James Cook's New World

by Lay, Graeme

  ‘As I walked beside the inlet, seeking new plants, two Indians approached me. They told me by miming that they would show me many interesting plants in the forest. They led me up a rough trail through the trees. But once in the forest they attacked me. One man seized my belt and hunting knife while the other had his hands about my throat. They beat me about the face with their fists, stripped all the clothes from my body.’ Distressed, Sparrman sank to his knees on the deck. ‘They took my microscope as well as my clothes and knife, and I was left alone, naked. It was an abominable assault. As I walked back here an old man saw my unclothed state, brought this cloak from his house and wrapped it about me.’

  The older Forster looked up at James. ‘We must take the marines, find the assailants, apprehend them and have them flogged.’

  James felt a double flash of anger, precipitated initially by Forster’s attempted usurpation of his authority and then by Sparrman’s recklessness at venturing inland alone. It had been well understood until now that the expedition’s members must never do so. Forster was still looking at him accusingly. James said, in carefully measured tones, ‘I will be the one who decides on a suitable punishment, Forster.’ To Sparrman he said, ‘You were advised not to botanise alone, Sparrman, and you ignored that advice. Now go below and dress yourself.’ Miserably the Swede got to his feet and crept away, George Forster following him. The older Forster, hands on his hips, demanded, ‘And the punishment for the savages’ violent assault?’

  ‘I will visit Ori. He is the one who holds authority on this island. To him I will insist that the culprits be found and punished, and Sparrman’s clothes and other possessions retrieved.’

  The older Forster made a mulish face and turned away, making a hissing sound that clearly meant, ‘Not enough.’

  Ori was advised of the assault and was horrified by the news. He promised James that the offenders would be caught. Three days later word was taken out to the ship that they had been apprehended and the stolen items recovered. Ori invited James ashore to witness their punishment, but he declined to do so. He wished to leave Huahine on the most cordial terms.

  The next day, surrounded by canoes bidding them farewell and hurling garlands onto their decks, the two ships were warped out of the lagoon and set a course west for Raiatea, whose serrated profile was visible on the horizon, just a day’s sail away.

  Seventeen

  AGAIN THEIR SHIPS WERE WELCOMED. Many people remembered the visit of Endeavour four years before, and a meeting was arranged with the current ruler of the island, a burly, bearded man called Reo. He had two children, a boy of about 12 and a girl a year or so older, and made James, Furneaux and their entourage welcome at his house above the lagoon at Hamanino Bay. The boy, Rongo, was chubby and shy; his sister Poiatua was already a beauty, with dark, inquisitive eyes and long glossy hair. Both wore pendants of pearl shell. With Pickersgill and Gibson translating for him, Reo inquired after Tupaia, who came originally from Hamanino, and listened thoughtfully to James’s account of the death of the priest and his foster-son at Batavia. ‘Tupaia,’ Reo murmured sadly, ‘Tupaia maa-tay. Aue, aue.’

  Friendships established, a brisk bartering ensued with Reo’s people, overseen by Dewar, Resolution’s clerk. Pigs, poultry, dogs, fruit and sweet potatoes were exchanged freely for cloth, axes, beads and nails. While the bartering was carried out the Forsters headed inland with their fowling pieces and packs.

  James and the others were served pork, fish and vegetables cooked in an earth oven, washed down with the milk from young coconuts. It was very hot, and Reo’s two children moved about the group, stirring the air and brushing away flies with fans of woven pandanus. As James and the others concluded their meal, the Forsters emerged from the undergrowth behind Reo’s house, scatterguns in their hands and red-faced from their exertions. Johann, eyes bulging with triumph, entered the house and without making a greeting, emptied his collectors’ bag at James’s feet. As on Huahine, dead birds tumbled out: two herons, three grey-green fruit doves and seven kingfishers. As they fell, Reo’s young daughter cried out in horror: ‘Ney, ney, ruro tapu!’

  Covering her face with her hands, she began to weep uncontrollably. Frowning with concern, Reo went to her, put his arm around her shoulders and said consolingly, ‘Poiatua, Poiatua.’ He scowled at the Forsters. George blushed; Johann looked defiant.

