by Lay, Graeme
Passing through the officers’ mess on their way back to the upper deck, Clerke muttered to the other two, ‘The south-western Pacific, New Zealand again, Cape Horn, the South Atlantic. Whenever will we get home?’
The others didn’t bother to reply. They were asking themselves the same question.
18 JUNE 1774
My dearest Wife,
We departed the Leeward Islands with the usual contradictory emotions: regret, hope, sorrow, anticipation. The deepest emotion was felt by our native friend, Hitihiti, who had been our ship-mate for the last seven months. He too was torn, not wishing to be parted from his shipboard friends, but loath to leave his homeland. But as I explained to him, if he stayed with us and came to England, it was unlikely that he would ever return to Otaheite, Raiatea or Bora Bora. It was that knowledge that allowed him to decide to stay. I was touched when he asked me to write something about him, a testimony to his good character, which he could keep and show to any other European visitors to his islands. This I was more than happy to do. Before Hitihiti left the ship he said his farewells to everyone, hugging them, then breaking down and weeping in a most unmanly manner as he did so. When he climbed down from the ship and got into his canoe, he was still crying. I am convinced, however, that his decision to stay was the right one. (I have often wondered about the fate of Omai, the Society Islander who went with Furneaux on Adventure. Has he perished, along with the others?)
Hitihiti’s decision to leave the ship provoked a regrettable reaction from Johann Forster. He decided that he would take a young Raiatean boy called Nuna with us to England. ‘He will be my servant,’ Forster declared. I first considered this proposal, then refused to sanction its adoption, suspecting that it would have led to similar requests from the other gentlemen. We have not the space to accommodate extra crew, especially inexperienced hands. When I conveyed my decision to Forster, he raged, and called me obstinate. By now well used to his outbursts, I ignored this. Dedicated naturalist he may be, but his unstable temperament and self-centred attitude make him a continuing trial to the company. His son George, in contrast, shows not only a great interest in the native people we encounter, but an increasingly cheerful disposition. For the last week that we were in Otaheite he spent not only the days but the nights ashore, so keen was he to gather specimens. He has also recently acquired some Otaheitian speech.
We are now on a westerly course, with the intention of charting the islands discovered by Tasman and named by him Rotterdam, along with any others we may encounter before then. How I yearn to discover a hitherto uncharted land! Yet so far on this course we have come upon only two. The first was a low island, at 17° South and 163° East, which I have named Palmerston, after Viscount Palmerston, a Lord of the Admiralty. But as the reefs surrounding its lagoon were hazardous, we made no landing upon it.
The second anniversary of our departure from England approaches. The length of the voyage so far, and the nautical miles yet to come, put me in mind of a book I read years ago in Halifax, Nova Scotia, during the ice-bound winter in the harbour there. It tells the story of the prolonged journey home of Ulysses, after the fall of the Greek city of Troy. A translation of the Greek epic poem, the Odyssey, the work is attributed to Homer. Increasingly, dearest Beth, I feel myself cast in the role of Ulysses, of that Greek epic, doomed to sail forever on unknown seas. Yet I sail on, in the hope that I might discover a new land. But not I hope, as was the case of Ulysses, over ten long years!
For you and our three sons, the summer solstice has just passed. But here, in the centre of this great ocean, the days and nights are of equal length and the temperatures constantly searing.
How I long for the varying hues and temperatures of the English seasons! And for all the comforts of home. My health has considerably improved, I am thankful to say, but there is still much hard sailing and accompanying deprivation ahead, until we reach the Atlantic and turn for home.
Your loving husband,
James
On 20 June they sighted another uncharted island, at 19 degrees south and 169 degrees east. Uplifted high, with jagged cliffs but what appeared to be a level interior, it had no surrounding reef, so Resolution was able to safely stand off its western coast. James went ashore with the naturalists and a few of the crew, landing upon a niche in the rocky coastline. The sailors ran up a Jack and James took possession of the island for their sovereign. Then, as they ventured up a path through broken coral rock, a party of warriors, their bodies painted in black, red and white stripes, burst from the bush above. Grimacing and shouting, they began to hurl rocks and spears at the landing party. A chunk of rock struck Sparrman’s shoulder, and he and Johann Forster immediately fired at the attackers with their muskets. Although the shots missed, the warriors turned and fled, repelled by the detonations.
