Captain Cook's Apprentice

by Anthony Hill

  Those who had been with Cook ran away too, when they saw the corpse. They knew from the Dolphin the power of white men’s guns. Only Hua remained. He sought to tell his friend Robert Molineux (‘Boba’) that he had warned the Captain, and would try to reconcile people to the killing. But it took time, and it was some days before the Tahitians again brought their fruits to market.

  ‘This is a bad beginning,’ Cook lamented. ‘I said we should treat the natives with all humanity. And now look!’

  ‘If we quarrel with these people, we’d never agree with the angels,’ cried Banks, visibly upset.

  ‘Nay, sir, there are no angels here, only flawed mankind – white and brown alike.’

  And their mortality was universal. A few nights later the artist, Alexander Buchan, took another epileptic fit, and died. It was evident in the heat they’d have to dispose of his body quickly. But not knowing Tahitian custom or wanting to offend more than they had, Endeavour boats buried him at sea.

  It was as well they did. Some days afterwards Dr Monkhouse came across the body of the man who’d been shot at Point Venus. It was out in the open on a raised bier not far from his house, covered with a cloth, surrounded by his possessions and food for the gods.

  ‘And the stench of his rotting corpse was appalling!’ exclaimed the surgeon.

  Alex Buchan would not have liked that. But he would approve of what happened next. The Captain at last put Nick Young formally among the ship’s company. The boy had been there from the beginning, making himself useful, a good friend to Isaac. Now, Cook entered his name in the muster book: not as one of the crew, but with the passengers – the supernumeraries – in place of Buchan.

  For the ship’s business had to go on, and all efforts were bent to completing the fort quickly. A sandbank wall protected by a ditch was built at the narrower ends, facing the land and ocean. Another bank topped by a wooden palisade fronted the bay, and a double row of water barrels acted as a breastwork beside the river. It was the most vulnerable part, guarded by two cannons, the whole overlooked by six swivel guns. Cook even warped the ship by its cables closer to shore, where its guns commanded the fort. But even that, he would discover, couldn’t prevent theft.

  Tents were erected for half the ship’s company. John Thompson had a new copper oven. Mr Banks pitched a marquee and moved his party ashore. Outside the stockade old Ravenhill had his sail maker’s workshop, and the armourer set up his forge. He was soon doing brisk trade, repairing not only Endeavour’s equipment but also bits of ironware left behind by the Dolphin and brought to him by Tahitians.

  ‘There’s something else here,’ said Molineux, puzzled one day over an axe head he was showing Isaac. ‘It don’t look a Dolphin piece to me. Foreign, I’d say. French perhaps . . .’

  As Englishmen and Tahitians came to better understand each other, it was learned two European ships had visited the island after the Dolphin. When Tepau looked at a book of flags to identify them, he pointed to the flag of Spain. He was mistaken. Much later in the voyage Cook learned a Frenchman, Louis de Bougainville, commanded the ships. And on board was a woman, Jeanne Baret, disguised as a male ‘assistant’ to the naturalist: the first known woman to circumnavigate the world.

  April lengthened into May, and Fort Venus became a township. Tutaha and Tepau moved nearby with their households. Every crewman had his taio – a male companion – and there was scarcely anyone who didn’t also have a girlfriend to ensure the island’s reputation did not disappoint.

  Whatever their preparations for the Transit of the planet Venus during working hours, it was the earthly Venuses of Tahiti who claimed the attentions of Endeavour men at night. In fact Captain Cook complained to his journal that he was the only chaste person aboard: but in this, perhaps, he didn’t include the boys.

  Nick Young, of course, was soon boasting of his many conquests with the island girls.

  ‘Regular little doxies, they are. Honest!’

  But everyone just laughed at him.

  Some evenings Isaac went with the crew to a heiva at a longhouse near the beach. They sat circled in firelight as the earth ovens were opened, and breathed such delicious aromas as the food was lifted from hot ashes wrapped in leaves . . . Roasted sucking-pig, and chickens, and small South Sea dogs which Captain Cook thought tasted like English lamb, but Isaac didn’t like the idea of them at all. There were yams and taro roots and baked breadfruits soft as dumplings . . .

