by Lay, Graeme
Leaving the bay they rounded a headland and there, standing on a rocky point, was an elderly Maori man and two women. The women were of medium height and strong-limbed, with black curly hair. The man was a little taller and had a luxuriant grey beard. A jade pendant hung from one of his earlobes. All wore skirts and sandals of flax and had feathered cloaks around their shoulders.
As the pinnace approached, the man bent down and picked up a wooden implement shaped like a long paddle. His face contorted, he called out in an angry tone.
James quickly got to his feet and called out the Maori greeting he had learned. ‘Haere mai! Nau mai, haere mai!’
The man looked confused. He turned and muttered something to the women.
James said to the oarsmen, ‘Row me in. I will talk properly with him.’
George Forster looked at James with dismay. ‘Sir, please, no. He is threatening.’ The older Forster also looked concerned. ‘He has weapons. Take your fowling piece.’
Ignoring these pleas, James said to the oarsmen, ‘Draw up alongside the point.’ It was essential that they achieve a relationship with these people, he thought. If only Tupaia the Otahetian was here.
The trio stood their ground as James stepped up onto the point, the women standing behind the man. A flat club of whalebone hung from his waist. Determined to achieve a rapport, James took his handkerchief from his sleeve and held it up to the native. Although the man accepted it, his expression became one of bafflement, his eyes betraying his incomprehension at these aliens’ ways. The women too peered at James and frowned. Removing his tricorn, James bent his face to the man’s. His manner immediately changed. He too bent his head, their noses met, then pressed. ‘Haere,’ said James.
‘Haere, haere mai,’ the man replied. ‘Tena koutou.’ Behind him, the expressions of the women visibly relaxed. They began to sway in unison, and croon, their hands moving rhythmically, somewhat in the Otaheitian manner.
An understanding thus attained, James and the others went to the natives’ encampment on the foreshore a little distance away. These people were a family, they realised, visiting the sound from much further north to hunt the seals which inhabited its shores and the petrel chicks which lived in burrows along its foreshore. The old man’s name was Maru; the two adult women were Aroha and Hakete. Their names for the seals were ‘kekeno’ and for the petrel chicks ‘titi’. These creatures would be packed in their own fat and preserved as food for the winter months which lay ahead, the man explained by gestures. As well as the old man and the two women, the wider group consisted of a younger girl, a lad of about 15 and three much younger boys. ‘Whanau’, the man said, pointing around the group, and James recalled the word for family from his earlier voyage.
From then on, regular visits were made to the bay and gifts exchanged: axes, nails, coloured beads and mirrors from the Englishmen, carved staves and a dogskin and feather cloak from the Maoris. Marine corporal Gibson managed to converse with the family in halting Otaheitian. They were, he reported to James, part of a tribe called Ngati Mamoe. They were nomadic, keeping only temporary encampments as they roamed the region, hunting and gathering. In this regard they were completely different from the agrarian New Zealanders James had encountered in 1769 and 1770, although physically and linguistically they showed little difference from the northerners.
As the gifts were exchanged, Hodges studied the group silently with his painter’s eye. Then he held up a sheet of paper on which he had sketched the old man’s head, and pointed at them with a pastel. ‘I draw you,’ he said. The New Zealanders looked in awe at the sketch, smiled shyly at the artist, then one another.
A little distance from the sleeping hut, easel propped up on his knee, Hodges pinned another sheet of paper to his drawing board. The morning was warm and dry, with just a faint breeze entering the cove. After instructing the two women to stand a few yards away, he picked up his crimson pastel and began sketching. Looking in turns abashed and amused, giggling from time to time, the women struck a pose for the artist. James stood behind him, watching in fascination as the figures assumed form on the paper. Hodges’s portrait technique was markedly different from Sydney Parkinson’s. Whereas Sydney—who had been primarily a botanical illustrator—worked first with pencil, and drew with remarkable speed and dexterity, William’s strokes were slower and more deliberate, his eye moving constantly up and down, from his subjects to the paper and back again, his beaky nose moving like a hound’s sniffing a scent.
They clustered around the easel, exclaiming at the work. ‘Ae, ae, ae,’ the old man said approvingly. ‘Whero.’
