by Lay, Graeme
Looking relieved, Furneaux peered at the chart. ‘Vai-te-pi-ha. I am looking forward to seeing this place, sir.’
Three days later there was a hammering on James’s cabin door. ‘Sir! Sir!’ It was just daybreak.
He swung from his berth and put his feet on the floor. ‘What is it?’
John Burr, master’s mate, put his head around the door. He was wild-eyed. Frantically he said, ‘We’re drifting, Captain. Towards the reef!’
Sixteen
THE CLIMBING SUN LIT UP THE MASS of Tahiti-Iti island’s jagged, forest-covered mountains. But James’s eyes were focused not on the land in the distance but on the broken water larboard of the ship. He immediately realised that Resolution was much further south than the course he had set yesterday, so the officer of the watch must not have followed his instructions. Instead of being off Vaitepiha Bay, they were close to the south-eastern extremity of the island. Although the sun was still low, the heat was already searing, the sea satiny. But where its currents met the reef, waves formed, reared, and dashed themselves down on the coral, tossing spray high into the air. And the reef was now only a few hundred yards away. Fifty yards away to starboard, Adventure was in the same perilous position. A terrible memory flooded into James’s mind. Of another coral reef and another foundering, on the New Holland coast three years ago, when Endeavour was almost lost.
Pickersgill and Clerke, who had also dashed up from below, joined James on the quarterdeck. Ignoring them, he rushed to the quarterdeck rail. In front of him, Atkin and Bee were at the helm, Gilbert beside them. They turned back and looked at James expectantly. After glancing up at the tell-tales to gauge the direction of the light airs, he shouted to the helmsmen, ‘Haul off to the northward!’
Atkin spun the helm five spokes to starboard. The ship began to bear away from the reef, but only slowly. Taking her cue from Resolution, Adventure also turned to starboard. A few minutes later, the sails of both sloops slumped. The wind had died and they were now at the mercy of the in-flowing tide, the current bearing them westward and directly towards the reef.
The inhabitants of Tahiti-Iti had seen the ships, and half a league to the north dozens of outrigger canoes had put out from the shore and passed through the passage opposite Vaitepiha Bay. The canoeists were working frantically, their paddles rising and falling rapidly as they dug into the water. At first James thought the islanders were coming to help rescue the ships, but as they came closer he saw that the canoes were filled with baskets of produce: fish, plantains, coconuts and other fruits. They were coming to trade. There were many semi-naked young women in the canoes, and both they and the male paddlers wore garlands of woven flowers.
In minutes the canoes had surrounded both ships and the Otaheitians were swarming aboard, crying out ‘Taio, taio, Tute!’ and carrying up the baskets of produce. The crewmen immediately halted their duties, their attention diverted by the bodies of the young women, who were walking up to the men and stroking them enticingly. At the same time the Otaheitian men were wandering around the decks, picking up any items of interest, including belaying pins, buckets, brooms and lengths of rope. Angered by the disruption around the decks, James shouted down to the bosun. ‘Dammit, Gray, get the men back working!’ Pushing his way through the throng, the bosun attempted to shove the couples apart, but was not wholly successful. The Otaheitians seemed oblivious to the ships’ hazardous position, and instead were pressing upon the crew their gifts of fruit and fish, and demanding nails and beads in return.
Furious now, James rushed to the taff rail and peered overboard. Both ships were now fully at the mercy of the tidal current, which was streaming landward. Lacking wind, both ships’ sails were slack; captured by the current, their bows pointed westward. They would have to try to tow them away from the reef.
‘Hoist out the boats!’ James called to Gilbert, and under his direction both launches were hastily launched. The Otaheitians paused in their trading to watch this process, showing more amusement than concern. Cables were tossed down from the ship to the boats, the oarsmen settled in, then strained and sweated in the tropical heat. Across the water, Adventure’s crew duplicated the strategy. But the current was too strong, and neither team could turn their ships’ bows seaward.
Cursing under his breath, James realised there was just one more option. He called to Gilbert. ‘Lower both bow anchors!’
