by Joanna Orwin
The second lieutenant took up the account. ‘We’d no trouble driving them off whenever they came too close to the marker—pointing a musket was enough to have them backing off. Their most serious attempt was an hour or so ago. A bunch crept up on us, squatting innocently on their heels whenever they saw us watching them. But we soon spotted what they were up to—dragging those pikes of theirs behind them out of sight in the grass, hoping to get close enough to surprise us. That’s when we drove them right off the flat and up onto those hills. We’ve had no trouble since, just their usual shouting and stamping.’
Lieutenant Le Dez said thoughtfully, ‘We did think we heard cannon being fired from the ships mid-morning—three or four shots. That gave us some pause, but nothing else has happened to give us any reason for alarm.’
Monsieur Le Corre said, ‘Why, you were here yourself, Monsieur Tallec, the other day when such displays of strength proved merely that—displays. These savages do posture a lot…’ His voice faltered as he saw André’s bleak expression. He said defensively, ‘There was nothing to indicate anything was other than usual. So much so that Monsieur Crozet took the masting party up to the masts first thing, seeing no reason not to keep on with our work.’
‘Monsieur Crozet and how many others?’ André’s heart sank. He could not believe his senior officers were so foolhardy, when by their own reckoning they had been surrounded by many hundred armed savages. How could they still be so reluctant to acknowledge the seriousness of their situation?
Before anyone could answer him, the guard shouted that the Mascarin’s longboat was approaching. Leaving the soldiers and the guard on alert, the officers went down to the beach to meet it.
As soon as the boat grounded, Paul Chevillard leapt ashore, followed by fifteen men, all armed, most with muskets and fixed bayonets. André never thought he would be so pleased to see his fellow ensign. His presence surely meant the ships at least were still safe.
Greeting him with equal warmth, Chevillard said, ‘You cannot believe my relief at finding you here, André. Can I assume by some good fortune Monsieur Marion is with you?’
As the young ensign slowly shook his head, Chevillard’s face grew immediately grim. He turned to the other officers. ‘Gentlemen, I fear I bring desperate news.’
The story he told them was desperate indeed.
At six-thirty that morning, Monsieur du Clesmeur had sent his longboat and a wooding party ashore to collect firewood. On board were twelve men, amongst them the Castries’ coxswain, the quartermaster and the nine tops men—the Castries’ élite and most experienced sailors. They landed at a beach below the long hill running between Pikiorei’s village and that of Te Kuri. Greeted as usual by welcoming and friendly Zealanders, who had carried them ashore, the unsuspecting sailors began cutting firewood behind the beach. No sooner had they separated amongst the trees, armed only with their axes, than they were ruthlessly set upon, several savages to each Frenchman.
Only one man miraculously escaped. Even though he suffered two spear wounds to the stomach, this survivor somehow got away unnoticed after trying in vain to ward off the savages attacking his nearest companion. As he fled through the trees, he heard behind him the terrible howls of the savages and the anguished screams and moans of his companions as they were slaughtered, one by one. Even worse, he was close enough on occasion to witness bodies being hacked to pieces. At last emerging onto the cleared ground of Te Kuri’s village, he ran the length of the parade ground, taunted by hordes of children, who followed him throwing stones. But he somehow succeeded in reaching the low saddle that led onto the beach off which the ships were anchored. Flinging himself into the sea, he swam out towards the ships. Luckily, one of the officers aboard the Mascarin heard his plaintive cries, and the longboat was despatched to pick him up. It was barely eight o’clock, only an hour and a half since the Castries’ boat had gone ashore.
‘The poor man was almost demented with grief and shock, his words sounding like the ravings of a madman,’ said Chevillard. ‘But once we could make some sense of his account, we immediately feared Monsieur Marion and his party had met the same fate the night before. We’d neither seen nor heard anything of them since their departure.’ He looked sombrely at André and crossed himself. ‘Your face indicates that, alas, our fears were only too true. Our captain has indeed met the same fate.’
After a moment’s silence, he went on to tell them that the Mascarin’s first lieutenant, left in command of the ship, had sent him off to warn the masting camp once he had first skirted the coast to search for Monsieur Marion’s yawl. Chevillard found both the yawl and the Castries’ longboat beached at different spots along the landing place below Te Kuri’s village, each still surrounded by swarms of armed savages. ‘They beckoned for us to approach, gentlemen, but as there were up to two thousand of them and so few of us, I went close enough only to determine whether any of our people were amongst them.’ He paused, then said heavily, ‘Close enough to see that one of the chiefs I recognized was wearing Monsieur Marion’s spotted velvet waistcoat. Not much further along, we saw another chief with Monsieur de Vaudricourt’s sword. Others were flaunting articles of our companions’ clothing.’