Hodges looked at him inquiringly. ‘Whero?’
‘Ae, whero. Kapai whero.’
It was James who made the connection. ‘Red,’ he said. ‘Whero must mean red.’
The girl, still staring at the paper, murmured, ‘Whero, whero, red, red.’
The old man made an emphatic gesture with one hand. ‘Whero. Tapu,’ he declared, but still approvingly.
James nodded, understanding. Tapu meant sacred, therefore the man considered that Hodges had created something very special with his red pastels.
The artist began to pack up his equipment. ‘Later,’ he said, ‘I will begin to draw their proper portrait.’
When they returned to the ship, James ordered Corbett the sailmaker to cut and sew up a cape from a length of red cloth. Later, when they presented it to the old man, he was ecstatic. Wearing the bright cape like a Roman cardinal, he beamed around at his whanau. ‘Rangatira,’ he pronounced. ‘Rangatira Maru.’ From the hut he fetched his flat whalebone patu and presented it to James, who accepted the gift with equal delight.
The family now trusted the aliens enough to come on board the giant waka, Resolution.
Maru, red cape about his shoulders, along with Aroha and Hakete and the girl, Areta, ascended the hull steps and walked out onto the mid-deck. Maru joined James on the quarterdeck, pressing his nose in greeting. The crew watched Aroha and Hakete with hungry eyes. Both women were bare-breasted. Knowing full well the source of the looks, Cook eyed the crew sternly. These New Zealand women were not like those of Otaheite, who would willingly part their legs in exchange for a nail. During Endeavour’s visit, only Tupaia had known the women of this country carnally, much to the chagrin of Banks and the others. But that did not stop the men of Resolution from eyeing Aroha and Hakete hungrily as they roamed the deck, pausing from time to time to peer up at the masthead and stare in disbelief at the sheep and goats in their pens on the foredeck. The ship’s cat, Rufus, emerged from a companionway. He waved his tail warily at the women, then went to Areta and began to rub himself against her legs. Staring at the animal in amazement, the little girl began to stroke its back, then ruffled the fur to see how long it was.
Gibson rushed up to Aroha, bowed extravagantly and presented her with a length of blue ribbon. No sooner had he done so than gunner Anderson shoved past him and handed Hakete a small square of red cloth. Briscoe, the ship’s tailor, dashed up and handed each of the women a small mirror. Both women were now surrounded by the crew, each one pushing further forward for a better view. Suddenly a hand reached out, cupped one of Hakete’s breasts and caressed it. Another hand reached out for Aroha’s breasts. Crying out in dismay, both women turned away, dropping their gifts. Both bowed their heads and held their hands across their breasts.
The boatswain, James Gray, rushed into the fray, calling out, ‘Leave them be! Stand aside!’ Wielding a starter, a short rope with hard-knotted ends, he lashed out at the men, striking them heavily around the head and shoulders. Boatswain’s mate David Anderson waded in too, beating the offenders with his starter.
The offenders howled, raised their arms to deflect the blows, then fell back, leaving the two women standing alone together. They quickly gathered up their gifts, walked across the deck and climbed back down the hull steps. Areta immediately followed.
James had witnessed this incident from the quarterdeck, and totally approved of Gr
ay and Anderson’s punitive actions. The crew sorely had need of women after so long at sea, but at all times there must be consent of carnality. Any transgression of sexual conduct with local women would be severely punished. Carnal congress was inevitable and had to be tolerated, as was the giving of carnal favours for desired items in return, but there must never be forcing of sexual intent. To James such behaviour was exploitation, the antithesis of civilised, enlightened conduct.
‘Resume your duties!’ bosun Gray bellowed, holding up his starter threateningly, and he watched as the men slunk away to various parts of the ship. From behind James, Maru came to his side. He must have witnessed the incident on the deck. But to James’s consternation he was chuckling lasciviously.
12 MAY 1773
Having quitted Dusky Bay I directed my course along shore for Queen Charlotte Sound, having a gentle breeze at SE and South with fair weather.