The ship continued drifting for a few more minutes, then was brought up. Her bow began to turn into the tidal flow. But there was little comfort in this, as they heard the leadsman’s voice call up from the chains, ‘Depth less than three fathoms!’
Fifty yards to starboard, Adventure had also dropped her anchors and was struggling against the current. The sea bottom was now only feet from both ships’ keels. Waves broke violently against the reef, close under Resolution’s stern. In James’s mind that nightmare from New Holland’s Great Barrier Reef kept returning. Now realising what was happening, most of the Otaheitians climbed down the hull steps to their canoes and began to paddle away. Minutes later, from beneath Resolution’s stern came the hideous sound of timber against rock. ‘Carry out the kedge anchor!’ James shouted to Gilbert on the foredeck. ‘And the bower!’ They were carried out and let go. Still holding fast, and with the capstan worked by eight men, the ship moved slowly forward until the anchors were apeak. ‘Cut the bower anchor!’ James commanded, and Gilbert slashed the cable with his sword.
Staring over the rail, James saw that the current was now not flowing so strongly. He called down to the men in the boats, ‘Put your backs to it! Row her off!’
The team of men heaved at their oars. Gradually, and with the reef swells still slopping at her hull, the ship’s position eased. A few minutes later, with the oarsmen still straining, she moved up far enough for the kedge anchor to be raised. At the same time, with the sun now higher in the sky, they felt the first hint of an offshore wind. Staring up at the sails, James saw them beginning to fill. The gusts strengthened, the sails began to billow. The wafts of wind merged and became a breeze. The ship began to make way. The combination of the breeze and the hauling of the men in the boats was working. Out in their canoes the Otaheitians waved their paddles, pointing them westward towards Vaitepiha Bay. Looking across the water, James saw with huge relief that Adventure too was making way. Later, Furneaux informed him that three of Adventure’s anchors had been sacrificed before they too were able to catch the delivering breeze.
All that night both ships made short boards outside the reef, while an almost-full moon cast its beams across the velvety waters of the lagoon, a mile away. Around the decks all hands savoured the fresh fruit and fish the Otaheitians had brought aboard, while still casting wary glances at the waves breaking over the still-visible reef. Although James severely admonished Anderson, the officer on watch who had set their course incorrectly, his displeasure was mollified by the knowledge that both ships were now safe and the natives had already showed them that they were welcome. He was grateful too for the fact that from now on the scurvy-afflicted men on Adventure would have all the fresh fruit and vegetables they could eat, ensuring that their health would soon recover.
Paradoxically, however, later that day James himself began to suffer intense stomach cramps, so strong that he was unable to stand. He took to his berth, handing command of the ship to Cooper. When Johann Forster offered to read him uplifting scriptural passages, James waved him away irritably, but when Sparrman pressed a goblet of brandy upon him, he accepted it with alacrity.
Next morning James’s cramp was gone and both ships made for the haven of Vaitepiha Bay. Keeping well out from the reef, and with men posted at the masthead, they passed through the passage and entered the tranquil bay, which was bordered by beaches of black sand. They anchored in 12 fathoms, about two cable lengths from the shore. It was now late morning, and the sun poured down intensely from a radiant blue sky.
Now, at last, they could gaze upon the island whose surrounding reef had so recent
ly threatened them. Most of the crews had not seen Tahiti-Iti before, and they stared from the railings and rigging at the panorama which lay before them, enraptured by its beauty. The coastal plain was covered in coconut palms and breadfruit trees, but there were clearings where thatched houses had been built, smoke from their cooking fires making white spirals in the air. Inland, rising abruptly from the plain, were forested mountains with saw-tooth peaks. The mountains were split by a v-shaped valley through which a translucent river flowed. It broadened as it passed across the plain, then flowed into the bay.
Artist Hodges was transfixed. Standing beside James on the quarterdeck, he said in an awed voice, ‘I would not have believed that there could be such natural beauty. It is like Eden itself.’
James nodded. ‘That was my thought too, when first I saw it. Otaheite is like nothing else on Earth.’
