Collision

by Joanna Orwin

  On their return a few hours later, there was no sign of the expected industry at the stream outlet. The slaves had disappeared, the smoking ashes of their fire scarcely warm and the linen abandoned where it had been put to soak in the stream. ‘Malheureux! Infame!’ the dismayed ensign swore vigorously. ‘That rogue, that misbegotten scoundrel—I should never have left him unsupervised.’

  ‘Calm yourself, young man,’ said Monsieur Thirion. ‘They’re probably off having a siesta in the bushes—they can’t have gone far without a boat.’

  But at that very moment, a Natural from the village, who had been delivering baskets of fish to the hospital tent, came back down to the beach. He stopped and looked puzzled, then started capering up and down, yelling. He rushed up to André and the surgeon, then dragged them bodily along the beach. Pointing at grooves in the sand, he sketched the shape of a canoe with his hands, his aggrieved cries making it clear his means of transport had been taken. It took all their patience, Te Kape’s help and an inordinate number of decentsized nails before he would accept there was nothing they could do. The slaves had absconded. There was no sign of them or the canoe.

  When André faced up to Monsieur Crozet back on board the Mascarin, the second-in-command was not pleased. ‘Diable! I told Monsieur Marion he was taking a risk letting that malcontent ashore.’

  ‘Indeed,’ agreed Lieutenant Lehoux. ‘If the rogue finds favour with any of the savages, he’s more than capable of stirring up trouble for us.’

  On hearing the bad news, Monsieur Marion was more put out by the loss of his female slaves than by any fears of trouble. ‘I don’t think the people here will pay much heed to a lowly male slave.’

  They did not learn what had happened until the following day when Chevillard returned with the longboat from a nearby island, where he had spent the afternoon supervising the collection of boulders suitable for ballast. As soon as the longboat fastened to the chains, the captain’s clerk handed up a bedraggled and hungry female slave.

  Weeping profusely, she told them their male companion had bullied the three women into taking the small canoe and setting out to escape to the mainland. But as soon as they got beyond the sheltered lee of Marion Island, the waves threatened to swamp the overloaded craft. ‘That man,’ she wailed, wringing her hands. ‘That man, he up with the oar, he split my friend’s head, killed her dead, then he tipped her into the sea.’

  Terrified she would suffer the same fate, the woman had leapt overboard. Only luck and a favourable current had seen her fetch up on the shore of the island. She spent a miserable, cold day ashore before Chevillard and the men from the longboat came across her. She had no idea whether the other slaves had reached land safely, but she knew they intended making for Te Kuri’s village, him being the chief they had seen sleep on board many times.

  ‘That’s not good news, sir,’ said Monsieur Crozet, frowning. ‘I don’t trust Tacoury. If the slave gets that far, he could well encourage the chief to attack us.’

  ‘Such fears are surely unfounded,’ Monsieur Marion objected. ‘You suspect Tacoury simply on the basis that he’s a man of obvious intelligence. Merely because he sees himself as our equal and behaves accordingly is no good reason for you to distrust him.’

  ‘I can affirm your good opinion of him, sir.’ André showed them his pendant and told them about the ceremony in which it had been presented, the way Te Kuri had draped his own cape around his shoulders. ‘Not that I can show you the cape,’ he confessed. ‘It was taken back from me before I left the village.’

  Monsieur Crozet examined the whale tooth and sniffed. ‘Clearly not something of value,’ he said disparagingly. ‘Now, if it’d been one of those splendid frog-like jade ornaments some of the savages wear, Monsieur Tallec, I might be convinced—they’re obviously treasured. Or if you still had that cape.’

  The expedition leader was at first inclined to be cross. ‘You gave your dirk for this? Pardieu, Monsieur Tallec—your actions have inflated what the Zealanders will expect us to pay from now on.’

  André wanted to explain that trade had not come into it, that Te Kuri had given him something special, an unsolicited gift. In his heart he was confident something significant had taken place, but it was hard to find the right words.

  Besides, in his usual way, Monsieur Marion had already relented. ‘You’re making too much of it, young man,’ he said, not unkindly. ‘Tacoury simply likes how well you’re getting on with that young Zealander who hangs around you like a faithful pup—he seems to be some sort of protégé.’

