by Lay, Graeme
James nodded. He too had noticed this unusual absence. Weren’t all tropical islands surrounded by a coral reef? Also, the island’s south coast was exposed, and the winds were driving the ocean swells onto its shores. There could be no safe anchorage there. James swung his scope to the south-west. A few miles away, half-hidden by mist, was the dark mass of another island. ‘Mendana named that one “Santa Christina”, he said, ‘and found a sheltered anchorage on its west coast.’ He called to the helmsmen, ‘We will take the passage between the islands. Once through the gap, bring her around three turns to the south.’
Santa Christina was significantly smaller than Dominica, but equally rugged. Deploying his quadrant, Wales estimated the height of its central spine as over 3000 feet. As they coasted the island, the crew stared in amazement at its features. Crescent-shaped, it soared into the clouds, its spine clothed in dark green forest. Its western coast was scalloped, the shore covered with coconut palms and breadfruit trees.
‘It looks like a land where giants might dwell,’ mused Clerke.
‘We will most certainly obtain timber there,’ said Cooper. ‘And fresh water.’ He grunted. ‘What a contrast with Easter Island.’
An hour later, still coasting, they spied a bay, halfway along the western side of the island. James gave Gilbert the instruction to enter the bay, and Resolution was put about. Just as she steadied, made way and was about to enter the bay, the sky closed over and a squall swept down from the mountains. Torrential rain began to fall, obscuring the land, and gale-force winds struck the masts and sails. With a crack like a thunderclap, the mizzen topmast split, toppled, then dangled, held up only by its rigging. Lurching to larboard, the ship began to be pushed towards the rocks which marked the northern margin of the bay.
‘Bring her round!’ James shouted to the helmsmen. ‘Hard about!’ Gilbert joined Atkin and Bee at the wheel, hauling it round several points. The ship lurched again, throwing the men on deck hard against the railings. Cursing as they wrestled with the wheel, the helmsmen pushed and turned. The ship slowly came back onto an even keel, then settled. The winds dropped away and the black clouds parted. The sun broke through, illuminating the slopes at the head of the bay and the dense forest which grew to the very peaks of the mountain ridge high above them.
As the anchor was dropped and the men aloft furled the sails, a fleet of canoes made its way out from the beach towards the ship. The Marquesans were obviously of the same race as the Easter Islanders, but different in their presentation. It was only men who came out to the ship. Acorn-brown, their bodies and faces were covered from forehead to feet in elaborate tattoos arranged in whorls, friezes and spirals. They were naked except for bark-cloth skirts; their black hair, shiny with coconut oil, was tied up in buns or drawn back in ponytails. Their teeth were large and perfectly white, and around their necks hung pendants of iridescent pearl shell. Some had shark’s teeth dangling from their earlobes.
To his pleasure, Hitihiti found that the Marquesans could understand him, and he introduced James to their leader, a tall, handsome man called Hanaoa. Spiral tattoos covered every inch of his skin. This island was called Tahuata, he said, and its larger neighbour was Hiva Oa.
After Hitihiti explained to the leader what the Resolutions wanted, trade ensued. Coconuts, breadfruit, fish and chickens were brought out to the ship in woven baskets. The natives also offered the crew hardwood clubs, objects of great size, weight and beauty. Called u’u, said Hanaoa, they were carved from wood from the tamanu tree with adzes, then finished with pearl-shell scrapers and sharkskin, and polished with palm oil. Hanaoa took delight in explaining that the u’u were designed to crush the skulls of their enemies with a two-handed blow, and he demonstrated how this was delivered, standing with his legs apart and grinning as he mimed the killing action. The islanders enthusiastically exchanged their clubs for nails, knives and the red feathers the Resolutions had obtained on Tongatapu. It became obvious that the feathers were prized above all of the goods the visitors offered the Marquesans.
More and more of the islanders came aboard, all clambering to trade. On the second morning, thieving began. A young man snatched some red feathers from midshipman Vancouver without offering anything in exchange, then made for the gangway. Witnessing the theft, James snatched up his musket and fired a shot over the young man’s head. He stopped in astonishment, dropped the feathers and dived overboard, allowing Vancouver to retrieve them.
