by Joanna Orwin
But before they left, Te Kotahi questioned them closely about the muskets they were both carrying. He pointed at their bag of quail and nodded, then patted his own chest and shook his head with a look of disdain on his face.
‘Ma fois, the rogue’s telling us quite plainly that he doesn’t think our muskets are up to much!’ All Jean’s prejudices came crowding back. ‘He doesn’t think they’re capable of killing a man.’
‘Hardly surprising, since they’ve only seen us using birdshot to hunt game,’ André pointed out. ‘Monsieur Marion’s scruples have ensured we’ve not at any stage fired directly at any savage.’
‘Don’t you see?’ Jean was impatient. ‘If these people think we’re so poorly armed, they’ll believe they can attack us with impunity.’
Before André could reason with him, point out that Te Kotahi had seen the blunderbusses and already knew their camp was well defended, the chief began gesturing at one of the many village dogs wandering past.
‘You want another demonstration?’ Without further ado, Jean lifted his still-loaded musket and fired at the dog, killing it. Blowing on the lock to disperse the smoke as usual, he then grounded the butt of the musket and waited expectantly.
Te Kotahi, looking most surprised, stooped to examine the dead dog closely. He then came over to the ensigns and asked to see the musket. Jean held it out to him without saying a word. The chief took it cautiously and examined it equally closely. He then wedged the butt against his shoulder, mimicking the way he had seen the Frenchmen wield the weapon. As they watched, he aimed the muzzle carefully towards another dog—then blew vigorously on the lock. The puzzled chief watched the dog amble on its uninterrupted way. He re-examined the musket before giving it back to Jean. In response to his further questions, the senior ensign merely shrugged.
Much to André’s amusement, Te Kotahi gave a Gallic shrug of his own. Then losing interest in them and their mystifying weapon, the chief turned and left them to make their own way back down the treacherous path leading from the village.
Jean was well pleased with the outcome of their sortie. ‘He should now think twice before assuming we’re an easy target.’
In the evening, Monsieur Marion sent for André to return to the ship, wanting his company on his next day’s excursion. The ensign was reluctant to leave his cousin one man short, but Jean sent him off without any qualms, considering his precautions more than adequate to deal with savages who were so ignorant of firearms. ‘I can’t see they’ll be in any rush to come back anyway, not after today’s demonstrations.’
First assigned to help Paul Chevillard with the day’s ballasting efforts, a reluctant André was rousted out of his hammock several hours before daylight. Still bleary-eyed, he joined his fellow ensign in the longboat, grumbling at the early hour. The over-zealous clerk retorted that it was all very well for him, with an excursion ashore later planned with their captain. ‘I’m not only required to load two lots of ballast today, but I’m also expected over at the Castries mid-afternoon to go over accounts with my counterpart for Monsieur du Clesmeur.’
Chevillard seemed to think he was due sympathy for his heavy workload, but André thought the ridiculously early start was merely a jealous attempt to curry favour with Monsieur Marion. Stifling his yawns, he dozed while the half-dozen equally irritated boatmen rowed them in pitch-darkness in what they hoped was the direction of Tacoury’s Cove, where they would spend the morning loading suitable round boulders.
Only the lapping of water on the shore warned them that they were approaching land. It was still a good two hours before there would be enough light to see what they were doing. The boatmen stayed their oars and looked for instructions towards Chevillard, a barely visible blacker shape in the stern sheets. André, wrapped in his greatcoat trying futilely to keep warm, muttered curses under his breath. He could think of better things to be doing—like still being asleep in his hammock in the warm fug of the gunroom.
As their way slowed and the boat rocked gently on the small waves, a huge shout rang out high above them, startling them all out of their lethargy. It was followed in quick succession by more shouts, then the mournful blare of conch shells that sounded much like foghorns. Almost instantly, a fire blazed up, to be followed in quick succession by similar fires all along the coast. The shouting continued, to be echoed by answering shouts from further away, more and more faint as the distance increased. With the heights above them now silhouetted in the light of the fire, André recognized where they were: just below the steep headland of Pikiorei’s fortified village. He could not resist saying, ‘I think our presence has been noted, Monsieur Chevillard.’