  Then came the arioi – musicians and dancers who travelled the islands, performing at festivals and ceremonies. Their gods were those of peace and fertility; and their dances were often so bold they astounded every sailor who watched.

  Nick and Isaac sat goggle-eyed, their souls blazing.

  First, the drumming: deep, rhythmic cascades of sound throbbing into the darkness. And into the light leapt men girdled in green leaves, stamping the ground, beating their arms, shaking their legs, and shouting chants of defiance.

  After them came the women: beautiful as sunrise, dark hair and bodies reflecting scarlet shadows in the flames. Their graceful, flowing hands were so enticing – and their hips, clothed in tapa skirts, swayed and gestured to the music of drums and nose flutes.

  Isaac naturally found himself stirred by the spectacle. But when the girl, Heimata, tried to drop food into his mouth in the custom of her people, the boy was overcome by sudden shyness. He laughed. And drew back. And said he wanted something else to eat.

  Little wonder that, here on ravishing Tahiti, men from colder cultures felt themselves to be in heaven.

  Yet it was a heaven with flaws. There were small irritations. Like flies. They drove Sydney Parkinson mad. He had to do most of the drawings after Alex Buchan died; and Isaac often saw him trying to sketch a fish or a plant, huddled under a mosquito net. Sydney even made a flytrap with a mixture of tar and molasses – until it was stolen by a native as a poultice for a sore on his backside.

  There were petty human jealousies. Molineux one day saw the deposed queen Purea sitting in Mr Banks’s marquee, ogling the rich scientist. She was a fine, statuesque woman – a ‘fat, bouncing, good-looking dame,’ Sydney called her – who greeted Robert Molineux as a long-lost friend.

  ‘Boba!’

  He insisted on taking Purea’s entourage on board to meet Captain Cook: her husband Amo, and her chief adviser Tupaia, who was a priest of the war god Oro.

  Cook (or ‘Toote’ as the Tahitians knew him) received Purea with much ceremony, for she still enjoyed prestige if not power. He showed her over the ship, and gave her a little wooden doll dressed in fashionable English costume.

  ‘That, madam, is the very picture of my wife.’

  Tupaia translated, and the queen was delighted. Mrs Toote! Purea set such store on the gift that her rival, Tutaha, became jealous and wouldn’t be satisfied until Toote gave him a doll of his own. Thereafter, the two constantly vied for the Captain’s favour.

  There were more serious delinquencies. The ship’s butcher, Henry Jeffs, threatened to cut the throat of Tepau’s wife if she stopped him taking a stone axe he fancied and sought to buy with an iron nail. They demanded Jeffs be punished. So the couple were invited on board to witness the flogging. All hands were assembled. Jeffs was stripped and tied to the rigging. The Articles of War were read. And Cook made a speech to reiterate his rules.

  ‘Theft by anyone and from anyone is intolerable, and will be punished accordingly. Mr Reading, do your duty.’

  But when the cat-o-nine-tails laid the first stripes on Henry Jeffs’s back, the Tahitians were so distressed they begged Toote to stop! The Captain refused. The rules of discipline were inflexible. Yet they sometimes went awry.

  With Fort Venus complete, the astronomical instruments were brought ashore to prepare for the observation: the telescopes, clock and the quadrant used to measure the height of a celestial body from the horizon. The brass quadrant in its case, about eighteen inches square, was carefully placed in the Captain’s tent. But when the sentry’s back w
as turned, a Tahitian crept inside and stole it.

  The theft wasn’t discovered until next morning. There was uproar. Nobody owned to any knowledge of the affair – until Tepau told Banks the quadrant had been carried eastward. With astronomer Green they set out in pursuit.

  Cook followed with a party of marines, leaving orders that Tutaha should be held at the fort as security for the quadrant’s return. He later changed his mind, but it was too late. Alarmed by events, Tutaha made to depart in his pahi, and Lieutenant Hicks ordered the longboat to give chase. It soon caught up with the Tahitian canoe and, terrified by seamen armed with muskets, the paddlers jumped out and swam ashore, leaving Tutaha to face his pursuers alone.