Deciding it was time to go ashore, James began to board the ship’s launch, which was roped to the gangway. As he did so a Marquesan on the opposite side of the ship climbed up from a canoe containing two other men, snatched an iron stanchion holding up the rope railing, then got back into the canoe.
‘Fire over their canoe!’ James ordered the marines. They ran to the rail, brought their muskets up to their shoulders and let loose a volley. As the discharges reverberated around the bay, the culprit in the canoe fell back. A ball had struck him in the side of the head, and blood gushed from a gaping hole behind his left ear. The younger of his two companions cried out in anguish, and attempted to scoop the blood up and out of the canoe with a gourd. On Resolution’s mid-deck, Hitihiti put his face in his hands and wept.
Rushing to the rail, James saw that all the canoes were now paddling furiously for shore. A crowd of men was gathering on the beach, war clubs in their hands, and from the forest behind them came the sound of explosive drumming. Fuming, James clenched his fists. One misdirected musket ball had destroyed their rapport with these people.
Together with his officers and Hitihiti, he stood on the deck and discussed the situation. Sorely in need of fresh food and water, the Resolutions would obviously be at risk of attack if they attempted to go ashore to obtain supplies. They could perhaps seek an alternative anchorage, but were unlikely to find one on this coast. ‘We could send all the marines ahead of a landing party, sir,’ suggested Cooper. ‘Make a show of force.’
Still exasperated, James shook his head. ‘We would be greatly outnumbered.’ He pointed at the beach, where the large crowd had assembled.
‘We could fire the cannons,’ said Pickersgill. ‘To demonstrate our power.’
James replied coldly. ‘As Wallis did in Otaheite? With great loss of native life? And when he was here, Mendana killed 200 of these people with his weapons.’ He looked again at the assembly of natives. ‘We do not want to give them even more reason to distrust Europeans.’
Thus reproached by his commander, Pickersgill stared down at the deck.
Clerke, staring shoreward, scope to his eye, touched James’s sleeve. ‘Look, sir.’ Another, larger canoe had made out from the shore. As it approached the ship they saw that it contained a middle-aged man wearing an elaborate headdress. He held a leafy bough in his right hand and there was a dead piglet over his right shoulder.
‘Mebee a sign of peace,’ said Hitihiti, brightening. The canoe drew up alongside the ship. The man was immensely tall, and heavily tattooed on every plane of his body. His hair was tied in a topknot and around his neck was a large, finely wrought breast ornament comprised of segments of trapezoidal wood, fastened together with coconut fibre. When he came up onto the deck James bowed to him and presented him with an axe and a spike nail, which he accepted gratefully, nodding and smiling. He handed the pig to James then spoke to Hitihiti, who translated. ‘He wishes to know when you will come ashore on Tahuata.’
Still cautious, heavily guarded by the marines, the shore party disembarked on the beach. It was stiflingly hot, the air sultry and completely still after a recent downpour. On the foreshore stood scores of naked, tattooed men, most holding clubs. James, hat pinned under his arm, Hitihiti beside him, advanced. As they went forward James said to the Bora Boran, ‘Tell them we are greatly sorry for the death, which was caused by the man stealing the iron rod, which belonged to the ship. And say we are in need of water, wood and fresh food, which we will exchange for goods which we carry.’
Hitihiti made a long spe
ech, accompanied by elaborate gesticulations. Although they obviously understood most of what he said, nodding as he spoke, several of them laughed at his strange accent. This had a relaxing effect. Then the tall man in the headdress came forward and beckoned to the shore party, saying, ‘Maeva, maeva.’
To the Resolutions’ immense relief, a truce was in place.
