by Joanna Orwin
‘Toutàfait—absolutely!’ André agreed. ‘Fit only for the birds.’ His earlier excitement ebbed away as he realized that discovery of this island was unlikely to win them much honour, let alone provide a suitable southern Pacific trading base for France.
To make matters worse, Monsieur Marion now reluctantly decided they could not penetrate further south in search of the elusive Southern Continent. The constant need to put the ship’s people on watch and watch-about in bad weather was eroding everyone’s strength. Their poor sailing ability, particularly of the jury-rigged Castries, and the cold prevented the ill-equipped sailors from working the ships effectively. Even in better weather and good visibility when the men could be kept on three watches, giving them eight hours’ rest below deck and regular meals for every four worked on deck, injuries aloft were increasing.
The expedition leader explained his decision to the assembled officers of both ships. ‘Our people can only grow weaker in these deplorable conditions.’
Monsieur Thirion, the elderly surgeon, agreed. ‘I’ve several cases of severe rheumatics amongst the younger men. Many others have hacking coughs and fevers. Some of these have all the appearance of consumption.’ The surgeon was bleeding the more severe cases, but the benefit gained was slight and short-lived. Minor complaints such as saltwater boils were rife.
Although the captain of the Castries predictably expressed his aristocratic disapproval at the decision to curtail their probe southwards, implying the expedition leader lacked fortitude, Monsieur Marion would brook no argument. Although his voice remained neutral, he effectively silenced the captain by pointing out that the damage to their ships caused by the collision had tipped the scales against proceeding further south. ‘To add to our difficulties, these damnable fogs show no sign of dispersing. It’s almost impossible to navigate accurately in such conditions. We’re putting our ships and our people at too great a risk.’
André thought it typical of him to put the safety of his men first. The expedition leader’s demeanour showed no sign of what must be acute frustration and disappointment at their failure to discover the Southern Continent. But Jean commented later that—with the encouragement of his Malagasy slave, François—he was probably sticking pins into an effigy of Monsieur du Clesmeur in the privacy of his cabin.
Without further delay, they weighed anchor and sailed directly eastwards.
February brought gales and heavy seas. Not only the men but the ships themselves were now showing increased signs of the continual strain of sailing at such latitudes. The Mascarin, dilapidated before the added stress to her timbers caused by the collision, developed enough leaks for the pumps to need manning every day, hard physical work that taxed men already weak. Her decks badly needed recaulking, and the tightly packed hammocks where the sailors slept between decks were subject to continuous icy shower baths. The number of men sick and unfit for duty aloft increased by the day. To add to their problems, Monsieur Thirion reported that some malcontents were now constantly drunk.
Conditions on board the Castries were even worse, and Monsieur du Clesmeur resorted to frequent floggings for what André and Jean suspected were minor transgressions. Even though the expedition leader had ensured that, as on his own command, the Castries had able musicians on board, her people seldom congregated on the forecastle of an evening to sing and dance. Following traditional Compagnie des Indes practice, Monsieur Marion encouraged such entertainment on the Mascarin whenever the weather was kind enough. Even the officers were expected to join in the country dances and rounds. He saw the physical activity as good for morale, as well as keeping the men warm and less susceptible to illness. Jean claimed the Castries was an unhappy ship under Monsieur du Clesmeur. ‘He’s not respected,’ he said. ‘You can’t expect unhappy men to dance or sing for a captain they don’t respect.’
André had his own private miseries to contend with. His hands had developed chilblains. The fair, sensitive skin that came with his accursed red hair broke open and bled whenever he handled wet gear or could not resist rubbing his fingers to alleviate the itch that drove him to distraction. Eventually taking pity on him, Jean sent him to the ship’s surgeon.
Monsieur Thirion’s tiny cabin, partitioned off the gunroom on the lower deck, was cluttered with books, papers and stacked boxes. When André knocked and stooped to enter, the elderly surgeon was engrossed in his copy of de Brosses’ book on Pacific voyaging. He waved the ensign to a seat on a convenient sea chest, then proceeded to précis what he had just read. ‘These islands we’re encountering could well be part of the southern land mass the philosophers say must counterbalance our northern continents.’ He added, ‘Indeed, I’m beginning to think the Southern Continent may be made up of a vast archipelago of such islands—enough of them to provide the necessary land symmetry in both hemispheres.’