  The chief was pretty roughly handled by the Boatswain’s men as they carried him to Fort Venus where, held under guard, proud Tutaha waited his fate, certain he’d be killed. His people thought so, too. Even before Cook and Banks reached the Fort with the quadrant more or less intact, they were met by crowds protesting at the wrong done to Tutaha. Why had Toote’s taio deserved this?

  Cook tried to mollify them . . . to say it had all been a misunderstanding, and that Tutaha would be freed. But people took much persuading. When Tepau and Tutaha met at Fort Venus, they embraced and wept in a manner truly affecting, and Tutaha gave Cook two pigs as a present for his release.

  ‘What do you say, young man?’ Molineux asked Isaac as he served roast pork in the wardroom next day. ‘Would you have been as generous, had you been captured and put in fear of your life by those you thought your friends?’

  Isaac had to admit he would not.

  Still, there was a price to pay. Tutaha was in truth furious, and for some days barely any food was brought to Endeavour. It wasn’t until Cook visited the chief with a linen shirt and broad-axe that another pig arrived and relations improved. Even then, meat continued in short supply. Although fresh pork was served on most Sundays after prayers, it was still scarce and not what men had expected.

  Mutterings began to be heard – not just on the mess deck, but from the Midshipmen’s berth as well.

  ‘Those Dolphin fellows said we’d be stuffing ourselves with chicken and ham . . . but here we are still on short rations. My belly’s always empty.’

  ‘Aye. They was telling us lies.’

  ‘Right about the girls, though!’

  ‘Fings would be better away from this place. If we could slip off wiv ’em to the other side of the island, we’d be kings in a land o’ plenty!’

  ‘Keep your voice down! Sounds like mutiny.’

  ‘I don’t mean for ever. Just for a little ’oliday . . .’

  The murmurings came to the Master’s ears. He felt bound to report them to the Captain. Cook was all for punishing the miscreants, but Molineux urged caution.

  ‘I don’t think it’s too serious, sir. Who wouldn’t want to stay here? It’s just empty talk on empty stomachs. If I might suggest . . .’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Our supplies do seem to depend on Tutaha’s good humour. If I were to take a boat further round the island, I might find a readier source of hogs and fowls. That would satisfy complaints.’

  ‘If you think so, Robert. You can try. But any disrespectful talk on my ship will stop – whoever it comes from.’

  Molineux set out in the pinnace next morning, with Mr Green and young Isaac. It was glorious in the early light, purple shadows turning to blue and dazzling gold as the sun rose. The wind sprang up, stirring coconut palms on the beaches where people came down to meet them.

  They were as friendly and welcoming to Boba as always. But Molineux found that Tutaha’s power ran further than thought. He saw very few pigs – and they all belonged to Tutaha and couldn’t be sold without his permission.

  ‘That fellow seems to own everything!’

  After sailing some twenty-five miles along the coast he decided to return, disappointed. Besides, the boat was almost swamped. The wind grew stronger and the waves ran high. Making into a small bay, they got caught in heavy surf and were swept towards the land, foaming water breaking over the gunwales. Isaac thought it was just like shooting the rapids again at London Bridge. Molineux was not amused.

  ‘Don’t just sit there, boy. Do something! The boat might founder, and our ammunition’s wet.’

  Isaac began to bail as they headed back to sea. But his attention was elsewhere. Out beyond the reef Tahitian lads were having most wonderful sport in the surf! Standing on the stern of an old canoe, they were skating the waves – carried on rushing crests through the reef opening and in to the beach. Such speed! Such delight! Until the breakers tumbled to shore, and the surfers dived. Only to rise, gasping and dripping, to paddle out again and repeat the game.

  Isaac had never seen anything like it. And while he wasn’t much of a swimmer, would have given anything to have joined them. The fun of it!

  ‘Come on, boy, put your back into thy work.’

  ‘Look at them!’

  ‘Look to your bailing.’

  ‘Our pinnace couldn’t even land in the surf. Yet those fellows are riding the ocean like dolphins.’

  They offered nothing to eat, however, and Mr Molineux returned to Endeavour empty-handed. Yet nobody could accuse the Master of not caring about the crew’s bellies. Often on a late afternoon he’d take his mates Pickersgill, Clerke and Wilkinson to a swamp around the bay to shoot wild ducks, with Isaac along to reload the guns. And they’d return not just with birds, but a new delicacy for the table: rats.

