by Joanna Orwin
It was mid-afternoon when they returned to the beach, just as the Mascarin fired her cannon to signal that they were ready to sail. The yawl from the Castries was drawn up alongside theirs, the two boatmen left in charge sharing a companionable box of snuff. Apparently Monsieur du Clesmeur and Lieutenant Le Dez had also come ashore to explore and seek out game. Jean laughed. ‘This place must be more to his lordship’s liking as it’s clearly more civilized than Van Diemen’s Land.’
There was no sign of them, and the senior ensign insisted they should not wait. ‘Monsieur Marion told us to return immediately we heard the signal. I’m not about to let our friend’s tardiness put us at risk of punishment.’
No sooner had they reached the ship, than Monsieur Marion ordered the yawl hoisted aboard—the longboat already being secured on deck, the anchor partly raised and the sails loosened. He obviously had no intention of waiting for the Castries’ captain. Monsieur Crozet told them not to bother the expedition leader with their report until they had cleared the bay. ‘Our captain’s not well-pleased,’ he explained. ‘We’ve wasted precious time searching for the lost anchors. He’s had to send our last spare heavy bower anchor over to the Castries.’
André looked across the quarterdeck to where Monsieur Marion was pacing impatiently, his hands behind his back, as they got underway in a steadily increasing wind. They were standing well out of the bay under full sail before he saw the distant small figures of the Castries’ officers scurrying to launch their boat from the beach. As soon as the boat was afloat and they were pulling for their ship, the ensign saw the Castries’ sails were being loosened. The consort ship set off after the Mascarin almost before her boat had been hoisted aboard.
‘Monsieur Le Corre, undoubtedly,’ said Jean, grinning, ‘making a point.’
Forced offshore once more by unfavourable winds, they tacked within tantalizing sight of wooded land for another five long days. At last the wind changed and they were able to sail around Square Cape, a large headland that ended in a distinctive pierced islet. In calm weather, Monsieur Marion sent off the well-armed longboats to search inlets on both sides of this cape, looking for a sheltered harbour. While the ships short-tacked under small sails, waiting for their boats to return, the Mascarin’s lookout spotted several canoes setting out from the shore near the cape, heading straight towards them.
The eight Zealanders in the leading canoe stayed their paddles some distance away. Although the ship’s people lined the rails, calling and beckoning them closer, they steadfastly stayed where they were. The other canoes remained even further away from the ship, clearly waiting to see what happened. Monsieur Marion ordered the ship hove-to and the French flag run up, but the canoes still maintained their stations.
‘They seem most timorous,’ the expedition leader commented, puzzled. ‘What reason do they have to be so frightened?’
‘Perhaps they’ve encountered ships such as ours before,’ said Monsieur Crozet. ‘The lead canoe has paused just beyond the range of a musket shot.’
‘Surely mere coincidence, sir,’ said Monsieur Marion, frowning. ‘As far as we know, no other ship has visited here.’
Monsieur Crozet shrugged. ‘They don’t look the type to be timid for no good reason.’
André, watching the men in the closest canoe, had to agree. The paddlers were all tall, robust men in their prime, their naked chests broad and well-muscled. Even at this distance he could see they had regular features, with aquiline noses and fine dark eyes. The canoe slowly circled the ship, maintaining its distance. Only after some of the officers held out trinkets did the canoe approach any nearer, but the paddlers still would not come alongside. An elderly man wrapped in a skin cloak stood in the prow of this canoe. He seemed to be examining both the ship and its occupants with intense concentration. He showed no interest in the items being waved at him.
Becoming impatient with such unnecessary caution, Monsieur Marion turned to André. ‘Vite, vite—go and dangle some trinkets on a cord from the stern gallery, Monsieur Tallec! Surely something must entice these people. We need to gain their confidence so we can land and replenish our ships without difficulty.’
‘Maybe something of more use to them might serve better, sir,’ the second-in-command suggested. ‘Fish-hooks, perhaps?’
Jean muttered an aside to André: ‘I wonder what sort of bait we need to catch us a savage?’
