by Joanna Orwin
Their captain could turn any disadvantage into an apparent positive. No one could doubt the real reason they had already stayed so long was the damage caused by their collision in the Southern Ocean. Now the need to expend even more effort to re-mast the Castries meant they would have to prolong their stay in these southern waters well into the depths of winter, further compromising the success of their expedition. A lesser man would take the opportunity to point out the ongoing consequences of Monsieur du Clesmeur’s ineptitude. Although André knew his cousin would attribute Monsieur Marion’s forebearance to his endless accommodation of the young aristocrat’s sensibilities, the ensign admired his captain’s restraint.
But it soon proved there were limits to even the expedition leader’s tolerance. As soon as they returned to the ships, he ordered Monsieur du Clesmeur to take charge of establishing another shore camp to supply the men who would cut the spars needed to re-mast the Castries. ‘No doubt you’ll want to supervise this vital work in person, sir,’ he said firmly. He did not have to spell out the reason.
Although Monsieur du Clesmeur seemed unenthusiastic at the thought of being based on shore, at some distance from the ships and the accustomed comfort of his great cabin, he had no choice but to agree. ‘I’d appreciate the help of as many men as possible, sir.’
Monsieur Marion nodded. ‘We’ll spare as many as we can—from both ships.’
Jean nudged André. ‘Our captain’s a shrewd one!’ he whispered. ‘In one stroke, he’s forced that idle sot to take some responsibility, leaving himself free to socialize with chiefs and explore.’
The young ensign could only agree. His admiration for Monsieur Marion grew even stronger.
His cousin then took great pleasure in telling Monsieur du Clesmeur about the difficulties of the terrain they had traversed. Regaling him with details of the thick, black mud and the slippery, narrow native trail they had followed up and down steep hills, across scrub country through head-high fern and into dense forest, he soon had the captain looking even less enthusiastic. Enjoying his sport, Jean would have continued, but Monsieur Marion fixed him with a steely glare. ‘Seeing you remember the route so well, sir, you’ll be the ideal person to guide Monsieur du Clesmeur to the trees we found. You can then help construct the shore camp in the southern bay.’
André choked back laughter as his cousin swallowed his objections, only too aware he had been outplayed at his own game. Jean never learned. Now he also would be stuck ashore, more than four leagues away from the ships—and out of contact with the young woman from Te Kuri’s village to whom he had taken such a fancy. Now he thought about it, André would not be surprised if Monsieur Marion had indeed noticed his senior ensign’s lustful glances and was seizing the opportunity to remove him from temptation.
Ignoring this side play, Monsieur Crozet was preoccupied with objections of his own. Now he said, a worried frown on his face, ‘I’m concerned this means we’ll be spreading our men far and wide. Is it wise, sir, to set up a shore station so far out of sight of the ships, a good hour’s sailing away?’
‘Your point, Monsieur Crozet?’ It was the expedition leader’s turn to frown.
‘You perhaps forget the extent to which we’re at the mercy of these savages, sir,’ said Monsieur Crozet. He was careful to keep his voice neutral. ‘If we’re spread so thinly, they may be tempted to attack us. You yourself point out how much they covet the iron we have, and they continue to pilfer anything we leave lying around. What’s more, their chiefs seem remarkably interested in the layout of both our ships and the shore camp on Marion Island.’
André watched as the expedition leader made an obvious attempt to control his temper. Only Monsieur Crozet, the captain’s longterm trusted companion, would have the temerity to question his judgement in such a way.
His neck flushed red, Monsieur Marion said, ‘I put such behaviour down to their natural curiosity and intelligence, sir. Do we not explore their villages and fortifications with equal curiosity? We make them welcome, and I see no sign these chiefs would in return abuse our hospitality.’
Monsieur Crozet spread his hands. ‘Tant mieux. Nevertheless, I urge that we remain alert, sir. It’s clear their customary occupation is warfare. They’re battle-ready, and we can have no idea what goes on in the savage mind.’