  Tahiti swarmed with them. Not the filthy vermin in the ship’s bilge – but plump, vegetarian island rats, tasting like young veal. The Tahitians wouldn’t eat them, preferring their dogs! Endeavour men were not so squeamish.

  As dusk fell, the rats crept from their holes. Thousands of them, quite fearless and playing about the hunters waiting in the woods: at least until the shooting started. Even then it was nothing for Isaac’s gents to return with several bags full of rats.

  Sitting at the mess table with his wooden platter, Isaac wondered what Mamma would say if she could see him eating grilled rats.

  But really, they made the most excellent eating – singed, gutted, and crisply fried for breakfast.

  There were no breakfast rats on the morning of the Transit. Men were up early for a quick meal of pease porridge and then outside, anxious to see what the day would bring. There’d been showers of late, and Cook sent Lieutenant Hicks to the east and Lieutenant Gore to the island of Mo’orea across the water to make parallel observations, in case his own failed.

  As it turned out, the weather on that Saturday was faultless. Not a cloud in the sky. Molineux was to observe at the fort with Cook, Green and Dr Solander. Isaac was there too. There to absorb the tension as the time drew near. There to sense the excitement as Venus first made contact with the sun’s disc at twenty-one minutes after nine – as measured by the longcase clock cared for by the ship’s carpenter, John Satterley. There for the six hours it took to complete the Transit.

  Molineux let Isaac see it for himself – or at least the image projected from the reflecting telescope’s mirror onto a screen, for the risk to the eye of observing the sun for too long, even through a dark glass, was well known. The Transit was quite clear: a small, black spot crawling across the glowing orb. And something else. Surrounding the planet was a shimmering grey halo or penumbra – a distortion partly caused by the Earth’s atmosphere – which affected the results of the observation.

  For Isaac was also there as Cook expressed some disappointment when the Transit was over. Each observer had slightly different times for the precise moments when Venus entered and left the sun’s limb. At the point where the two bodies met, a small, dark ‘teardrop’ seemed to appear. It was an optical illusion, but it affected the timing of the observation – and accurate time was of the essence if exact calculations were to be made.

  ‘There are over forty seconds difference between us – more than could be expected,’ the Captain bemoaned. ‘The penumbr
a blurred our vision of the contacts. I can only hope other astronomers had more success than we did.’

  But history would prove that Cook was too modest. His results were combined with others from around the world to estimate the Earth’s distance from the sun at ninety-five million miles. Not bad, as two centuries later it’s measured at ninety-three million miles.

  In any event, the Captain had other things to celebrate. When his Lieutenants returned to Fort Venus, the gentlemen all drank toasts for the King’s birthday. And the priest Tupaia, just to show his loyalty, got most enormously drunk.

  6

  TAHITI

  Matavai Bay, June to July 1769

  Once the Transit of Venus had been observed, the first purpose of the Endeavour voyage was accomplished. Attention now turned to the second.

  Everyone knew the Captain had secret orders. And they all guessed what they were: to go continent hunting for the unknown south land Terra Australis Incognita. Most people believed it must exist somewhere in the unexplored vastness of the Pacific, to balance the landmass of the northern hemisphere. Cook had his doubts, having discerned no evidence of it from the currents during the sail from Cape Horn. Yet he was not one to shirk his duty. So the Captain had his ship made ready – but not too quickly, for life on Tahiti seemed Arcadian, and there was much to enjoy.

  Endeavour was warped inshore to be careened: tilted to each side, her hull scraped, cleaned and recaulked. Her bottom was good, not having been eaten by tropical teredo worm, though her anchor stocks had to be replaced. She was scrubbed with pitch and brimstone, her rigging overhauled, and timbers revarnished.

  The gentlemen were busy collecting specimens and learning what they could of the language and customs they hoped would astonish Europe when they returned.

  Joseph Banks even participated in island life. When Tepau was once chief mourner at a funeral ceremony, dressed in a costume of tapa cloth and pearl shell, disguised beneath a mask and a halo of feathers, Banks acted as one of his attendants. He was naked except for a loincloth, his body smeared black, chasing people away as Tepau strode about wounding stragglers with a staff studded by sharks’ teeth.