At 4 in the PM Doubtful Harbour bore ESE distance three or four leagues and the north entrance of Dusky Bay SSE distant five leagues. In the night had little wind with showers of rain, in the morning it was fair but the weather was dark and gloomy and the wind veered to NW. At noon we were distant from the shore five leagues.
For six days they bore north, following the western coastline of New Zealand’s southern island. The winds were variable, from gentle breezes to gales. But the crew was well fed and rested after the weeks in Dusky Sound, and were hopeful of a reunion with Adventure in Queen Charlotte Sound. But had she made it there, or had she foundered in the bleak Antarctic depths?
At four o’clock in the afternoon of 18 May, bearing east through the strait which now bore James’s name, and with Stephen’s Isle five leagues away, the wind suddenly dropped. With the lull came a sudden darkening of the sky. Black billowing clouds covered the sky to the north and east of the ship. Sensing that a storm was about to burst, James ordered all Resolution’s sails clewed, then stood with Clerke, Pickersgill and Hodges on the quarterdeck, staring out over the water. Something strange, something almost unnatural was happening. The waters of the strait became ruffled by gusts of wind which seemed to be coming from all points of the compass. But instead of the anticipated gale, out of the clouds several enormous waterspouts appeared, four between the ship and the land, the fifth some distance away, and a sixth which headed straight for the ship’s stern.
There were cries of alarm from the men on the mid and foredecks as the huge column of twisting, whirling water, 60 feet across at its base, came closer, a great roaring coming from the revolving mass as it joined the sea to the sky. Its strength was palpable; within the column they could see the bodies of large seabirds being spiralled upwards. If it struck the ship, it had the power to destroy it. James and Clerke both pressed their hats down onto their heads; Hodges pinned his sketch pad under his arm. Spray from the spout flew in all directions, reaching the ship. No one was aloft, and the men below them on the mid-deck were crouching, eyeing the great twister in terror as it moved closer to the ship.
Then, abruptly, the waterspout altered its course. It moved 50 or so yards away to the north-east, then remained in the same spot, still spiralling upwards. The sea remained distressed, the sky was still dark, the six waterspouts still clearly visible. But the ship was safe.
Clerke stood up, his chest heaving. ‘Have you ever witnessed such a sight, Captain?’ he asked, his voice low with relief.
James shook his head. ‘No. I have seen waterspouts, but only singularly. Never so many in one place.’ He stared at the retreating columns. ‘They are whirlwinds of rising air caused by overheating of the atmosphere, I have read.’
Hodges rested his sketch pad on the afterdeck rail and began to draw, using his grey and white pastels. The others watched him curiously. The column he drew was broad and white at its base, but where it reached the clouds he rendered it darker. Then, with a blue crayon, he sketched the turbulent surrounding sea.
‘A fine impression,’ said Pickersgill, peering over Hodges’s shoulder.
‘Thank you,’ Hodges replied, not pausing in his drawing. ‘I have in my mind a dramatic tableau, featuring the spout but with added elements.’
‘What added elements?’ asked James.
‘A suitable shoreline, and this ship, to convey the scale of the spout. Some human figures, perhaps.’ He added more billowing black clouds. ‘The whole will comprise a fine montage.’
The following morning, during a breakfast of broiled blue cod, wort and celery, they discussed the waterspouts and their close escape. Cooper said, ‘Ramsay told me that the men on the berth deck consider that the spouts are an evil omen. They say it means that we will never be reunited with Adventure.’
James clicked his tongue in frustration. ‘Foolish superstition. Waterspouts are a natural phenomenon.’
Johann Forster looked up from his meal. ‘No. They are yet another act of God, a demonstration of our Almighty’s divine power.’
‘They are a work of nature,’ James muttered, ‘caused by whirlwinds over water.’ He fell silent, wondering bitterly how much longer it would be before sailorly superstition and religious dogma were replaced by rational beliefs. At that moment the strained silence at the table was ruptured by a booming and a subsequent echo. All pricked up their ears. Thunder? But the sky was now clear. Moments later the boom came again, from somewhere east of the ship.
Eyes bright with realisation, Cooper looked across the table at James. ‘That is—’
James nodded. Awash with relief, he said, ‘Cannon fire, yes. Adventure’s guns. They have seen us.’