  Before André could explain further, Lieutenant Lehoux said to the expedition leader, ‘Ma fois, sir, maybe that in itself is reason enough for caution. That young savage could well be a spy of sorts, with his constant presence wherever we happen to be.’

  Monsieur Marion dismissed this as paranoia. ‘Monsieur Tallec’s hardly the only officer to make a friend amongst the Zealanders—both you gentlemen seem to favour certain of them with your gifts and welcome their attentions.’

  Neither would he countenance Monsieur Crozet’s claim that it was Te Kuri he was wary of, saying any particular friendships formed between the officers and the Naturals could only foster the good relationships already established. As for Te Kuri, the expedition leader had nothing but admiration for him. ‘I would trust him with my life, sir.’

  When Te Kuri not only captured the two missing slaves but also returned them to the Mascarin, it seemed the expedition leader was vindicated in his stance. Monsieur Crozet was reduced to silence on the matter. He vented some of his frustration by having the male slave flogged at the windlass as a deterrent to the others. Although most of the Naturals seemed peculiarly upset by the punishment, some of them even weeping and wringing their hands, the chief himself watched impassively, only leaving the ship when the flogging was over.

  Even more telling in Te Kuri’s favour to Monsieur Marion’s mind was another incident a few days later. The ship was once again surrounded by dozens of canoes. People from various villages around Port Marion swarmed all over the deck with their baskets of fish, game birds and potatoes, eager to trade. Many of them now targeted particular sailors whom they found obliging. Some of their women disappeared below, a customary practice ever since Monsieur Marion had decided congress between them and the ship’s people could only contribute to harmony with the Zealanders. Amidst the cheerful racket, Te Kuri stood on the quarterdeck with the expedition leader. He barely acknowledged André’s presence, but the ensign considered that was probably a matter of protocol, seeing the chief had come to visit the captain. He was sure the chief’s quick eyes spotted that he was still wearing the whale tooth.

  Trade was proceeding nicely when the ever-vigilant sergeant-at-arms, old Thomas Ballu, noticed one of the Naturals climbing out the gunroom porthole back into his canoe. The man was clutching a cutlass he had stolen from the rack of weapons housed in the gunroom. ‘Au voleur! Au voleur!’ he shouted, pointing. ‘Thief!’

  Before any of the Frenchmen could react, Te Kuri turned and said something quietly to his companions. The thief was soon bundled back on board and brought in front of Monsieur Marion by the chief’s men, who solemnly returned the cutlass to Monsieur Crozet.

  ‘What should we do, sir?’ the second-in-command asked. ‘We can hardly let such a blatant act of stealing something so valuable go unpunished.’

  When Monsieur Marion hesitated, considering what might be appropriate, Te Kuri pointed to the windlass where the runaway slave had been chained and flogged in his presence.

  ‘Tacoury wants you to flog him, sir!’ exclaimed Monsieur Crozet.

  With the chief nodding approval, the expedition leader had the miscreant chained to the windlass. But no sooner was this done than all except Te Kuri’s companions abandoned their trade. Leaving their baskets of food where they were, the Zealanders flung themselves from the deck into the sea. As the bemused Frenchmen watched, they swam to their canoes where they were pulled on board. They immediately pad
dled well clear of the ship.

  Monsieur Marion decided to rescind his order to have the thief flogged. ‘Just seizing him seems to have got the message across, gentlemen.’

  André heard Monsieur Crozet growl to Ballu that their captain was too soft on the savages, that the man deserved proper punishment. The two were agreeing quietly when Lieutenant Lehoux noticed Te Kuri was also leaving the ship. Although done without haste, he had not announced his departure. His canoe carefully skirted those hovering beyond the ship and made for the mainland.

  ‘Perhaps you’re right not to proceed with the flogging, sir,’ Monsieur Crozet said slowly, rubbing his angular jaw as he thought the matter through. ‘I’m now wondering whether that wily chief has somehow manipulated us.’

  Monsieur Marion became impatient. ‘I begin to think Tacoury stands no chance with you, no matter what he does. He’s simply content to leave the rest to us.’

