall allow you time to amuse yourselves on shore …’ Porter’s message had an immediate effect on morale. ‘For the remainder of the voyage … [the men] could talk and think of nothing else but the amusements and novelties that awaited them in this new world.’2
Ever since Captain Cook’s voyage to Tahiti in the Endeavour in 1771, the islands of the southern Pacific had held a special allure for Western sailors. Stories of their natural abundance and the sexual favours bestowed by their women were the stuff of fantasies. Uninhibited by the Christian West’s preoccupation with sin, the Polynesians had a laissez-faire attitude to sex. Outside of the ruling classes, amongst whom issues of succession were paramount, neither pre-marital or extra-marital sex were frowned upon and a woman’s choice and quantity of partners was not restricted by social mores or concepts of guilt and shame. From the age of six children of both sexes learned about sexual roles and techniques by direct observation. They were taught that intercourse was a pleasure. Even prepubescent children were not prohibited from indulging; young men were free to openly experiment with homosexuality and transvestitism; nudity was commonplace; couples had intercourse in the same rooms where their families’ slept; and children born out of wedlock were readily accepted into society. When Western sailors first encountered South Sea Island societies they quickly took advantage and casual relationships with local women were commonplace.3
There was a another side to this island paradise, however. As well as tales of beguiling native women, early travellers to the Marquesas had warned of less appealing native traits. With no concept of private property, the islanders and their visitors had frequently fallen out with Westerners who accused them of theft. On a five-day visit during his second exploratory voyage in 1774, Cook had traded with islanders in the south of the archipelago, only for relations to sour when they began helping themselves to items from the Resolution. In the fallout at least one islander was killed. Captain Joseph Ingraham, an American fur trader and veteran of the Revolutionary War, reached the Marquesas on the brig Hope in 1791. His subsequent narrative commented on the islanders’ habit of wearing jewellery made of human teeth, hair and skulls, leading him to conclude that they indulged in cannibalism. Since such early pioneers, Western visitations had become increasingly common. South Sea whalers regularly called in for provisions and the Marquesas were popular with American and British traders seeking sandalwood. Valued for its perfume when burned, the product, which was abundant on the islands, fetched a high price at the Chinese port of Canton.4
On 23 October, the man at the Essex’s masthead sighted land. ‘A barren lump of rock inaccessible on all sides and about three miles in circuit’, Hood’s Island, named after Captain Cook’s midshipman who had discovered it, had no source of water and was uninhabited. Porter hove to and waited off shore while his prizes came up. An hour later they sailed on for Ua Huka, a larger island just visible on the horizon fifty miles to the northwest. They arrived the next day. ‘Its aspect, on first making it, was little better than the [Galapagos]’, Porter observed, ‘but on our nearer approach, [we could make out] … fertile valleys, whose beauties were heightened by the pleasant streams and clusters of houses and groups of natives on the hills inviting us to land.’ Rounding the southeast point, the Essex came to while her prizes re-joined. Soon a 40-foot dugout outrigger canoe was spotted approaching. On board were eight natives. Copper-skinned, dressed in loincloths and covered in tattoos, they were over six feet tall and heavily muscled. Sitting in the bow whilst his companions paddled, one wore a headdress constructed of large yellow leaves. Although happy to run alongside the fr
igate, they refused to go on board. With Tameoy, the Tahitian, acting as his translator, Porter assured the islanders he meant no harm and lowered a bucket from the stern containing iron hoops, knives, fish-hooks and other metal articles prized on the islands. The natives were delighted. After taking the gifts they filled the bucket with fish and ornamental coconut fibre belts decorated with pigs’ teeth. Repeating the word ‘taya’ or friend, they invited Porter to accompany them onshore.5
With Lieutenant McKnight positioned beyond the breakers on one of the cutters, Porter was rowed in on his gig with Tameoy and a well-armed crew. A number of natives had gathered on the beach. Dropping their spears and clubs, they swam out and a nervous yet lively trade was conducted. In exchange for metal goods, Porter received breadfruit ornaments and several ‘good sized pigs’. Throughout the morning the crowd on the beach steadily increased. Many began to dance and clap to show their appreciation. After two hours, Porter moved on to a nearby cove where fifty natives had gathered. Supposing them important due to their distinctive gorgets, black feather headdresses, whale-tooth necklaces and white paper cloaks, Porter gave them several gifts and Tameoy learnt they were tribal elders, led by Chief Othaûough, whose skin was so covered in tattoos as to appear almost entirely black. Having nothing to offer Porter in return, Othaûough suggested he make use of two attractive sixteen-year-old girls. Porter’s journal neglects to inform us whether or not he accepted the offer.6