The young ensign went off to place a few tempting items in a small basket, then lowered it from the stern gallery to dangle just above water level. It did seem like fishing and he was tempted to laugh. But when the canoe glided under the stern and the elderly man still standing in the prow gestured to one of the paddlers to retrieve the basket, he remembered the other ancient who had so impressed him. This old man’s face was black with the markings of tattoo. His dignified gaze met André’s briefly, instantly quelling the ensign’s thoughts of levity. After examining the items, the men in the canoe refilled the basket with small, glistening fish and some shellfish. The old man looked up at the now subdued ensign and nodded, gesturing for him to pull up the basket.
The tactic worked. To Monsieur Marion’s satisfaction, not long afterwards the canoe come alongside the lowered ladder, and the old man swung himself onto it with an agility that belied his age. But even before he started climbing aboard, the paddlers took their canoe well away from the ship’s side. Clearly they were taking no chances. The expedition leader made haste to reassure the ancient, who now stood trembling on the deck. He embraced him and kissed him on both cheeks, then hung glass beads around his neck. The other officers gathered around, smiling and nodding. After a while, Monsieur Marion judged he had gained the Zealander’s confidence sufficiently to take him into the great cabin, where he ordered his slave to lay out bread and wine.
‘Eat, eat, sir!’ the expedition leader urged after he sat the ancient down at the table—ignoring the scandalized François’ mutterings of dismay. While the rest of the officers watched with interest, he took a piece of bread himself and broke off a mouthful. He pushed the platter towards the old man, encouraging him to follow suit, then had François pour them both a glass of wine. He lifted his glass towards the old man saying, ‘A votre santé, monsieur!’
‘Pardieu—anyone would think Monsieur Marion was entertaining aristocracy,’ Jean whispered to André, hiding a smile as the old man cautiously tasted the bread, then bit off an approving mouthful while the expedition leader nodded vigorously and took another bite himself. ‘Uncalled for, surely? He’s just a savage.’
André shrugged. Unlike his cousin, who distrusted anyone with a dark skin, he had to admire Monsieur Marion’s courage in dealing so intimately with unknown peoples—even if his own cautious nature perceived a considerable risk. This time, the expedition leader’s insistence on approaching primitives with goodwill and kindness seemed appropriate. Anyone could see that this old man had stature amongst his own people—was indeed an aristocrat—and should be treated accordingly.
As if to contradict him, at that very moment the old man took a mouthful of wine, then turned his head aside and spat it out vigorously. Putting down his glass, he kept spitting, trying to get rid of all traces of the wine. François leapt backwards, ostentatiously brushing his clothing. The officers broke into laughter, unable to hide their amusement at the old man’s curious distress. But Monsieur Marion glared at them and told his slave to bring the old man a carafe of water. As the ancient rinsed his mouth carefully, still spitting, then drained the entire carafe, the expedition leader made signs apologizing for both the wine and the poor quality of the water.
The old man, restored to some equanimity, soon seemed to understand the captain’s attempts to explain that the ships were seeking supplies of fresh water. He tapped the empty carafe, gestured towards the shore, then began making graceful undulating movements with his hands that conjured up flowing waterfalls and rivers deep enough to swim in—all without the French officers understanding a single word of what he
was saying. André could not help contrasting this ancient’s quick intelligence with the dumb incomprehension shown by the old Diemenlander similarly faced with a water bottle. If the other Zealanders were equally receptive, surely they would find here what they so sorely needed?
Well satisfied with the progress being made, Monsieur Marion had François bring him one of his own spare linen shirts and pair of breeches. With the slave’s disapproving help, he took off the old man’s cloak of skins and pulled the shirt over his head, then removed the woven matting fastened around his hips. With some difficulty, they managed to get him into the breeches and their front opening fastened. The captain slung a blue mantle around the old man’s shoulders. ‘Voilà!’ he said, stepping back and indicating his own clothing and those of his senior officers. ‘Now you look just like one of us.’