James, who had been at the rear of the group, rushed forward. He shouted at the naturalists. ‘Why did you fire?’
Forster scowled. ‘To drive them off. Their behaviour was threatening. They struck Sparrman with a stone.’
‘With a stone?’ James’s tone was scornful. He stared up ahead. ‘And now the natives have gone. We could have reasoned with them, Forster.’ He wiped the sweat from his brow with his hand.
Forster’s expression remained truculent. ‘Their conduct suggested otherwise.’
James scowled at him. ‘We’ll return to the boat and attempt another landing, further down the coast.’
A mile or so further on they came upon a small, white sand beach, above which was a rock cliff, split by a chasm. There were several small outriggers on the sand and James placed some medals and nails in them as a peace offering. But as he did so more warriors appeared, streaming through the chasm, wielding spears and coral rocks. They ran towards the intruders with the ferocity of wild boars.
Realising there could be no hope of negotiation, James shouted, ‘Fire above their heads!’
They let off a volley and the shots echoed around the little bay. The attackers froze momentarily, their expressions ones of shock, then whirled about and fled inland. The rest of the party looked at James expectantly and he came to an immediate decision.
‘We won’t remain here. The terrain is inhospitable and the natives appear implacably hostile.’ He gripped the stock of his Brown Bess, which to his embarrassment had misfired. ‘They will know the geography of the place so well that another ambush is likely, and to our great disadvantage.’ Shouldering his weapon, he concluded flatly, ‘We will return to the ship.’
As the party was rowed back out to Resolution Forster muttered, ‘Brutes, the people here.’ For once James could not disagree with the Prussian.
And in view of the aggressive reception they had received, after he drew an impression of its coastline, James wrote beneath the drawing: ‘Savage Island’.
Twenty-four
26 JUNE 1774
Winds NE, southerly. At 3pm seeing more breakers ahead and having but little wind and a great easterly swell, hauled off SE. In the evening the southern isle bore WNW, distant 3 miles. Here we spent the night for it presently after fell calm and continued so till 4am when we got breeze from the south. At daylight perceiving a likelihood of a clear passage between the isle and the breakers, we stretched to the west and soon after saw more isles ahead and on each bow, but the passage seemed open. At length we found soundings in 45 and 40 fathom and a clear bottom. This circumstance greatly lessened the danger since we now had it in our power to anchor. Towards noon some people came off in canoes from one of the isles, bringing with them some coconuts and citrus fruits, which they exchanged for nails. The breeze freshening, we soon left them astern.
They lowered Resolution’s anchors in a sheltered, sandy cove on the island’s north coast. After ordering the ship to be cleaned from stem to stern, James was taken ashore, intending to seek out the island’s high chief and enter into negotiations with him to procure food and water supplies. He stepped out of the launch and onto the beach. The morning was hot and st
ill, the sky a blinding blue. With him were three marines and corporal Beard. Standing on the shore watching them were two women, each holding a leafy branch.
Instructing the marines to guard the boat, James walked up to the pair, removing his tricorn and calling out in Otaheitian, ‘Ia orana!’ Recognising his words as a greeting, together they called back, ‘Talitali fiefia!’ then placed their branches carefully on the sand.
One of the women was about 60, with long grey hair. Although her bearing was upright, her cheeks were sunken and her brow puckered. There were several mats wrapped around her body, tied with a plaited cord, and she wore a shiny pearl shell as a breastplate. The other woman was much younger, perhaps only 20. She was slender, with chestnut-brown skin, and her mats reached only to just above her midriff. Her large breasts were bare, the areola large and much darker than the skin surrounding them. Her coal-black hair was drawn up into a bun on the top of her head and there was a garland of pink frangipani around her neck. She had prominent cheekbones, a slightly flattened nose and large brown eyes. She stared at James intently.