  As soon as Te Kuri’s canoe had disappeared from sight, several of the other canoes returned to the ship’s side. The Naturals began pleading to have the captive released. Their forlorn upturned faces, beseeching eyes and plaintive cries soon had the expedition leader willing to relent. ‘Unchain the man!’ he ordered.

  As the Zealanders paddled off after embracing their freed companion with floods of tears, the resigned Monsieur Crozet looked around at the several dozen baskets of fish and potatoes lying abandoned on the deck. He muttered, ‘Diable! At least we’ve made on the deal—perhaps lack of payment is sufficient dues.’

  ‘Indeed, sir,’ said Monsieur Marion. ‘I see no merit in using more force than needed to make it clear we’re not to be trifled with. Besides, I’ve noticed beatings do not seem a means of punishment amongst these people. Tacoury was yet again merely demonstrating his goodwill toward us in offering the man up to be punished according to our custom.’

  But Jean was watching the retreating canoes. ‘Non, pardieu,’ he said quietly. ‘I fear Monsieur Crozet may’ve been right about his motive, sir.’

  They turned to look. The canoe containing their freed captive had merely retreated beyond musket range. His companions were now facing the ship, their paddles brandished high over their heads. The man they had chained stood in the prow. When he saw the French officers were watching, he thumped his chest repeatedly, each time shouting just the one phrase. Each time, the paddlers echoed him, the sound travelling clearly across the water. No one, not even Monsieur Marion, could mistake that sound for anything but defiance.

  Extract from the Te Kape manuscript, 1841

  Many were the ways in which authority over those strangers was gained by Te Kuri. At the same time, his rivals were turned against them by him taking advantage of the strangers’ inexplicable habits. Accordingly, when a runaway black man and his woman were captured and returned to the ships, and Te Kuri saw that the man was bound in chains and severely beaten as punishment, he encouraged Mariou to similarly punish one of his rival chiefs caught plundering a valuable weapon from the strangers. For the reason that being treated as a captive slave violated his personal tapu, that man feared he was in danger of losing the essential protection of his ancestral atua, exposing him to all manner of evils. Although he was released by Mariou, that chief vowed to seek revenge against those strangers for causing him, and through him his people, such spiritual harm.

  Te Kuri was satisfied that in such ways rival chiefs might be dissuaded from associating with te iwi o Mariou. The favours of those strangers could thus be retained for himself, and, at the same time his ascendancy over those rival chiefs would be asserted.

  ‘We are pleasantly enough situated, sir, do you not agree?’ Monsieur du Clesmeur showed off the efforts of his men at the masting camp with evident pride.

  André looked around the small terrace with its four newly erected reed-thatched huts set in a neat square, one for the officers, another for the men, a smaller guard-post and a store. Sheltered from the sea breeze by a small hill crowned with trees, the camp was set well back from the beach. To the south stretched the broad, swampy plain they would have to traverse each day to reach the inland forest.

  Joining his cousin, Jean Roux said, ‘Anyone would think we’re here to stay, not merely camping for a few weeks! That soft aristocrat insisted tents were inadequate and had us build these mansions. Luckily, the savages abandoned some huts they had nearby as soon as we offloaded everything here. We were able to dismantle those for beams and so forth. Even so, we wasted two whole days that would’ve been better spent constructing the road to the forest.’

  ‘Winter’s setting in,’ André pointed out. ‘Maybe the captain’s thinking of his men’s wellbeing, not himself.’

  ‘He did choose a good site,’ Jean admitted. ‘Savages are already bringing us fish each day from a village in the next cove. And most days we manage to pot a few quail and plenty of ducks within minutes of the camp. Lieutenant Le Dez has proved himself an excellent shot. If I didn’t regard him as a most conscientious officer, I’d suspect him of using his hunting skills as an excuse to avoid duties here at the camp.’

  ‘No doubt you found sufficient reason to join him,’ said André, grinning.

  Jean protested his innocence. ‘I’ve been marking out the line for the road into the interior, I’d have you know. If I succeed in bringing down game as we return each evening, that’s merely sensible.’

  ‘Oui, oui, I believe you.’ André dodged his cousin’s friendly punch.