Without waiting for André’s response, he went on: ‘We’re bound to find plants and animals on these islands that are new to science and trade.’ He reluctantly closed the book, marking his place with a slender ivory paperknife. ‘And that of course should allow our esteemed captain to establish the trading connections so dear to his heart.’
‘I doubt, sir, whether even Monsieur Marion could trade with penguins,’ said André, his voice sour.
Monsieur Thirion looked at him, his eyes sharp under his tufted grey eyebrows. ‘Mockery signals ignorance more often than not, young man.’
André apologized. ‘I find myself doubting we’ll ever leave these desolate waters and reach inhabited lands. I constantly dream of the warmer latitudes of the East Indies.’
‘Certainly it’s hard to accept it’s midsummer here.’ The surgeon nodded at the ensign’s inflamed hands. ‘Those the reason you’ve come to see me? I can make you up a good salve.’ He busied himself with mortar and pestle.
The ships continued to labour on. The Southern Continent they suspected lay only a few degrees further south stayed hidden—whether it were land mass or archipelago. It was not until ten days into February, nearly seven weeks after setting sail from the Cape of Good Hope and four months since leaving the Île-de-France, that Monsieur Crozet and the ensigns were at last able to take advantage of a full moon, a well-defined horizon and a clear evening sky to obtain good lunar sightings. But when Monsieur du Clesmeur and his officers took advantage of the favourable conditions to bring their yawl across from the Castries to the Mascarin to compare readings, it was soon clear that the consort ship’s navigators had achieved quite different results. Even the reckonings made daily using the ships’ runs differed. Both captains considered their ready reckoning was more reliable than the infrequent attempts they could make at observing longitude, so the discrepancy was puzzling.
‘Lack of expertise has much to answer for,’ said Monsieur de Clesmeur, looking down his long nose. ‘It’s most unfortunate we have neither an astronomer on board nor one of these new and reliable chronometers.’ He took a large portion of snuff, his head characteristically thrust back—just like a turkey about to gobble, in Jean’s irreverent opinion.
André winced. He knew the expedition leader had hoped to have the experienced astronomer Rochon appointed for the voyage—along with his Berthoud chronometer, but at the last minute the Governor of the Île-de-France refused permission. Monsieur Marion constantly lamented the inevitable limits this imposed on accurate navigation or any mapping of new lands. The ensign realized from Monsieur du Clesmeur’s expectant expression that the captain knew this full well.
Visibly choking back his ire, the expedition leader chose not to react. He merely pointed out that, regardless of discrepancies in their calculations, they had certainly reached a suitable longitude to change direction and head north until they reached the forty-third parallel. By sailing eastwards along that, they could expect to find Van Diemen’s Land at the southern extremity of New Holland, using Abel Tasman’s one-hundred-and-thirty-five-year-old chart. This should prove a welcome refuge where they could rest the ship’s people,
trade for food and water with the native inhabitants, and cut timber for more permanent repairs to their struggling ships.
Chapter 2
6–10 March 1772
Van Diemen’s Land 43° S
On deck for the dawn anchor watch, André Tallec gazed shorewards as the rapidly increasing light transformed the black bulk of the forested slope behind the beach into a pattern of shifting grey and sage-green shadows. Through the eyeglass, he caught glimpses of darker shapes amongst the trees that he thought might be human, but when he blinked and looked again, he saw only tree trunks. Mist lay in wreaths amongst the trees and along the beach. When the sun rose, flocks of large parrots—some black with scarlet crests, some white with yellow crests—burst in noisy flurries from amongst the trees. A strong sea was running, and he could hear the roar of the waves as they surged up the beach. He was scanning the length of grey sand when quite suddenly, there they were, a large group of people, thirty or more, standing where he was sure only a moment before there had been nothing but driftwood and sand.