The elderly woman gestured towards her young companion. ‘Foa,’ she said.
James nodded. ‘James. James Cook.’
The old woman patted her breasts, which were covered by the mats, and said, ‘Meama. Matapule.’ Not knowing the latter word’s meaning, James wondered, could she be the island’s chief? Women could be powerful figures in this part of the world, he knew.
Meama gestured at James, then at the young woman, and grinned. Two of her bottom teeth were missing. She raised both hands high and began to make fluid, synchronised movements with them, back and forth. Foa did the same, keeping in perfect time with Meama. Abruptly, the old woman’s hands stopped moving. Lowering them, she began to make thrusting movements with her mat-encumbered hips, moving them backwards and forwards urgently. Grinning again, she pointed at James’s groin. Foa smiled.
Disconcerted, James took a step backwards. Good Lord, he thought, the crone is offering her to me. He looked back at the boat, where the four marines were following this unexpected courting ritual closely. Then his attention returned to the women. It was unthinkable. No, he immediately corrected himself, not unthinkable—the young woman was striking and alluring. But in his position, impossible. He must always set an example of abstinence. Frowning, looking down at the ground, he shook his head.
This provoked an immediate reaction. Meama began to screech at him, pouring out a torrent of what was unmistakably abuse, followed by a fixed expression of utter disdain. The young woman pouted, frowned, and turned her back.
James shoved his hat back on his head and strode back down the beach to the boat. When he reached it, he saw to his dismay that the women were in pursuit. Meama was shouting and waving towards Foa, who looked imploringly at James and pointed across the water to where Resolution was anchored. She obviously wanted him to take her aboard and copulate there. James waded into the water. ‘Return us to the ship,’ he ordered.
‘Aye, sir,’ said Beard, picking up the grappling hook and trying not to smile. The boat was pushed off, leaving the two women on the sand, staring at them balefully.
James sat in the bow, looking out to sea. The marines pulled steadily, their backs to the ship, their eyes fixed lustfully on the beautiful, spurned young woman standing on the beach. First Lieutenant Cooper was waiting on the deck when he returned to the ship. ‘Did you meet the island’s chief, sir?’ he asked.
‘Ah, yes,’ James replied. ‘At least I think I did.’ And that night his dreams were filled with disturbing images, ones which he could not dislodge.
The Resolutions’ five days on the island were eventful. When they informed the locals that the name of their island was Rotterdam they shook their heads, laughed uproariously and replied, ‘Nomuka.’
The people of Nomuka, the Resolutions soon realised, were closely related to those of Eua and Tongatapu to the south, the islands James had named the Friendly Isles. Tall and strong, the adults wore woven mats wrapped around their bodies, kept in place with cords and decorated with red feathers and shells. Evidently, the more mats they wore, the more mana they possessed. The Nomukans were eager to trade, offering the coconuts which grew profusely on the island, along with yams, bananas and breadfruit, in exchange for nails. As Tasman had recorded in 1643, most of the island was taken up by a large lake, but there were palm groves and productive garden plots on its fertile western side.
The Forsters and Sparrman vanished into the island’s undergrowth with their collecting bags, in search of new specimens. The naturalists discovered that the island’s luxuriant foliage contained many new specimens, including a citrus tree with large fruit. There were tropical blooms and birds galore. The Nomukans were obliging with the Forsters and Sparrman, retrieving the birds they shot and climbing the tallest trees to pluck the blooms from their boughs. They invited the visitors to sit down and share their mixture of mashed pepper-tree root and water, the ritual drink called ‘kava’. Hodges drew the finely constructed houses of the islanders, their gracious interiors as well as their external features. He also sketched the superbly built, double-hulled canoes with their lateen sails.