‘We understand each other well enough,’ said Monsieur Marion.
André was not sure whether he meant his senior officer or the Zealanders, and he suspected Monsieur Crozet did not know either.
The expedition leader then added, ‘But if it would put your mind at rest, by all means maintain armed soldiers at both camps.’
The second-in-command had to accept that this was the only concession he would get. ‘I’ve already sent blunderbusses ashore to the hospital camp, sir. Monsieur du Clesmeur should arm his shore guard-post likewise.’
‘Just make sure a few soldiers remain on board the ships to accompany the boats and any excursions.’ Gesturing to François to pour more wine, Monsieur Marion made it clear he had heard enough about a concern he felt had little substance.
Extract from the Te Kape manuscript, 1841
We expected just payment for the kauri trees thus gifted to be delayed until they had been dragged out of the forest by Mariou’s people. But the persistent failure of those strangers to reciprocate the many gifts of food and treasures or the value of the firewood they took began to irk others than Te Kuri. Accordingly, when those strangers continued to point out things of value they fancied in expectation of receiving them, our people took it upon themselves to seize tempting small items left lying around by Mariou’s people as plunder to compensate for their lack of adequate repayment. For such was our way of maintaining social control and ensuring balanced exchanges between different peoples.
Those strangers failed to respond to such plunder by acknowledging their debt and making amends so the mana of our chiefs would be restored. Accordingly, certain chiefs—amongst them those Ngati Pou chiefs living on Moturua—openly began assessing the strength of te iwi o Mariou as a way of showing their growing contempt for an ignorant people who did not honour their obligations.
Delayed by yet more bad weather, it was some days before Monsieur du Clesmeur—accompanied by the reluctant Jean—was able to return to the southern bay. André, rostered on duty at the hospital camp on Marion Island with Lieutenant Lehoux, watched the two longboats set off. On board were the fifty men assigned to build huts on the shore as a base for the masting operations. They would then construct a road two leagues into the interior so the trees felled by the carpenters could be dragged back to the shore. It would be some time before he saw his cousin again, but he had no reason to feel lonely. Te Kape now joined him most days, only too willing to help with his tasks.
Every morning, a wooding party went to cut firewood in the forest-clad gully behind the hospital tent, for the use of both the camp and the two ships. Up until now, they had cut anything of suitable size, but much had proved sullen in the burning or oversmoky. André asked Te Kape, close behind him as always, to show them the best trees for the purpose. It took some inspired miming and lots of laughter before the youth understood what was wanted. He then lay hold of one of the sailors’ axes, persuading him to let go with smiles and nods.
‘Prenez garde—the young devil’s running off with that axe!’ Lieutenant Lehoux exclaimed, his hand going to his pistol as Te Kape wandered off into the nearest copse. ‘Pardieu—you can’t trust these savages for one minute.’
André protested. ‘He’s merely trying to help.’
But the ever-suspicious lieutenant did not relax until he saw what the young Zealander was about. Te Kape examined each tree of suitable size in the copse, then notched some with the axe. He called the lieutenant to join him, gave him the axe with a grin that showed he was well aware of the officer’s misgivings, then indicated the marked trees.
‘Diable!’ Lieutenant Lehoux muttered, discomfited at being shown up by a Natural. He h
esitated, then tried to hand the axe back to Te Kape. ‘Here—keep it.’ When the young Zealander held back, he turned to André. ‘What did you say his name was?’
‘Ta-Capaye, sir,’ said André.
‘You then, Ta-Ca—whatever.’ The lieutenant had no patience with the local language. He thrust the axe at him with both hands. ‘For you.’
Te Kape’s face lit up. He mimed exaggerated delight, then gravely taking the axe, he stepped forward and insisted on pressing noses with the lieutenant until the French officer pushed him away. ‘Pardieu—it’s only an axe. No need to go on so!’