Tall, lean black men armed with staves or long spears, he was not sure which, were accompanied by women and children. All of them stark naked. Not even the women had their private parts covered. Curious, he stared intently for a moment, then looked away, ashamed of himself. He hastily sketched the sign of the cross and muttered a short prayer of contrition. Monsieur Marion was somehow expecting to establish cordial relations with these primitives. They looked nothing like the only Pacific inhabitant the ensign was familiar with, the affable Tahitian who had died on board of smallpox soon after the ships left the Île-de-France.
Variously known as Ahu-toru, Poutavery—after the explorer and circumnavigator Louis de Bougainville, whom he had accompanied in 1768 from Tahiti to Paris where he had been fêted in the salons—and finally as Mayoa, his own approximation of Monsieur Marion’s name, the constantly smiling Tahitian had quickly won their hearts. Stranded for ten months in Port Louis on the Île-de-France, with much baggage containing gifts of seeds and implements for his people from his aristocratic admirers in Paris, the man had been patiently waiting for a ship to undertake the next stage of his return home. Although the return of Ahu-toru to Tahiti was the overt reason for their expedition and its official sponsorship, an enterprising Monsieur Marion had not been slow to see the potential for extending such a voyage into southern waters—a chance to win glory by finding the Southern Continent and other lands to provide France with a trading base in the South Pacific. He then intended reaping a profit by trading in the Spice Islands of the East Indies on their way back across the Pacific to the Île-de-France.
After the unfortunate and untimely death of Ahu-toru, some of the officers had argued for an immediate return to the Île-de-France—Monsieur du Clesmeur being the most vociferous. Jean believed Monsieur Marion would have faced certain ruin by doing so. ‘I’ve heard he’s staked everything on this expedition, mortgaged all his estates as well as borrowing vast sums of money. He’s a known risk-taker.’
Not that the senior ensign was being critical, he hastened to add. Once peace had been brokered with England in 1763, ‘blue’ merchant officers inevitably lost their temporary postings in the King’s Navy. Even worse, in 1769 their main source of employment and promotion, the Compagnie des Indes, had been dissolved. As a result, they had all been scratching for a living these last few years. The usual note of bitterness crept into Jean’s voice. ‘It’s all very well for aristocrats like Monsieur du Clesmeur, guaranteed life-long retention in the King’s Navy and sure of promotion—regardless of ability. It doesn’t matter how many honours someone like Monsieur Marion wins in battle, he’s still tossed onto the midden with the rest of us. We’re dependent on such as him being willing to gamble.’
It seemed to André that the chances of Monsieur Marion’s gamble paying off were diminishing rapidly. Ahu-toru’s death, the collision and their forced abandonment of the search for the Southern Continent were bad enough. Now, watching the Diemenlanders clustered together at the water’s edge, he had few illusions about their chances of profitable trade in this place. From their state of dress and apparent lack of any of the attributes of civilization, these people seemed unlikely to have items of interest to the French other than primitive curiosities. With uneasy thoughts occupying his mind, the ensign continued to watch them as they in turn stared towards the ships. They stood so still he became unnerved. From what he knew about Ahu-toru’s people, he had been expecting a crowd of smiling, garlanded beauties, dancing and singing on the beach in welcome, not these grave, unmoving effigies.
Suddenly feeling the need to break the impasse, he waved and called a greeting. When the primitives did not so much as look in his direction or respond, he felt foolish. Busying himself with his duties, few at that hour of the morning, he kept an eye on them in case they should try and attack—although they seemed ill-equipped to do so. He consoled himself with the thought that, at the very least, Monsieur Thirion would find the opportunity to look for new plant and animal species once they went ashore. He could certainly test his theories about the desirable attributes of Natural Man. No one could seem closer to a state of Nature that these Diemenlanders.
On the evenings André was bidden to the captain’s table for supper—one of Monsieur Marion’s regular weekly invitations to each ensign in turn—the conversation often revolved around the advantages of living close to Nature in the way of Adam and Eve before the Fall. The book-loving surgeon promoted the philosophic argument, popular in the learned circles of French society, that primitive peoples uncorrupted by the desires and ambitions accompanying civilization and learning had the more contented lives. Only a few nights ago, the ensign had been present when the conversation turned in this direction.