  After inspecting the huts, Monsieur Marion insisted on being shown progress on the road across the plain. ‘We may as well take this opportunity to go right on and select the trees,’ he added. ‘The carpenters have given me the exact measurements.’

  Monsieur du Clesmeur objected. ‘The footing’s exceedingly muddy, sir. I see no merit in troubling yourself with such an arduous journey.’

  ‘You forget I’m already familiar with the route,’ said Monsieur Marion, his voice cold. ‘A little mud’s no obstacle.’

  ‘It’s already late in the day,’ the captain argued. ‘We’ll be hard pushed to return before dark’

  Jean nudged André. ‘He’s unwilling to let Monsieur Marion see just how little we’ve accomplished!’ he whispered. ‘The road’s barely started—we’ve got less than a quarter league beyond the camp.’

  ‘Fi, fi, sir,’ said Monsieur Marion. ‘Stay behind if you wish. It seems I’ve more taste for adventure than you.’ He turned to Lieutenant Le Dez. ‘Will you accompany me, or do you prefer to remain here with your captain?’

  Monsieur du Clesmeur hastened to change his mind. ‘But of course we both intend accompanying you, sir! I was merely concerned for your health and comfort.’

  The expedition leader relented. His voice warmer, he said. ‘I have full clearance from our estimable surgeon and have never felt better. You need not concern yourself on my behalf.’

  Without further ado, the officers set out along the path through the swampy plain beyond the camp. As Jean had indicated, it was not long before they left the short length of cleared roadway where he and his party had laid bundles of cut myrtle as fascines to provide dry footing. The narrow path then became even muddier than André remembered, no doubt because of the continual rain experienced the previous week. Soon they were floundering thigh-deep through patches of mud, grabbing onto any bush or handy clump of rush to haul themselves onwards. As the day had grown unseasonably warm and muggy, clouds of pesky gnats swarmed around them. They seemed particularly attracted to the beefy, sweating second-in-command from the Castries. Cursing vigorously, Monsieur Le Corre was forced to bat them away constantly to avoid being severely bitten.

  Much to Jean’s barely concealed satisfaction, the hapless captain from the Castries managed to plunge up to his waist on one particularly treacherous section. He whispered to André, ‘If he’d bothered coming with us on reconnaissance, he would’ve known to avoid that bit!’

  ‘No doubt you saw no reason to warn him?’ André whispered back. But then, none of the other
s had bothered warning him either. Monsieur Crozet unceremoniously heaved him back onto drier ground by the slack of his frockcoat, then walked on, leaving the captain to wipe the stinking black mud off his soaked breeches as best he could. The ensign hovered, feeling sorry for him. It seemed that even ashore no one other than Monsieur Marion himself was prepared to make any allowances for the young aristocrat—and his tolerance had its limits. Without saying a word, he cut some switches of myrtle with the cutlass issued to replace the dirk given to Te Kuri and handed them to him.

  After casting him a startled glance, the captain took the switches, muttering thanks. ‘No need to wait for me, Monsieur Tallec. Even I can scarcely lose the way, seeing the trail’s now as trampled as any left by a herd of elephants.’

  André laughed. ‘How true, sir!’ Not for the first time, he wondered why no one else seemed to notice the man’s self-deprecating sense of humour.

  When some hours later they reached the steep ridge where the splendid cedars grew, Monsieur Marion immediately sent them off to search for two that would serve best as spars for the Castries. Discouraged by the steepness of the surrounding terrain, Monsieur du Clesmeur insisted they spend considerable time looking for more suitable sites. He seemed unwilling to accept that the earlier party had done just that. Monsieur Marion did not argue. By the time they had found and marked a cedar suitable for a bowsprit forty-five foot long and another taller tree further inland for the sixty-five-foot foremast—both on the original ridge—it was close to dusk and they were all weary. They plodded down the hill in silence; no doubt, André thought, all cursing the young captain under their breath for the senseless delay.

  Near the edge of the forest, Monsieur Marion suddenly stopped them on the banks of a stream. ‘I suggest we stay here for the night, gentlemen,’ he said, looking around him. ‘The ground under that large tree seems level and dry enough, with plenty of fuel for a fire.’