‘And the light. So clear, so clean, so intense.’
‘Yes. But it would be as well for you to undertake your painting in the mornings. In the afternoon the clouds usually build, then break with torrential rain. It clears quickly, but soaks everything. It was for that reason that Parkinson found the early morning to be the best for drawing and painting.’
Just as the old hands of the 1767 Dolphin expedition, such as Clerke and Pickersgill, had found radical changes in the island’s society when they returned to Otaheite with Endeavour in 1769, now the veterans of that expedition learned that more drastic shifts of power had occurred over the ensuing four years. Clerke, with Gibson’s assistance, spoke to the people of Tautira village and learned what had happened. The old chief of Tahiti-Iti, Vehiatua, was dead, replaced by his young son of the same name. Another civil war had erupted between Tahiti-Iti and Tahiti-Nui. Fought at sea and on land, it had been bloody. One consequence was the death in battle of Tutaha, James’s special taio on Tahiti-Nui. Young Vehiatua claimed now to be the paramount leader of the two conjoined islands. Learning of these developments, James felt dispirited. These beautiful islands were sullied by so much killing.
1 SEPTEMBER 1773
Dearest Beth,
I write on the eve of our departure from the Windward Group of the Society Islands, with thoughts of you and the children savouring the golden days of a London autumn, with the oaks and elms on the common in the season of their yellow leaf. Although many of the men are unhappy at leaving these enchanting isles, I am somewhat impatient to be away. The reported death of my special taio, Tutaha (you will remember that I called him Hercules) saddened me, as did the passing of several others who lived in the vicinity of Matavai Bay. Our stopover at Tautira, following the near-loss of our ships on the reef near there, was not straightforward. Although we bartered for fresh fruit and vegetables, whose consumption has allowed the scurvied crew members to recover, there was no great warmth from the local leader, Vehiatua the younger, who knowing of my friendship with Tutaha, who his father killed in battle, evidently feared that I might take vengeance on behalf of my slain friend. Though I mourned his death, I had no intention of doing so. There also followed an incident which infuriated me. Wishing to show friendship, I invited another chief and his retinue aboard, and hosted the group in the Great Cabin. They were offered refreshments which they accepted, but then began to purloin anything which they could—nautical instruments, books, glasses etc—and passed them through the cabin window to their friends waiting in their canoes. Fortunately the Kendall timekeeper was safely locked away. Furious at this blatant thievery, I turned the group out of the cabin and did likewise to those on deck, ordering them all from the ship. Still livid, I then fired a pair of musket balls over the offending leader’s head as he paddled away in his canoe, which to my men’s amusement so startled him that he leapt from his canoe and swam ashore. I also ordered our gunner, Anderson, to fire a four-pounder towards the strand, to emphasise our authority. This had the effect of dispersing the would-be thieves, although they returned later and showed no ill-feelings towards us. Although young Vehiatua avoided us, while we were ashore his people were amicably disposed. The peninsula, the river and the bay are uncommonly beautiful. An enduring record of our stay at Vaitepiha will be afforded by artist Hodges’s rendition of the scene. He has captured the mountains, forest and river in all their sublime beauty, although he points out to me that the painting will not be completed in oils until we return. He will add to the landscape, he tells me, a group of human figures in the classical style, an interesting conceit. It is my great hope that I can obtain at least one of Hodges’s Otaheitian landscapes, so that it can adorn our parlour wall.
After departing Tautira we made for the northern coast of Tahiti-Nui and anchored at Matavai Bay. I admit to some nostalgia when we entered the bay, as I recollected our stay here four years ago. There was at that time, you will recall, the imperative of observing the transit of Venus, with all the accompanying astronomical organisation and procedures. This time all we required were provisions for the next stage of our voyage, which was a much less taxing activity. Furneaux and I and a party from the ships also had intercourse with the new ari’i rahi, or paramount chief of Tahiti-Nui, called Tu, and his followers, whom we met at Pare. Gifts were exchanged and friendships established. Bosun’s mate Anderson, who is a Scotsman, played the bagpipes for Tu and his people. They were rendered speechless with admiration for this instrument and the exotic sounds which emanated from it. There were exchanges of gifts, mainly axes, cloth and mirrors, for island produce. What we required above all was hogs, but few were forthcoming as they were in short supply here at this time of year, which the natives consider to be the season of scarcity. Accordingly, they conserve their holdings of hogs and there are few available.