Monsieur Thirion declared he had proof from Commerson, the botanist who had been with Bougainville on his recent circumnavigation. ‘He told me in person that these laughter-loving Tahitians indeed live without vice.’ The surgeon once more expounded the theory he favoured. ‘Such people aren’t degraded by intellectual reasoning and the lure of luxuries. Instead, knowing nothing else, primitives are content with their simple life and rely on instinct to dictate their gentle ways.’
Certainly, the ensign thought Ahu-toru’s genial personality had lent some credence to such ideas, but the Mascarin’s second-in-command, as well-read as the surgeon, was inclined to be sceptical. Monsieur Crozet pointed out that Bougainville himself had commented negatively on other aspects of Tahitian society. ‘Far from being content with their simple possessions, these so-called gentle primitives soon proved themselves capable of avarice. They stole anything they could lay their hands on.’
‘Fi, fi, sir—surely such behaviour merely reflects how quickly contact with civilized men debases such innocent souls?’ Monsieur Thirion was adept at turning an argument.
‘Innocent souls? How then do you explain their indulgence in human sacrifice, bloodshed and other such cruelties?’ asked Monsieur Crozet. ‘Monsieur Bougainville cites many examples of such behaviour.’
The expedition leader became impatient. He added a note of pragmatism. ‘From my own experiences of the darker races, I find their state of mind invariably childlike and unsophisticated.’
André thought no one could argue with his wealth of experience. As well as being a slave-owner on his estates on the Île-de-France, Monsieur Marion had often traded along the coasts of Africa, China and India. The expedition leader beckoned for more wine and put an end to the discussion for the time being by saying, ‘For our purposes, gentlemen, all we need to know is that, like domestic animals, such primitives respond to kindness. Treat them well and you’ll get good results, every time. In my opinion, speculations on their underlying nature are therefore irrelevant.’
Although the surgeon and the second-in-command conceded with good grace, the ensign knew both officers would relish the chance to put their own views to the test. Now, in the cool light of early morning, he sneaked another look a
t the impassive group of Diemenlanders still standing motionless on the beach. As far as this lot went, if he were a gambling man he would place his money on Monsieur Marion.
Before the end of the watch, both the expedition leader and his second-in-command joined the ensign on the quarterdeck. Monsieur Marion nodded at the group on the beach. ‘How long have our friends been with us, Monsieur Tallec?’
‘Since first light, sir,’ André said. ‘They’ve not moved a muscle in all that time.’
Monsieur Marion looked at the naked men leaning on their long spears, the unarmed women and children. ‘They seem harmless enough.’ He smiled. ‘Indeed, Monsieur Thirion is sure to see in them his Naturals, Men of the Woods—Savages. Call them what you will.’
Immediately after breakfast, the expedition leader hailed the Castries through his speaking trumpet. ‘Monsieur du Clesmeur—bring your officers and join me on board the Mascarin, if you please.’
The officers gathered in the great cabin to receive their instructions. Paul Chevillard had resumed his clerical duties, so André stood at the entrance with the other junior officers. In the tiny officers’ pantry beside him, the captain’s slave was washing dishes, his ears no doubt pricked for any interesting gossip he could share later with Anthonie, the ship’s Malagasy cook.
Monsieur Marion addressed them. ‘Take the longboats to opposite ends of this bay, gentlemen. Traverse back within the breaker line if at all possible, keeping an eye out for any freshwater stream suitable for filling the water casks.’
‘Are we to be armed, sir?’ asked Lieutenant Lehoux, delegated to accompany Monsieur Crozet in the Mascarin’s boat. An energetic man and inclined to be belligerent, it was clear he would like nothing better than an invigorating skirmish with a bunch of naked primitives.
‘Oui, oui!’ said Monsieur Marion. ‘By all means take a contingent of soldiers in each boat.’ He fixed the eager lieutenant with a stern look. ‘Take note, Monsieur Lehoux! A precaution only—I don’t want these Diemenlanders alarmed in any way.’