For once, Forster the elder had nothing to complain about. ‘This island,’ he announced at dinner on the ship, ‘truly resembles the Garden of Eden.’ But they were to discover that a few serpents lurked in the island’s lush undergrowth.
After surgeon Patten went inland alone to shoot ducks, he was set upon by a mob of men and women who stripped him of his scattergun, jacket and breeches. He only just made it back to the boat. His escape was aided by a lovely young woman who intervened, berating the mob and keeping them at bay. Patten promptly took her back to the ship with him. There he showed his gratitude by bedding her.
The following day Clerke took a watering party ashore to fill the casks from the lake. Although slightly brackish, the water was potable. When the party returned to the beach and began to load the boat with the filled casks, a group of young men armed with spears surrounded the sailors and began to jostle them. During the melee, Clerke’s musket and the adze of the ship’s carpenter were seized and made off with. When Clerk reported the theft to James, he was furious. The adze was precious—there were only two on the ship. A firearm was prized, but a cask stave couldn’t be shaped with a musket. Only an adze would do.
Knowing the importance South Sea people placed upon ceremonial garb as a measure of authority, James put on his dress uniform before he was rowed to the beach. There a crowd of Nomukans—old and young—had assembled. Several of the men held spears, but they chatted nonchalantly with one another. The marines lined up at the water’s edge, muskets at the ready. The chattering of the crowd subsided, replaced by an ominous muttering.
Primed scattergun over his arm, James addressed the crowd, Lieutenant Cooper at his shoulder. He knew his words would not be understood, but hoped that the nature of his tirade would be obvious. His voice rang out. ‘We came in peace, yet you have attacked us. We brought you goods for fair trade, but you have stolen our equipment. The musket and the carpenter’s tool are precious to us, and to the ship. My men will seize your canoes.’ He gestured towards two of the craft, drawn up on the beach. ‘And they will not be returned to you until we receive the goods you have stolen from us, the musket and the adze.’ To emphasise his point, he pointed to his own weapon, then waved it in the air.
There was a sullen silence. The crowd looked at one another and murmured. A tall young man pushed through the throng, carrying the musket. Handing it to Clerke sheepishly, he said, ‘Malo, papalangi.’
James nodded his thanks. ‘Now, the adze.’
No one came forward. Glowering, James pointed to an outrigger and told marine private Buttall, ‘Seize it!’
As Buttall grabbed the canoe and began to drag it towards James and the marines, a strongly built older man ran from the crowd, spear in hand. James immediately brought his gun up to his shoulder. ‘Put the spear down!’ he yelled
. Ignoring him, the man drew the spear back in preparation for throwing. As he did so James fired, aiming low. The small shot hit the man in the legs. The man screamed, dropped the spear, and hobbled off into the trees.
‘Fire! Over their heads!’ James ordered. The marines brought up their muskets and let off a volley. The crowd gasped, then fell back. Moments later, from Resolution, came the boom of cannons, a warning broadside which James had ordered should they hear the muskets fired.
The crackle of the muskets followed by the cannons’ boom had an instant effect. The crowd turned and fled inland. James watched, frustrated. This show of force had achieved nothing. The adze had not been returned. He walked up the beach, calling, ‘Come back! Come back! All we want is our adze!’
They drifted back, their faces solemn. Then a litter appeared, carried by four men. On it was the man James had shot. He was holding his legs, blood flowing through his fingers. Following the litter was a figure James recognised. It was the elderly woman, Meama. The bearers placed the litter on the sand. Meama walked up to James, pointed at the wounded man, and let forth a verbal volley of her own. Face contorted, hands whirling, she was unmistakably fuming at what had happened. Was the man her son? James wondered. He turned to Buttall. ‘Get Patten to come and dress the wound,’ he said calmly. Then to Meama, pointing at the man’s bleeding legs, ‘We will treat his injuries. But we must have our stolen goods returned.’
They faced each other, both silent. Meama’s eyes narrowed. She spoke loudly so that those around her could hear, but James and the others could comprehend nothing of what she said. Then she spun about and walked back up the beach, the others following her.