The ancient man said not a word. André thought he looked somewhat bemused. But when Monsieur Marion had some iron axes, adzes and chisels brought in for his inspection, the Zealander at last showed more than cautious interest. He ran his fingers over the cutting edges of each tool, before demonstrating that he knew exactly how they were used. When the captain indicated he could keep them, he smiled for the first time. He asked many questions, none of which the officers could understand, then gestured to the canoe now lying off the ship’s stern, making it clear he wanted to recall his paddlers.
A few hours later, the paddlers were all wearing sailors’ shirts and trousers—dressing them a procedure that greatly amused the ship’s officers and one the Zealanders tolerated, although the ensign suspected they were more embarrassed than anything else. With the Frenchmen calling farewells, they paddled off, each laden with trinkets, the gift of a pig trussed and squealing in the bilge of their canoe. Before they had gone far, they stopped to strip off their unfamiliar clothes—not without difficulty with sleeves and buttons, which caused more mirth aboard the two ships.
Monsieur Crozet watched the Zealanders stop to talk to the occupants of the other canoes. As all the canoes then began coming towards them, some dozen or more, he turned to the captain. ‘I think Lieutenant de Vaudricourt should arm his soldiers and post them on the poop, sir. If all those savages come aboard we could easily be overwhelmed.’
‘Fort bien, Monsieur Crozet,’ said the expedition leader. ‘As you wish, though an unnecessary precaution in my opinion.’ Remembering the adverse reaction of the Diemenlanders when the soldiers had fixed their bayonets, he added, ‘Tell them to be discreet—they’re to keep their weapons well hidden.’
No sooner had the soldiers complied, than the fleet of canoes reached the ship. Without any of the fear or caution shown by their first visitors, several hundred Zealanders immediately swarmed aboard after handing up many baskets of fish and some containing a sweet potato of some sort. Although André was relieved to find they had no weapons with them, he was glad of the soldiers standing alert on the poop. The Naturals rushed about the ship, exclaiming at everything they saw and showing great curiosity. It was not long before this curiosity extended to establishing the nature of the sailors themselves. André and Jean submitted to being poked and prodded, their white skin causing much surprise. The young ensign’s russet hair and grey-green eyes seemed to attract particular attention.
One youth, about his own age André thought, was more insistent than most. Tall and gangly like himself, this young Zealander kept coming back to him, making gestures of friendship then pulling aside the ensign’s jacket and shirt to reveal the white skin beneath. In turn, he would place André’s hand on his own brown skin, then laugh. His laugh was infectious, his face open and attractive, not distorted by the tattoo that disfigured so many of the older men. Despite his initial alarm, the ensign found himself responding to such friendliness. Eventually he patted his chest and said, ‘Tallec.’ He pointed at the youth and raised his eyebrows.
The youth looked puzzled, but when the ensign repeated his name and the gesture, his face suddenly lit up. He nodded and patted his own chest. ‘Te Kape.’
‘Ta-capaye,’ André tried to get his tongue around the words.
‘Ae, Te Kape!’ The youth seemed delighted. He hesitated, then said, ‘Tareka?’
André nodded, ‘Oui, oui! Something like that! Tallec.’
They beamed at each other. André turned to share his new friend with Jean, but his cousin had been distracted. He was trying to persuade the one Zealander who had stayed on his canoe to come aboard. An imposing older man wrapped in a handsome fur cloak, he showed every sign of remaining aloof. His canoe was much larger than the others, with tall carved posts at prow and stern. He had four young women with him, who crouched on the floor of the canoe, not paying any attention to the two ensigns looking down at them.
‘Always seeking a challenge, Jean!’ André was amused. ‘From his manner I’d think he’s an important chief. Those women must be in attendance.’
‘Toutàfait!’ said Jean. ‘He’s interested in my red mantle, though he’s pretending not to be.’ He took his short cape off and held it out to the man, then pointed at his fur cloak. The chief gestured for him to throw the cape into the canoe.
‘He takes me for a fool!’ Jean shook his head vigorously, beckoning the chief to come aboard.
After some hesitation, the lure of the red cape proved too much for the chief, and he swung himself up the rope ladder onto the deck, followed by the young women. André became aware that the youth with whom he had exchanged names was muttering something behind him. Te Kape nodded towards the older man, who was now standing imperiously on the deck, waiting for two of the women to take off his cloak. ‘Te Kuri.’