Artist Hodges again spent most of his time ashore and has produced several beautiful drawings of Matavai Bay with our ships at anchor within it. He is particularly adept at rendering images of vessels of all types, whether the small outriggers of the natives, or their much larger double-hulled canoes, as well as Resolution and Adventure at anchor. I am full of admiration for his work.
I also renewed my acquaintance with Purea, formerly the Queen of Otaheite. However due to the recent war her circumstances are much reduced—she had not supported Tutaha or Tu during the conflict—so consequently is out of favour with the new rulers. She had also parted from her husband, Amo, who now has a new and much younger wife. Poor Purea was but a shadow of her earlier glory and authority, and I felt pity for her.
During this stay there was also more carnality with the local women. If both parties consent to carnal knowledge of each other I cannot prevent them doing so, although the consequent spread of the venereals concerns me greatly. Licentiousness also results in further ill-discipline. Four men from Adventure stayed ashore longer than authorised and attempted carnal knowledge of some local women without their consent. Fighting broke out with the Otaheitian men as a consequence. When their behaviour was reported to me I was irate, and sentenced the four—three of whom were marines—to the lash. We can scarcely expect to be looked up to by the natives as civilised and superior beings when we behave like dirty dogs with their women. It distresses me to report such matters to you, Beth, but be assured, my fidelity to you will never waver.
After leaving Otaheite we called again at the high island of Huahine, and were well remembered, especially by the paramount chief, Ori. He is an elderly man, but one of fine bearing who now regards me as his son, I believe. When we met again he wept freely, and we are now so close that he calls me Ori and I refer to him as Tute (Cook), a case of exchanged identity. His island is another one of exceptional beauty, with a fine harbour, forests, plantations, mountains and, to the north, a tidal inlet containing ingenious fish traps made of stone. Ignoring the conserving of livestock which we observed on Otaheite, Ori and his people have bartered generously with us. We traded axes and nails for the hogs that were so lacking on the other island, along with many hens and cocks, yams, plantains and sweet potatoes, so that we will be more than adequately provisioned for the
next stage of our voyage. Our only difficulties were the usual ones—persistent and apparently incurable thieving of our possessions by the natives.
Our naturalists, the father-and-son-Forsters and the Swede, Anders Sparrman, botanise keenly. The latter goes off alone, I suspect because he tires of the Forsters’ company. I think this solitary excursioning to be unwise, but he blithely continues to do so.
I must conclude this entry now, Beth, as shouting from the deck indicates that a shore party has returned.
My love to you, as always,
James
James watched the Forsters come aboard. Both carried their fowling pieces and specimen bags. Johann emptied his bag onto the deck. A dozen or so birds tumbled out. He held up a couple of small, bloodied corpses to James. ‘Fine specimens to add to my collection,’ he called up jubilantly.
James moved to the rail and peered over. ‘What are they?’
‘A type of kingfisher, some ducks, and a heron. We shot them by a tidal lagoon, half an hour’s hike from here.’ He was still grinning as he shoved the birds back in his bag.
James remained silent. Taking specimens was all very well, but he had been told by Ori that some birds were sacred to the Huahinians. His people could be upset at this indiscriminate killing. At that moment there was a shout from the shore. Looking across the water, James saw a figure standing on the beach, waving wildly towards the ship. It was Sparrman, with only a length of bark cloth wrapped around him. James ordered the launch to be rowed over to collect him. As the botanist climbed back on board, James flinched. Sparrman’s face was streaked with blood and his fair hair was matted with it. The Forsters came up from below and looked shocked at their friend’s appearance. Panting as he spoke, pale with fright, the botanist recounted what had happened.