Fourteen
RESOLUTION AND ADVENTURE LAY AT ANCHOR side-by-side in Ship Cove. The morning air was crisp, the water in the bay like glass. Sounds of birdsong came from the forest which clothed the steep slopes above the cove, the birds’ harmonious notes contrasting with the dull thuds from the firewood parties’ axes. Two seamen were rolling filled water casks down the beach towards the launch. Further out in Queen Charlotte Sound, the long profile of Motuara Island was illuminated by the rising sun, while between the cove and the island the sound’s waters were ruffled by a light south-westerly. From the decks and rigging of both ships came the shouts and laughter of the two crews, who had caroused happily last evening. The expedition was united again, at last.
Waiting on the deck for Furneaux to come aboard, James absorbed the scene gratefully. It was good to be back here, even if only briefly. Ship Cove offered the expedition everything it needed: a sheltered beach where the vessels could be heeled, clean water from the two streams which flowed into the cove, straight-grained timber for planking, and branches for feeding the ships’ fireboxes. There were fish and shellfish aplenty and wild celery and scurvy grass grew along the foreshore, fresh greens to help ward off the malady. Watching the men rowing the water casks out to the ship, James knew they would need to be fully provisioned. There was much hard sailing ahead.
‘Captain! Welcome to Ship Cove. It’s good to see you again.’
‘Thank you, Furneaux. It’s good to be here.’
They shook hands on the mid-deck. The master of Adventure’s dark eyes twinkled with pleasure. His fleshy face was ruddy and unshaven, his greying hair tied back in a queue, his jacket unbuttoned. James invited him below to Resolution’s Great Cabin, and there over coffee, Furneaux apprised him of the consort ship’s news. ‘I held to your instruction to stay in the area in which we had become separated, for three days, tacking constantly. But the fog remained dense and we heard no sounds from Resolution, so at midday on 11 February I ordered that we take a north-easterly course, bound for New Zealand via Van Diemen’s Land.’
James gave him a hard look. ‘Why did you not sail directly for Ship Cove?’
Furneaux set his coffee cup down. ‘Our supplies were running low, water especially. We reached the south coast of Van Diemen’s Land on 9 March. There we found excellent watering and wooding in the bay Tasman discovered in 1642. Storm Bay, the Dutchman called it.’ He grinned. ‘I renamed it Ad
venture Bay. We provisioned there for four days, then sailed along Van Diemen’s Land’s east coast, as far as the 41st parallel.’
James leaned forward. ‘Did you determine if Van Diemen’s Land is part of New Holland?’
‘Alas no, we were unable to. There were many islands off Van Diemen Land’s north-east coast, and much shoal water. The sailing was hazardous.’ He stroked his chin. ‘It’s my belief that beyond the islands lies a deep bay, but I considered it too great a risk to venture further west, so we turned east and made for Queen Charlotte Sound. We sighted Cape Farewell on 3 March.’ He made an open hands gesture. ‘And so here we are. Together again.’
‘Yes. And we will remain so for the rest of the voyage, I hope.’
But James felt a twinge of regret that the opportunity to determine whether Van Diemen’s Land was an island or not had been lost. He gave Furneaux a resume of their time in Dusky Sound, spreading out on the table the chart he had drawn of the area and pointing out the sound’s salient features. Furneaux nodded approvingly. Then, rolling the chart up, James asked, ‘And your men, are they in good health?’
Furneaux’s eyes lost their sparkle. ‘Not entirely. Morale became low after we separated from Resolution. One of the midshipmen suffered hallucinations while on watch, claiming that he had seen his father’s ghost coming across the deck towards him.’ He looked down. ‘Then several of the crew fell ill. They’ve been taken across to Motuara Island to recover. They’re staying in tents there.’
Giving him a loaded look, James said, ‘What are their symptoms?’
‘Bleeding, ulcerated gums, livid marks on their bodies, melancholy, swollen limbs—’
‘Scurvy.’ James almost spat the word.
When Furneaux nodded, James felt a flash of anger. Looking hard into the other man’s eyes, he said, ‘Did you not insist that they ate the anti-scorbutics? The wort? The sauerkraut?’