André heard what sounded like a name. ‘Tacoury?’
‘Ae, Te Kuri.’ The youth waved at the other Naturals on board, many of whom had stopped to watch the chief being disrobed, his gesture indicating that he was their chief. Then he pointed into the head of the inlet, to the eastern hills behind, and swept his hands in a wide gesture that encompassed much of what they could see.
‘Ma fois, Jean,’ said André to his cousin. ‘You seem to have won over one of the bigwigs of this place.’
They watched as the women offered Jean’s cape to the chief. Te Kuri now paid no attention to the ensigns. He glanced at the cape with a show of indifference, then handed it back to the women. While one of them put the cape into the canoe, another brought Jean the fur cloak. The two ensigns inspected it closely. Made of finely woven cloth in which narrow strips of dark and white fur were so cleverly interwoven that it seemed like the single pelt of a very large animal, the heavy cloak was surprisingly supple. Delighted, Jean looked at the chief and nodded to show his appreciation.
Much to his chagrin, Te Kuri merely bowed his head briefly then strode off along the deck to where Monsieur Marion was holding court, surrounded by many Zealanders. After hesitating for a moment, the young women trailed after him.
‘Tant pis—he’s interested in bigger fish than you, cousin,’ said André, laughing. ‘Even his women have lost interest in you.’
Jean shrugged. ‘Tant mieux—as if I’d be tempted by such ugly specimens.’
They both looked after the women. None of them had the appeal of the men, being squat in build with heavy thighs and large breasts barely hidden by their short capes of woven sword-grass. Their greased hair hung at shoulder length, pomaded with red, and their skin was also liberally smeared with red pigment. Jean shrugged again. ‘Let’s hope they kept some better-lookers ashore for us.’
Some of the Naturals were already leaving, paddling their canoes swiftly away from the ship towards the Castries, hove-to half a league away. Before long, only Te Kuri and another old chief were left on board, with their paddlers—Te Kape amongst them. Monsieur Marion invited both chiefs into the great cabin to share a dinner of fresh pork and newly baked bread rolls.
In the evening, with the wind rising, it became necessary to set sail and stand offshore. Although the captain tried to persuade the Zealanders to go ashore, Te Kuri indic
ated that they wanted to stay on board; tomorrow they would guide the ship into sheltered waters. The two chiefs sent their reluctant companions off in their canoes. With considerable aplomb, they settled down to sleep on the palliasses laid out for them in the great cabin, showing not the least apprehension at their unfamiliar situation.
Monsieur Marion was delighted. ‘The friendliness and confidence of these good people in coming to us unarmed surely means our travail has ended at last. All we have to do is offer hospitality and gifts to ensure we’ll reap our reward.’
Extract from the Te Kape manuscript, 1841
The news then came that those strangers from the sea had not been placated by the northern tohunga. The messengers told us that soon afterwards, the people returned from inland where they had been attending their recently dead chief. While they were gone, those strangers plundered their village, ignoring the tapu status of the burnt shelters that indicated someone had died there. The strangers then took away the central ancestral pou of that chief’s house. Accordingly, the people of that place sent warning far and wide that those strangers must indeed be malignant supernatural beings, for men like ourselves could not have trespassed so against tapu and survived.
Accordingly, when the two ships appeared off our coast, our people here in Tokerau approached them with caution. We also had earlier experienced such manifestations. A few summers before, a similar ship had entered the harbour to lie near Motu-arohia. When some of its occupants came ashore and were challenged in the usual way, they responded by discharging the long tubes they carried. Those tubes emitted sharp cracks like timber splintering, accompanied by bursts of flame and smoke. Much to the fear and astonishment of the challengers, they were instantly afflicted by many small wounds and a sharp stinging as though they had stumbled into a nest of bees, yet they were a full stone’s throw distance from those tipua. Then the side of the ship turned towards them, and its many mouths erupted in thunder and lightning, and, a whistling wind conjured up by those strangers threw boulders over the challengers’ heads with giant force. Our people therefore knew to stay beyond a stone’s throw distance from the strangers.