Over his head, Te Kape met André’s eye and waggled his eyebrows. It was all the ensign could do to keep a straight face. Monsieur Marion was right, he thought, goodwill and gesture were more than enough to ensure a satisfactory level of understanding with the Zealanders, despite the lack of shared language. As time went on, he liked this youth more and more. They were fast becoming friends.
As if to emphasize his point, Te Kape worked tirelessly with the wooding party, cutting as much firewood with his new axe as three of the sailors could in the same time. And all along, his face never lost its beam of good humour. Even the lieutenant grudgingly admitted he was an asset.
Later, when the off-duty André had Monsieur Marion’s permission to accompany Te Kape in his canoe back to Te Kuri’s village on the mainland, the young Zealander showed endless patience in trying to answer the ensign’s mimed questions and explain his people’s curious customs. Even though André was not always sure what Te Kape was talking about, he appreciated his efforts. But one of the things Te Kape could not explain by gesture was his relationship to Te Kuri, that austere figure who seemed to be the leading chief in the whole of Port Marion. André had already realized he could not be one of the chief’s sons—he had just the one, the quiet boy who stuck close to his father’s side, even sleeping on board the Mascarin when Te Kuri chose to do so. But he thought Te Kape must be a relative of some sort as he ate at the chief’s fireside, and the ensign was expected to do likewise when he visited the village, even when he was not with the expedition leader. The closest André could get was to assume the chief was Te Kape’s protector and mentor in the same way Jean was his own protector and maître.
Even though Te Kuri always made him and any of the other French officers welcome in his village, extending impeccable hospitality, André still found the chief somewhat unnerving. Unlike most of the Zealanders they came across, Te Kuri seldom smiled, and never laughed. He did not indulge in any of the childlike, expressive or volatile behaviour characteristic of most of the Naturals, one moment rolling around laughing heartily, the next arguing fiercely with one of their companions. There was nothing of the simple sort about Te Kuri. If anything, despite him being the Natural, it was André who felt gauche and inadequate in his presence.
So on this visit, when Te Kape took him to where the chief was sitting with all his senior men on the parade ground outside his house, the ensign was even more uncomfortable than usual. From the Naturals’ demeanour, it seemed to be a formal occasion. But when he hesitated, thinking it highly inappropriate to join them, the young Zealander urged him forward until he was standing alone in front of the chief.
André pulled back his shoulders and tried to appear at ease, but in reality his legs were trembling and his heart pumped faster than usual. He was only too aware that he was alone. None of his companions had come ashore with him. Flattered at being invited on his own, he had thought smugly it was a sign of his special friendship with Te Kape. Now he was wondering whether he had been foolish. His only protection was his ensign’s dirk, carried as always in its scabbard at his side. He tried to keep his hand from straying to its hilt. More and more of the villagers were now gathering behind the senior people, come to see what was happening. He was surrounded by Naturals. Long moments passed, and he stood his ground, his chin lifted proudly. If he were about to die, he would do so with dignity.
Te Kuri watched him, his tattooed face expressionless as usual. After a time that seemed endless to the ensign, the chief nodded as though satisfied, then gestured to his senior wife, who was sitting just behind him. This woman, as reserved as the chief, had made little attempt to communicate with any of the French officers when they visited the village, nor had she come on board either of the ships. Now she stepped forward and showed André what she was holding in her hand. It was a simple whale tooth, smooth and polished, with the merest suggestion of eyes, nose and mouth etched into one end and a cord threaded through a hole in the other. She lifted this cord over André’s head, taking care to avoid touching his hair, then ensured the ivory object lay level against his chest. She smiled slightly at him, then returned to the chief’s side. The old man who had first come aboard the Mascarin rose to his feet and started some sort of sonorous chant that went on for some time. Then, some of the women joined the chief’s wife to sing a lilting, haunting tune accompanied by swaying movements and foot shuffling.