Not able to come up with a suitable retort, his fellow ensign ignored him. ‘Lower the grapnel, coxswain, if you please. We’ll wait here until it’s light.’
‘The savages must’ve set sentries the whole way along the coast, sir,’ the coxswain commented as he let out the anchor rope. ‘Expecting trouble of some sort.’
‘D’accord,’ said Chevillard patiently. ‘We’ll wait until they can see we’re unarmed and realize they need not fear any trouble from us.’
André moved into the stern sheets and said quietly in Chevillard’s ear, ‘We’ve not even a musket amongst us, Paul. Don’t you think we might be wise to return to the ship?’
Chevillard shook his head. ‘This isn’t the first ballast-run I’ve done, you know. I’ve had no trouble from these savages before, and I don’t anticipate any now.’
‘The coxswain’s right, though,’ André tried to change his fellow ensign’s mind. ‘Something’s brewing. We’ll be sitting ducks if they choose to attack us.’
Chevillard shrugged this away, his tone supercilious. ‘I heard all about the little problem you had at the masting camp. That amounted to nothing in the end. I see no reason to abandon our task just because your nerves are frayed.’
André gave up, regretting his earlier quip at the clerk’s expense. There was no point trying to reason with him. Chevillard constantly rubbed it in that he was senior and more experienced; he would not be about to take his junior’s advice now. So, with the sounds of continued activity above them, although the shouts of the sentries had died away, they sat, increasingly cramped with cold, and waited for daylight.
At last the first streaks of yellow appeared in the sky, and they could distinguish where water ended and land began. Slowly, the headlands and hills surrounding the bay took shape, their summits emerging above the drifts of early-morning mist. Chevillard ordered the boat crew to row them ashore to the boulder beach he had targeted for ballast collection.
No sooner had they landed than they were surrounded by a hundred or more armed Zealanders. Gesturing fiercely with spears and clubs, the Naturals tried to force them back into the boat. When Chevillard took no notice, ordering the men to start collecting ballast, the Naturals immediately knocked the boulders out of their hands. The exasperated clerk then showed them the Frenchmen were unarmed, holding open his coat so they could see he was not carrying even a pistol or dirk, then pointing into the boat to indicate there were no weapons stashed there either.
But when the Zealanders continued pushing the sailors about and trying to prevent them from collecting boulders, André said, ‘Maybe they think we’re going to use them as weapons?’
Chevillard snorted, ‘They’ve not seen us resort to pebbles before.’ He waved his arms about and tried to explain that they were merely taking the boulders out to the ships. At the same time, he told the sailors to keep loading the boat.
André did not know whether to admire the clerk’s courage or condemn his persistence as foolhardiness, but slowly the atmosphere changed. Several of the Zealanders—chiefs by their tattooed faces—put their weapons down and started asking the whereabouts of Monsieur Marion. Both he and Chevillard pointed out to sea, towards the anchorage, where the Mascarin and the Castries could now be seen through the eddying mist. At last the Naturals gave up their harassment. One by one, they withdrew
to the beach and watched sullenly as the sailors continued to load the boat. When Chevillard had the men push the heavily-laden boat out into deeper water before they all re-embarked, the Zealanders made no move to stop them leaving.
Back on board, at André’s insistence, they reported what had happened to the expedition leader. Monsieur Marion listened, barely concealing his impatience. He told them he had indeed heard the shouted alarm and seen the signal fires from the stern gallery. He had later noticed the crowd of Zealanders going down to the shore. ‘But what is it in these activities that you perceive as such a problem?’ he asked. ‘Have you not returned unmolested, your task accomplished?’
When neither ensign could find words to counter this disparagement, he said more kindly, ‘Probably your going ashore so early made them afraid of your intentions. Obviously, once they realized what you wanted, they were content to leave you alone.’
It was hard to argue with this interpretation. André decided there was no point in pursuing the idea that the Zealanders’ level of alertness in the small hours must have some significance, knowing Chevillard would certainly not support him now that their captain had openly criticized his decision to land before dawn.