They began to explore the island. Above the bay were crystalline streams which gushed down the mountainside. There were stands of huge forest trees, draped with ferns and epiphytes. Flowering hibiscus, tiare shrubs, coconut palms, breadfruit trees and bananas grew in profusion on the coastal plain and pigs and chickens ranged freely through the undergrowth. Venturing inland, now unthreatened, the Forsters and Sparrman came upon many squat, carved basalt statues which the islanders called ‘tiki’, and broad platforms made from volcanic slabs, skilfully interlocked. ‘Marae’, the Tahuatans said they were called, explaining that these were places where the gods were worshipped and ceremonies conducted. Gaudy parrots swooped from tree to tree, squawking at the visitors. The Forsters responded by gunning them down and stuffing them into their collecting bags.
Trade between the Resolutions and the Marquesans became brisk, not merely for the provisions the ship needed but also for the natives’ artefacts, especially their handsome clubs. The cost of these rose rapidly as the islanders realised how eager the crew were to obtain them. The crew exchanged their Friendly Isles red feathers, pieces of English cloth, nails, beads and lengths of ribbon for fine hardwood carvings of dolphins and whales. And the strikingly tall, graceful women sought the red feathers, along with beads and ribbons, in a willing exchange for the sailors’ swift, urgent use of their bodies.
After a few days the demand for European goods escalated. On board ship, the importuning islanders pointed at cutlery, glasses, crockery and pewter mugs as they offered up their carvings. Realising that the trading was threatening to get out of hand, and with the ship now adequately provisioned and the mizzen topmast repaired, James announced on 8 April that they would set sail the next day for Otaheite.
The launches were hoisted aboard and tied down. The bower anchors were raised and made fast; the foresails unfurled. With quartermasters Atkin and Bee at the wheel, Resolution caught the light airs and turned slowly towards the west. As she moved out of the bay, her sails beginning to billow, several canoes accompanied the ship, the occupants waving.
Wales joined James on the quarterdeck. He had been most concerned when James fell ill and had been suffering from stomach pains himself. He still looked drawn, and the whites of his eyes had a yellowish tinge, but his demeanour was positive. ‘You look better, sir. Are you fully recovered now?’ he asked.
‘Almost completely. Fresh fruit, fresh meat and fish have worked wonders.’ James smiled. ‘My visits to the head are now as regular as usual.’
Wales nodded sympathetically. ‘I too am feeling much better, thanks to the island diet.’ He looked back at the island. ‘And I have fixed the position of this place precisely. Nine degrees, 56 minutes south; 139 degrees, five minutes west.’
‘Well done,’ James replied. ‘That will be of great assistance to those who follow us.’
Wales was staring back at the island’s great flank and its mountain ridge, more than 3000 feet above them. He said quietly, ‘I believe that the people of this island are the finest natives we have encountered. So tall, so strong, so healthy. And generous.’
‘True,’ said James. ‘Noble people. And they have given me back my health. In gratitude, I have named our anchorage here Resolution Bay.’
Twenty-three
18 APRIL 1774
Dearest Elizabeth,
I write from near the very centre of the South Pacific Ocean. Resolution is anchored off one of the northern islands of the so-called ‘Dangerous Archipelago’. Named Coral Island in 1766 by Commander Byron, it is one of many such islands scattered across a vast area of ocean, so low that they are barely above the level of the ocean. Aware that we must soon be approaching it, and wary of the deadly nature of its coral rocks, I posted men to the masthead night and day until the island was seen by them in the early morning. It is elongated, with a slender land area covered in coconut palms and a central lagoon like a vast lake. The latter is connected to the open sea by a pass too narrow to admit Resolution to the lagoon, but as we are in need of fresh food again, I had one of the boats put out and from it sailing master Gilbert sounded the pass to my satisfaction. I then ordered a party ashore, in order to obtain whatever provisions they could from the inhabitants of the island.
I have not gone onto the island myself, as I find myself afflicted by a bout of melancholia. In this state I prefer to remain below, and alone. My bilious colic and constipation have eased, I am relieved to tell you, but these have been replaced by a disconsolate state of mind which is almost as bad. I can share these thoughts with no one except you, Beth, not surgeon Patten nor any of my officers, and certainly not Johann Forster, who would undoubtedly prescribe readings of the New Testament. No, I must keep my dejection to myself, since a commander cannot be seen to be thinking so inwardly and selfishly. But you, dearest, should know of this state of mind and the reason for it.