  Reo spoke quietly to Gibson, who translated for James, ‘The kingfishers, which they call “ruro”, are sacred birds to these people. They believe they embody their Sun God, Raa, and so they never kill them. To do so brings evil.’

  James nodded. ‘Tell them we are very sorry. Such wanton killing will not happen again.’ Gibson told this to the chief, but Reo still looked upset. James said to Forster accusingly, ‘You have already killed and collected these birds on Huahine. Why did you do so again?’

  Forster returned his glare. ‘We need specimens. As many as possible, for preserving and presenting to institutions in England.’ He began to gather up the dead birds and place them back in his bag.

  James stared him down. ‘You have your specimens. More than is necessary. Do not kill any more of the sacred birds.’

  The naturalists walked away, without apologising. Poiatua remained kneeling, hands over her face. James put a hand on Reo’s shoulder. ‘Taio, I am sorry for the loss of the birds. I promise you, there will be no more shooting of the kingfishers.’ Gibson translated. Reo nodded, but his expression remained clouded.

  A few days later, while the final provisioning was being carried out, the Forsters went off to the north coast of Raiatea to botanise once again. In the afternoon both were rowed out to Resolution in a clearly agitated state. Dishevelled, his bare arms showing scratch marks, Johann ignored James and went directly below. James intercepted George before he could follow. ‘What happened?’ he demanded.

  The young man avoided James’s eyes. ‘It was nothing, sir.’

  ‘Nothing? I think not. What happened today? I need to know.’

  George laid his specimen bag and musket down on the deck, then spoke in a subdued voice.

  ‘We were with Clerke and Cooper and the others during the morning, but later became separated from them. It was terribly hot, and although we were on the coast, we didn’t know the way back here. We were also very weary. My father went up onto the foreshore to rest, and as there were natives on the shore fishing with a net, I asked them by gestures if they could take us back to Hamanino Bay. I offered the canoeist one nail for this assistance, but he held up four fingers. As I had only the one nail, I shook my head. Whereupon he snatched not only the nail but also my fowling piece. Seeing what was happening, my father got up, aimed his weapon at the man and called for him to give the gun back. The man did so, then ran back down the beach.’ George looked down at the deck and shuffled his feet. ‘My father then fired his gun at the native, hitting him in the back with grapeshot.’

  ‘Then what happened?’

  ‘His friends laid the injured one down in the canoe, and they paddled off. We made our own way back, slowly, along the coast.’ He looked at James pleadingly. ‘My father shot the man only because he feared for my safety, sir.’

  James regarded him coldly. ‘Go below and tell your father to report to me in the Great Cabin. Now.’

  When the elder Forster entered his wet hair was plastered down on his scalp, his lips were compressed and his vest hung open. ‘What is it?’ he said sullenly.

  ‘You shot a native. For no sound reason.’

  ‘No sound reason? He was threatening my son.’

  ‘You shot him in the back while he was running away.’

  ‘But he might well have turned and attacked again.’

  James clicked his tongue in derision. ‘From what I have heard, the native presented no serious threat, so there was no need to shoot. And certainly not while he was running away.’ Forster opened his mouth to remonstrate, but James cut him off. ‘We have received nothing but kindness from the people on this island. The
y have welcomed us and fed us. Our ships will be well provisioned, thanks to Reo and his subjects. But another rash act from you—coming on top of your shooting of their sacred birds—has placed their goodwill in jeopardy.’

  Forster swallowed, then said thickly, ‘You cannot tell me what I can and cannot do, Cook, I will act as I see fit. I am not one of your uncouth seamen, I am a man of science.’ He lifted his chin. ‘And your authority is lax. You are too lenient with the natives. You took no action against the assailants of Sparrman, when what was required was a thorough flogging of the culprits. And now you rebuke me for defending my own son.’

  Furious, James moved closer to the botanist. ‘I rebuke you for a precipitate and hostile act. Leave this cabin and return to your own quarters. Your attitude is intolerable.’