Returning to the frigate, Porter found a crowd of canoes had gathered. Several natives had been on board and ‘expressed much surprise at the sight of the goats, sheep, dogs and other animals … What seemed most to astonish them’, Porter recalled, ‘was one of the large Gallapagoes tortoises. It seemed as though they could not sufficiently feast their eyes on it: and to view it more at their ease they stretched themselves at full length on the deck.’ With nightfall imminent, the natives were told to return to their boats while the Americans sailed round to the southwest point where Porter noted a large bay, secure against the prevailing winds, which faced onto a fertile valley. Offshore, the Essex and her prizes hove to for the night.7
At daylight the flotilla sailed thirty miles west to Nuka Hiva. The largest island of the archipelago, Nuka Hiva was also the most populous with 40,000 inhabitants divided into three dozen warring tribes. Porter dubbed it Madison’s Island in honour of the president. By dawn, the Essex had reached Comptroller’s Bay, a large, deep-water anchorage on the southeast coast indented with several small coves. ‘[Each] seemed to afford good landing … several pleasant villages were situated near the beaches and the houses were interspersed among the trees of the valleys, which appeared highly cultivated and thickly inhabited’. Although several canoes sailed out from the beaches, none dared to approach, prompting Porter to sail west to Port Anna Maria, a bay separated from Comptroller’s by a line of red rock cliffs. Flying American colours, the Essex arrived at 10 a.m. Two small islands, separated from the mainland by narrow channels barely wide enough for the passage of the natives’ canoes, guarded the mouth of the bay, which was flanked by jungle covered mountains and extended four miles inland.8
Within minutes of the Essex’s arrival, a canoe crewed by three white men was spotted approaching. One was dressed in a loincloth. His skin was deeply tanned and covered in native tattoos. Suspecting him of being a deserter, Porter refused to allow the men to come alongside and the boat returned to the beach and was surrounded by armed natives. Fearing he had thrown fellow white men on the mercy of the savages, Porter led four boats ashore. The natives scattered as they landed and one of the white men approached. To Porter’s ‘great astonishment’, this was John Minor Maury, an eighteen-year-old Virginian and a midshipman in the US Navy. Given a furlough in 1811, Maury had signed up on the Pennsylvania Packet, a merchantman involved in the Chinese opium trade. En route, her captain, another US navy officer on furlough named William Lewis, had left Maury and six others on Nuka Hiva to gather sandalwood, promising to return in two months’ time. Lewis had since been blockaded by the British at Canton and had left Maury and his companions to their fate. Initially, the castaways had lived well. Befriended by the local Taeeh tribe, they constructed a treehouse concealed on top of four coconut palms accessible only by a rope ladder which was hauled up each night. In the intervening two years, however, five had been killed by the Taeeh’s rivals, the Happahs. An aggressive tribe from the far side of the mountains forming the western boundary of Port Anna Maria, the Happahs could field 3,000 warriors compared to the Taeeh’s 2,500. The tribes habitually raided each other’s villages and plantations. The warfare was low-intensity and intermittent – weeks could pass without a single casualty – but had recently escalated due to the killing of a prominent Taeeh priest. Maury and a man named Baker were the only two Americans to have survived. Once Maury’s identity had been vouched for by Lieutenant McKnight, who had formerly served with the Virginian, the two castaways were signed up on board the Essex.9
The third white man was an English ‘beachcomber’. Known as ‘Wilson’, he had been on the Marquesas for ‘many years’. According to Porter, Wilson spoke the local language ‘with the same facility as his own and had become in every respect, except in colour, an Indian’. Porter warmed to Wilson. ‘[He was] an inoffensive, honest, good-hearted fellow’, he opined, ‘well disposed to render every service in his power … whose only failing was a strong attachment to rum.’ Wilson would prove a valuable ally. ‘Without his aid I should have succeeded badly on the island’, Porter admitted. ‘His knowledge of the people … removed all difficulties in our intercourse with them … [and] even the landing of the marines did not seem to occasion any uneasiness.’ The natives were particularly delighted by the antics of the marine drummer, William MacDonald, ‘and the regular movements of [Gamble’s men] occasioned much astonishment. They said they were spirits or beings of a class different from other men.’10