André could hear Te Kape murmuring behind him, but he had no idea what he was saying. Although he was grateful for the chance to recover his equanimity given him by the chanting and singing, he was not sure what he was meant to do now or how to respond. Nothing like this had happened to any of the French officers before, not even to Monsieur Marion. The gift was obviously significant, but he did not dare lift the pendant to examine it more closely. Cursing that he had not thought to bring ashore with him any of the items particularly favoured by the Zealanders, he stepped forward when the women finished, intending to give Te Kuri his dirk. At the last moment, he remembered how the chief did not himself handle any of the exchange gifts he received on board the ship. So he stooped and placed the silver-hilted dagger at the chief’s feet. A murmur of approval ran through the assembled people. It seemed he had done the right thing. He put his hand on his heart, then said thank you, nodding and smiling.
Te Kuri inclined his head. After a pause, he stood up and took off the short, feathered cape he was wearing. The Naturals all drew in their breath with a loud hiss. Before the startled ensign could react, the chief was placing the cape around André’s shoulders. He stooped to press his nose firmly against André’s, then turned and addressed his people, gesturing with a wide sweep of his hand at the village, the surrounding hills and the sea. For a moment there was silence, then the Zealanders burst into wild applause and leapt to their feet, dancing and singing.
Amidst the tumult, Te Kape seized André and embraced him, his eyes sparkling with delight. The ensign embraced him back, elated and relieved. He had clearly been given some sort of honour. Only moments ago he had been sure he was about to be killed.
Extract from the Te Kape manuscript, 1841
It might have been expected that Te Kuri would shun people who so threatened his mana, which undermined the balance of our relationships with the ancestors essential for our wellbeing. Instead, while still assessing their strengths and weaknesses and reserving final judgment about their human status, he renewed his efforts in offering Mariou and his subordinate chiefs hospitality at his stronghold on Orokawa. At the same time, he stayed many nights on board the ship, even allowing his only son to spend time with those strangers.
Then, he placed under his chiefly protection the one amongst those strangers whose real nature our tohunga were still assessing. This was the youth with an uncanny likeness to the supernatural beings that inhabit the tops of kauri trees and sometimes snatch away our women, he of the flame-red hair, sea-green eyes and skin the colour of sea spume heaped on the shore. On the advice of our tohunga, it was arranged by Te Kuri that this youth would willingly—and unwittingly—wear an amulet that would protect our people against any supernatural powers he might possess. Not realizing the hostile significance of Te Kuri’s action, that youth’s instinctive response was to gift the chief his own shining weapon, a gift of far greater value than any offered by the other strangers from the sea. It was this innocent generosity that then prompted Te Kuri to place
his cloak around the youth’s shoulders, thus putting him under his chiefly protection—at the same time that he had protected us against him.
My own friendship with a being of such ambiguous nature was at first merely in response to a dare from my companions, but it grew to a genuine attraction to his open friendliness and enthusiastic curiosity about everything he came across, for above all else he was a likeable youth without guile.
No matter how well he was received by the Zealanders, André was soon reminded of his real status. The day after he returned to his duties at the hospital camp, he was in trouble with his superiors. As the morning was mild and fine for once, some of the senior officers’ domestic slaves were sent ashore with him to launder the linen from the great cabin. André found François, the captain’s personal slave, amusing, but he did not usually have any dealings with the others. Unlike François and the captain’s three female slaves, who slept in the lobby of the great cabin within beck and call of the senior officers, the one male slave sent ashore was relegated to the darkest and dankest corner of the lower deck. He was meant to be responsible for scrubbing out the officers’ latrines and doing any other rough or dirty work needed for their comfort, but he did the minimum that would avoid a flogging. A sullen and taciturn man, he was usually found slumped in the corner of Anthonie’s galley, where the fat cook tolerated him only because he was afraid of him. Today, Monsieur Marion had allowed him to accompany the women ashore, thinking the fresh air would do his uncertain temper some good.
Although André knew the man would do little if any work, he set him to tending a fire on the beach near the stream outlet to heat water for the laundry. Once he was sure the slaves were getting on with their task, he left them to go with Te Kape and Monsieur Thirion, who was hoping the young Zealander would lead him to new native herbs he could add to his growing stock of useful worts.