  The naturalist’s expression became scornful. ‘I will have satisfaction with you, sir!’

  James was speechless for a moment. Did he mean a duel? The man was preposterous. ‘You are a liability to this expedition, Forster. Go to your quarters. Immediately.’

  Clenching his fists, Forster spat a reply. ‘Through my close friend Judge Barrington, the King will hear about this!’

  10 SEPTEMBER 1773

  Dearest Beth,

  As we prepare to depart the shores of Raiatea, well provisioned, there are only one or two incidents which are truly regrettable. They both concern Johann Forster, who is undoubtedly the most vexatious personage I have ever shared a ship with. He has surely chosen the wrong vocation. His moralising and preaching make him far more suited to the pulpit than the beauteous world of nature, which he is only too prepared to trample on for his own ends. He has been paid a fortune to come on this voyage, and seems to think that this allows him to be outside all authority. Today I ordered him from the Great Cabin, and he will stay banished from it until we are at sea again. Our dispute arose over the needless wounding of a native, the details of which I need not tire you with. Neither will I record my personal dispute with him in my official journal, it is too absurd to be reported.

  But this latest incident precipitated a thought which I previously considered unthinkable: would that Joseph Banks was here instead of Forster.

  My love to you and the boys,

  James

  In the midst of their final preparations to leave the Leeward Islands, Furneaux approached James. With him was a handsome young native man in his early 20s. He wore a headdress of white feathers, a necklace of pearl shell and a bark-cloth skirt and was obviously pleased to be in this company. Furneaux said, ‘Captain Cook, this is Omai. He is from Raiatea but has been living on Huahine. He wishes to sail with me on Adventure to England.’

  James had already observed the young man keeping company with Adventure’s commander. Omai stepped forward and extended his hand. He was of medium height, with a broad flattish face, a dark complexion and a full, sensuous mouth. Looking him up and down, James said to Furneaux, ‘You have already agreed that he can accompany you?’

  Flushing slightly, Furneaux nodded. ‘He has stayed aboard my ship for several days now, and shows a lively interest in its workings. He is genuine in his desire to travel to England and his family have given him their permission. And he is a priest, familiar with his people’s beliefs and customs.’

  James was in two minds. Recalling how useful a go-between Tupaia had often been on his last voyage, he could see that Omai could well prove an equally valuable envoy and appeared to be well at ease with Furneaux. But he recalled too how obstinate Tupaia had been over the courses they should follow, and his frequently haughty attitudes. Also, the title ‘priest’ was open to various interpretations in these islands. Ori had already reported to James dismissively that this young man was actually of low birth. Still, his presence could be useful, and doubtless an extra hand on the ship would also prove helpful. James himself had already agreed to take a young Otaheitian called Poreo on Resolution, for similar reasons. Poreo had then fallen in love with a young girl on Raiatea and had changed his mind. Another young man, Hitihiti, who came originally from Bora Bora, had volunteered to take Poreo’s place and James had agreed to this. Hitihiti had already shown himself to be an enthusiastic crew member, and James again reasoned that to have a South Sea native on each ship might ease relations with the inhabitants of the islands they were yet to visit. ‘Your taio may sail with Adventure,’ he said.

  Provisioning completed, Resolution’s and Adventure’s decks were covered with penned chickens, pigs and dogs. There were now so many pigs of all sizes that the ships, James thought, resembled floating hog farms. And the holds were crammed with yams, plantains, breadfruit and coconuts. There remained one salient question to consider: which course should they follow before their eventual return to New Zealand?

  The officers from both ships gathered in the mess after supper on 16 September. Over glasses of port, James announced the course he had decided upon. The primary objective of the expedition—to ascertain the existence or otherwise of the Great Southern Continent—remained unresolved. Hence they would in the coming southern summer months sail into the high southern latitudes of the eastern Southern Ocean, sweeping to possibly as far as 80 degrees west of Greenwich. This would again take them south to the Antarctic Circle, with all its accompanying discomforts and perils, he pointed out. He set his glass down. ‘After departing Raiatea we will sail due west, following approximately the twentieth parallel and thus taking advantage of the south-east trade winds.’