Porter’s attention was drawn to the mountains. Happah war bands could be seen amongst the trees and the Bostonian learnt that the Taeehs’ chief, Gattanewa, was directing the defence from a hilltop stronghold guarding the pass that connected the two tribes’ territories. Arranging to have a messenger sent to the Happahs, Porter warned that he would retaliate if any further attacks were made during his stay and assured the Taeehs that he would protect them on condition they never approached the Americans armed. Thus, within minutes of his arrival, Porter had taken sides in an inter-tribal conflict which he knew nothing about.11
The American party on the beach soon lost all sense of order. Led away by smiling, scantily-clad, native women, men and officers dispersed into the surrounding woods. ‘They had soon made themselves understood without the aid of interpreters’, Porter recalled, ‘and had wandered to the houses or perhaps the bushes … to ratify their treaty, the negotiating of which neither cost them much time or trouble.’ Far from disapproving of his men’s conduct, Porter was keen to join in. ‘A handsome young woman, of about eighteen years of age, her complexion fairer than common, her carriage majestic and her dress better and somewhat different from the other females, approached [me]’, he recalled. ‘Her glossy black hair and her skin were highly anointed with … cocoa-nut oil and her whole person and appearance [was] neat and comely’. This was Piteenee, Gattanewa’s granddaughter. ‘[She] was held in great estimation’, Porter recorded, ‘and I felt it would be necessary, from motives of policy, to pay some attentions to a personage so exalted.’ Piteenee was unimpressed. ‘With a coldness and hauteur which would have suited a princess’, she rejected Porter’s advances, leaving him to gather his men who were reluctantly rowed back to the Essex. Porter intended to stand out to sea for the night, but no sooner had he clambered up the gangway, than he was mobbed by requests for shore leave from his men. Despite unfavourable winds, Porter allowed the crew to kedge the ship in shore. A few hours later, the Essex was anchored half a mile from the beach where the natives had gathered once more.12
That afternoon the Essex was ove
rrun by native women. ‘Many … had been in the habit of visiting [sailing] ships’, Porter explained, ‘[and] had been taught … some … words of English, which they pronounced too plain to be misunderstood.’ The women were free with their favours. ‘Far from seeming to consider … [sexual relations] an offence against modesty, they seemed to view it only as an accommodation to strangers who had claims on their hospitality … They attached no shame to a proceeding which they not only considered as natural, but as an innocent and harmless amusement, by which no one was injured … With the common sailors and their girls’, Porter recalled, ‘all was helter skelter and promiscuous intercourse, every girl the wife of every man in the mess and frequently of every man in the ship: each one from time to time took such as suited his fancy.’13
Later, a message arrived informing Porter that Gattanewa had returned from the hills. ‘To show [his] respect’, Porter ‘sent him … a fine large English sow.’ Pleased with the gift, Gattanewa came aboard. Porter could barely disguise his disappointment. ‘[He was] an infirm old man of seventy years of age, destitute of every covering … except a clout about his loins and a piece of palm leaf tied about his head: a long stick seemed to assist him in walking; his face and body were as black as a negro’s, from the quantity of tattooing, which entirely covered them and his skin was rough and appeared to be peeling off in scales, from the quantity of kava [an intoxicating root] in which he had indulged.’ Porter had one of the great guns fired in the chief’s honour, but Gattanewa was more interested in the Bostonian’s collection of whales’ teeth, an item which the Americans had been informed had considerable worth. Presented with one as a present, Gattanewa insisted that he and Porter exchange names, a Marquesan bonding ceremony, then asked the American to help him defeat the Happahs. ‘To the first I immediately consented’, Porter recalled, ‘but told him … that I should not engage in any hostilities, unless the Happahs came into the valley.’ At Gattanewa’s further insistence, Porter promised to reconsider and the chief retired on shore for the night. Later, the Essex Junior was spotted at the head of the bay and that evening Downes came aboard. To Porter’s disappointment, the lieutenant informed him that the Mary-Ann had been nowhere to be seen.14