Later, when Monsieur du Clesmeur arrived from the masting camp with accounts of further attempts at thievery and received the same lecture about property ownership and doing no harm that he and Jean had heard the day before, André was glad he had not bothered. Nothing anybody said would change Monsieur Marion’s stance. Jean was right—the expedition leader would remain blind to anything that raised doubts about people who had sufficient appreciation of his qualities to make him their King.
Resigned, he went ashore with Chevillard again soon after midday for the second load of ballast. Monsieur Marion refused them permission to take armed soldiers, saying it would only alarm the Naturals further. ‘Carry on in the same way as before, gentlemen. You’ve no justification for your concerns.’
Even the clerk seemed dubious about the wisdom of this, and André felt some fellow-feeling between them as they were rowed ashore. Once again, the same crowd of Naturals tried first to prevent them from loading the boat with boulders, then to persist in asking for Monsieur Marion.
This time, André voiced his concerns to Chevillard. ‘I don’t much like this,’ he said. ‘They’ve not arrived armed wanting him to come ashore until now. Their intentions may well be sinister.’
‘D’accord,’ said Chevillard, frowning. ‘Several of them were intent on attacking me, I’m sure of it. It was only because their chiefs made them desist that they didn’t proceed. It was then they started asking for Monsieur Marion again.’
Sobered, they went back to the ship with their load of ballast. Somehow they would have to try to persuade the expedition leader that their concerns were warranted.
As the two captains were still dining together in the great cabin, the returning ensigns had no opportunity to present a united front. When the captains emerged onto the deck, their heads bent together in animated discussion of some matter, they did not at first even notice the hovering ensigns. Monsieur du Clesmeur then left in some hurry, impatiently urging Chevillard to board his yawl as he had no time to waste. ‘Before we return to my command, I must first inspect the rudder I sent ashore a few days ago,’ he said. ‘I trust you have all the papers you need for your balancing of accounts with my clerk, Monsieur Chevillard?’
Momentarily distracted from his worries, André watched in some amusement as Chevillard bristled at the implication it was he not the Castries’ clerk who was required to account for himself and his receipts, instead of the other way around. He thought they made a good pair, the expedition clerk and the captain, both full of impotent self-importance. He must remember to ask Jean how Monsieur du Clesmeur’s so-called inspection of the rudder had gone. The blacksmith no doubt would similarly resent a superfluous inspection that implied he did not know his job.
Roused from his musings by the chant of a fugleman and the rhythmic splash of paddles, he watched the approach of a large canoe. It was soon close enough for him to recognize Te Kuri’s canoe, the chief standing as usual in its prow, the hold laden with baskets of fish. André felt tension drain from his shoulders. The chief would hardly be coming out to the ship to trade if he were busy plotting mayhem—at the very least they still had allies amongst the Zealanders. To his delight, he could already pick out the familiar figure of Te Kape amongst the paddlers. Whatever was going on in the bay, his friend had not deserted him after all. He hastened to greet him when the chief and his retinue came aboard.
Although Te Kape embraced him and pressed noses with him, he seemed distracted, even subdued, his usual broad smile fleeting. Before André could find out what was bothering him, Monsieur Marion was calling for his yawl to be brought around to the gangway and the seine net put on board. It seemed Te Kuri had come to invite him and his officers to go fishing on the expedition leader’s favourite stretch of coastline, the sheltered coves and beaches below his village. Fussing, Monsieur Marion was now looking around for the officers he wanted to accompany him. He beckoned André over.
Before the ensign could join his captain, he felt a tug on his jacket, holding him back. It was Te Kape, shaking his head and making signs that he should stay on board the ship. But when he asked what was wrong, the youth mutely shook his head once more. Pulled in two directions, with Monsieur Marion now shouting for him impatiently, André shrugged and spread his arms wide, smiling encouragement at Te Kape. ‘Allons donc, mon ami,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you once we get ashore—we can talk then.’