  Around the table, there were expressions of surprise and some of consternation. West? All the talk until now had been of another sojourn in Queen Charlotte Sound. After a few moments of the surprised silence, Furneaux leaned forward. ‘Why west, sir? Should we not proceed to the south-west, to raise the east coast of New Zealand in the spring?’

  James’s eyes swept the gathering. ‘As yet we have made no discoveries, Furneaux, merely rediscoveries. Before New Zealand I intend for us to call at the islands Tasman discovered in 1643—Middleburg and Amsterdam—and decide whether or not there are other uncharted islands in their vicinity. No other Europeans have been in those waters for 130 years.’

  Even as he made this declaration James was aware of the irony which attached to the announcing of this course. Four years ago, in these very waters, Tupaia had urged him to sail due west and so discover more islands uncharted by Europeans. James had refused, instead taking Endeavour south to the 40th parallel in accordance with the Admiralty’s instructions and finding there nothing but empty ocean, a failure which had rankled with him ever since. He needed real discoveries. Arching his eyebrows, he said, ‘Any comments, gentlemen?’

  Clerke piped up. ‘I must say, sir, if the inhabitants of Middleburg and Amsterdam are as agreeable as those of the Society Islands, then I am completely in favour of a direct westerly course.’

  The others laughed. Clerke loved these islands, especially their women. James nodded. ‘Very well. We will begin to unmoor before dawn tomorrow, and weigh anchor soon after sunrise.’

  18 SEPTEMBER 1773

  Winds EBS. Distance sailed 75 miles. Latitude in the South 17° 17´. West longitude Greenwich 153° 10´. Having left Raiatea I directed my course to the west, inclining to the south as well, to avoid the tracks of former navigators as to get into the latitude of Amsterdam Island, discovered by Tasman in 1643, my intention being to run as far west as that island and even to touch there if I found it convenient. A little after sunset shortened sail to single reefed topsails and brought to during the night, but in the day made all the sail we could. This we continued to do for several succeeding nights.

  On 23 September land was sighted from the masthead, but proved to be merely a trio of small low islands, surrounded by coral reefs and covered in coconut palms. Not bothering with a landing, James named them the Hervey Islands, after Augustus Hervey, a naval officer who had been made a Lord of the Admiralty in 1771. Hervey would be flattered by this gesture, he knew. Both ships then continued on their western course.

&nbs
p; From the masthead, James swept the western horizon with his scope but could see nothing but mist. Tasman had estimated the longitude of Middleburg to be 170 degrees west of Greenwich. Even given the Dutchman’s propensity for inaccurate observations, their current longitude of 165 degrees west meant that the island could not be far away. Climbing back down to the deck, James again thought that there were far more likely to be discoveries in this direction than the south-west route to New Zealand. Again too, he thought wryly of Tupaia, and how the deceased priest would have approved.

  The wind was a steady eight knots and Resolution rolled contentedly in the swells, Adventure shadowing her a mile to starboard. James stared up at the sky. It was a pure, pale blue, with wisps of cloud spread like white feathers across the blueness. At the helm before him were quartermasters Atkin and Bordall. John Blackburn was at the head of the mainmast. Two tropic birds soared and swooped abaft of the ship, their bifurcated tails like pairs of dividers.

  James continued to stare at the horizon. Tupaia had told him that there were many islands—many large islands—to the west of Raiatea, not merely the ones Tasman had discovered. James seethed at this knowledge, and the manner in which the Great Southern Continent had come to dominate his explorations. Terra Australis Incognita had become a kind of nemesis. More and more he doubted its existence, as well as resenting the fact that this mythical landmass had become the Admiralty’s Holy Grail. What this expedition needed was reality, not fantasy, and the reality was that there were uncharted islands in the western Pacific but none in the south. Staring up at the mainsail, he saw that the topgallants were slackening, and heard the master, Gilbert, call for more sail. Four men scampered up the shrouds and let go the fore topsail.

  Pickersgill joined James on the quarterdeck. ‘Fair weather, sir.’