The reason? That once more I have discovered no new lands. That with the exception of the ice mountains of the Antarctic, which are worthless, I have found and claimed no new possessions for our sovereign. Everywhere I have taken Resolution, other voyagers have preceded me. The very island which I can now observe through the stern window of my ship’s Great Cabin was first seen and recorded by the Dutchmen Schouten and Le Maire, in 1616. Then again by Byron 150 years later. So James Cook is merely following in their wakes, as with Wallis and Bougainville in Otaheite and the other Dutchman, Tasman, in New Zealand.
There is certainly no Great Southern Continent, save for the great ice mass which surrounds the South Pole, that I have proved indisputably. But to disprove the existence of something gives me little satisfaction. What I longed to do, on the earlier voyage on Endeavour and during this one, was to make a discovery of a land formerly unknown to Europeans. My failure to do this amounts to a great personal disappointment, and it is the acute awareness of my failure which has brought on my present mental condition. Try as I might, I cannot permanently dislodge the melancholia, aware as I am that the world’s great oceans have now mostly been explored, so it is unlikely that there will be more lands to find. The age of discovery may well be over, and I have added little to it except a few scraps of land. A sorrowing thought. The knowledge that I have, with the aid of Kendall’s revolutionary timepiece and Wales’s astronomical skills, far more accurately observed and recorded the co-ordinates of the islands we have passed by is of some consolation. But this knowledge does not assuage my disillusionment at making no discoveries. I do not believe that I was put upon this Earth merely to correct other explorers’ mistakes.
[Later]
The shore party has now returned from the low island and reported to me. Native warriors at first threatened my men, but when they were shown what we had to offer them—nails and red feathers from the Friendly Isles—they rapidly became amiable and traded with the party. Hitihiti, who now speaks accomplished English after being aboard Resolution for six months, was again a most helpful envoy in establishing intercourse with the islanders. He also bargained with them for a pair of white-haired dogs, of which there are large numbers on the island. He intends to take the dogs with him to Otaheite, where their long hair is prized.
The Forsters and Sparrman attempted to botanise on the island, although the land being arid and composed only of weathered coral rocks, there were few specimens to collect save a few shrubs and ground-hugging creepers. The people on these low islands have no agriculture as they lack proper soil and streams, so they live on fish, pigs, chickens and coconuts. The lagoon, the men reported, is filled with fish of all species, and rich in pearl shell, which is used by the inhabitants both as a cutting tool and for bodily ornamentation.
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Once the trading was exhausted, the natives became restless again. Lieutenant Cooper observed that a group of warriors were collecting up their spears and handfuls of stones. Sensing an imminent attack, Cooper ordered the men to board the launch and return to the ship. They did so, accompanied by a hail of stones, but with no injuries sustained. In order that the natives not consider it was their threats which drove us away, I ordered Gunner Anderson to fire four cannons across the island, to demonstrate our superior strength.
We will weigh anchor tomorrow, and set sail on a course for Otaheite, 186 miles south-west of here, the island many of the Resolutions now consider their home port, along with Queen Charlotte Sound in New Zealand. I too share this affection for Otaheite, but once again this fondness is tempered by the realisation that I was only a third-comer to the island.
Please do not think that I have fallen completely into a slough of self-pity, Elizabeth. Self-pity I abhor. My state of mind is caused more from extreme regret, which in turn has led to disconsolation. And a likely cure for this condition will be the further exploration of the north-western Pacific, where there may be islands or even larger lands which I can claim for King George. Thus I intend to take Resolution into the heart of this region, seeking uncharted lands, before finally turning her for home.
Your loving husband,
James
Otaheite. It was indeed like a homecoming. The canoes came streaming out from Matavai Bay, filled with young men and women, accompanied by drumming and cries of ‘Taio! Taio!’ The Resolutions lined the railings and hung from the shrouds, waving back, searching the canoes for past and possible future lovers.