Te Kape hesitated, then turned away to join his own commander, now back in his canoe. He had no sooner done so than one of the young Naturals from the island flung himself at the feet of Monsieur Marion and clutched his legs, crying piteously and saying something over and over. At the same time, keeping well down below the gunwale, he was taking good care not to be seen by his fellows.
‘De par tous les diables!’ the expedition leader exclaimed. ‘See if you can work out what this fellow wants, Monsieur Tallec.’ Ignoring the Natural tugging at his shins, he turned to his boatmen busy putting a rack of muskets into the boat and ordered them to take them back out. ‘And you soldiers, too: out—the yawl’s far too crowded and you’ll be in the way.’
The officers accompanying him on the fishing trip exchanged glances. ‘Is that wise, sir?’ Sub-Lieutenant de Vaudricourt spoke up.
‘Mort-diable!’ Monsieur Marion lost his temper. ‘We’re hardly about to go to war. Take your pistols, gentlemen, if you insist. I’m only taking my bird gun in case we see some game.’ He impatiently thrust at the youth still clutching him around the legs. ‘Have you established what this is all about, Monsieur Tallec?’
André got slowly to his feet, struggling to absorb what he had just been told. He took a deep breath. ‘He says Tacoury plans to kill you, sir.’
The officers stood still, shocked into silence.
Monsieur Marion glared at him, then abruptly freed himself from the Zealander at his feet. He beckoned the officers to follow him back onto the quarterdeck. When they had gathered around him, he said, ‘Monsieur Tallec now hears as well as sees evidence of conspiracy everywhere he goes. His command of the language might be better than most, but this time he’s clearly got the syntax muddled. Look at that poor wretch—surely it’s obvious it’s his own life he fears for?’
Thomas Ballu scratched his head. ‘If you say so, sir, but we might be wise to pay heed.’
‘You may take your musket, sergeant,’ said Monsieur Marion. ‘Gentlemen, I will not hear another word. This chief Tacoury has shown me nothing but kindness. I will not insult him by succumbing to unfounded and mistaken suspicions. Please join me immediately in the boat.’ As he swept off the quarterdeck, bright spots of anger flushing his cheekbones, he told one of the sailors to look after the Natural still crouched in the scuppers.
Without looking at each other, the seventeen people chosen to joi
n him silently climbed down into the yawl, one by one. Amongst them were Sub-Lieutenant de Vaudricourt, Lieutenant Lehoux, Thomas Ballu the sergeant-at-arms, the six boatmen and several slaves—including Anthonie the cook, the surly runaway, and François, the captain’s personal servant. André was the last to find a place in the crowded boat. As soon as the crew took up their oars, Te Kuri’s canoe, hovering a short distance away, escorted them across the bay.
It was one of those rare sun-warmed June days that broke the monotony of the continual rainstorms and grey sullen skies that had added misery to most of their daily tasks. The sun shone almost hot through the fabric of André’s jacket as he sat squeezed between two boatmen on the widest thwart. Small breaking wavelets caught sparkle from the sun’s rays. Ahead of the boat, he caught a glimpse of a school of herrings scatter on the surface in a thin flurry of water as they were chased by some larger fish. It was a good day for fishing. But despite his captain’s reassurances, the ensign could not find the heart to appreciate the beauty all around him as the yawl danced across the lively sea and into the bush-fringed shelter of Tacoury’s Cove. The words spoken by the grovelling Natural kept repeating in his head, an ominous drumbeat, and he could not rid himself of the recurring image of Te Kape’s sombre face.
Determined to make the afternoon a success, as soon as they landed, Monsieur Marion chivvied the boatmen to set off again to lay out the net, folded ready in the well of the yawl. With Te Kuri standing beside him, he then seated himself on a flat-topped rock to watch as his officers split into two groups, one lining up on the net rope behind Thomas Ballu as anchor man on the shore. When the boat completed the sweep, and the rest of the officers went to join another burly sailor at the opposing anchor position further along the beach, Te Kuri sent his men to help them pull the net in. The Naturals disposed themselves along the net ropes at both ends, each alternating with a Frenchman as they had done many times before.