Enraged by the sight, their hearts filled with pity and foreboding, they fired several volleys from their muskets at these savages, but without much result. He explained: ‘The water was shallow and we could not get close enough. As it was, we ran aground. By some good fortune we were able to refloat the boat and get back into it before the savages realized what was happening. Otherwise they could’ve easily overrun us.’
‘Do you think there’s any chance of survivors, sir?’ Lieutenant Le Dez’s demeanour was now sober.
‘From the amount of our people’s possessions we saw on show amongst the savages, I fear not.’ Chevillard hesitated, then said in a rush of words. ‘I deeply regret we didn’t go ashore, sir. I don’t know for certain that no one has survived. I can’t be sure we shouldn’t be mounting a rescue operation at this very moment. I fear we might’ve abandoned someone yet alive.’ He gestured at André. ‘Despite what we saw, I pinned foolish hopes on finding Monsieur Marion here, and when I saw Monsieur Tallec…’ His voice trailed away.
André realized the clerk was close to tears.
Lieutenant Le Dez said soothingly, ‘None of us doubts you did your best, sir. You were clearly outnumbered. It would’ve been most unwise to venture any closer. If you had, you probably wouldn’t be here now, bringing us such timely warning and welcome reinforcements.’
André could not help thinking the lieutenant seemed unaware of the irony of his words. The senior officers at the masting camp had faced a similar situation that very morning, without showing the same prudence. He suddenly remembered the cannon fire the lieutenant had mentioned. Concern for Jean, stranded with so little support on Marion Island, overwhelmed him.
As if he had anticipated André’s thoughts, Chevillard turned to André, his emotions under better control. ‘Before we left, we sent reinforcements to the hospital camp. Your cousin was indeed surrounded by savages overnight, but he’d taken the precaution of setting up barricades. With the blunderbusses clearly ready to fire, he and his men were quite safe. They had no trouble warning the savages off. Once we fired the ship’s cannon a few times, we dropped off more soldiers. The savages then withdrew over the hill—presumably to that fortified village of theirs. I have full confidence in Monsieur Roux’s ability to continue to look after himself and the men with him.’
Nodding his gratitude for such welcome news, André said to Lieutenant Le Dez, ‘I don’t wish to presume, sir, but we should delay no longer in warning Monsieur Crozet. It may only be a matter of time before the savages work up enough courage to launch a fullscale attack.’
‘D’accord,’ the lieutenant had the grace not to take offence at being told what to do by such a junior officer. ‘We should prepare to withdraw from this location, fall back on the ships, gentlemen. While we’re still scattered so
thinly, the savages may well think they can pick us off.’ He told Chevillard to take his men and go on up to the masting party, fill them in on what had befallen the captain and so many of their companions. ‘I’m relying on you to ensure they retreat in an orderly manner. It’s important you stress that no one is to show any signs of alarm. If the savages see we’re in control and not panicking, they may well continue their present stand-off.’ He told the rest of the men to start loading the longboat with gear from the huts. ‘Only essential equipment—we’ll be hard put to get everybody on board as it is.’ He looked ruefully at the Castries’ yawl, pulled up on the beach beside the longboat, not needing to comment on its poor condition and small size.
Relieved the lieutenant had at last come to his senses, André asked, ‘Permission to go with Monsieur Chevillard, sir?’ He thought he would go mad stuck down here, waiting for yet more potentially bad news.
Lieutenant Le Dez hesitated. ‘Is that wise after your ordeal, Monsieur Tallec?’ Then he looked more closely at the ensign and nodded abruptly. ‘Fort bien, occupation might be best.’
Monsieur Crozet had already been warned of the savages surrounding the shore camp by the escort who took midday dinner up to the masting party. He spotted the tightly bunched group of his countrymen approaching with bayonets fixed while they were some distance away. Leaving the haulers still at work, he came down the hill to meet them. The two ensigns brought him up to date as quickly as they could.
The second-in-command listened in silence. When they finished speaking, he said bleakly, ‘This is indeed terrible news, gentlemen.’ He shook his head. ‘I always suspected Tacoury was a dangerous ruffian, but Monsieur Marion would have none of it.’
André thought this grossly unjust, considering Monsieur Crozet himself had consistently ignored the signs of escalating trouble, but he kept his mouth shut. It was too late for regrets, and in his opinion there was nothing to be gained by blame-laying. But he could not stop himself wishing with all his heart that they had been able to leave Port Marion even a week ago—before their association with the savages had so inexplicably turned from friendship to treachery.
Monsieur Crozet was still speaking. ‘The price we’ve paid for his unfounded faith is high indeed—apart from the loss of our expedition leader, which is bad enough, we can ill afford to lose so many of our best men. How many, did you say?’
‘If they have indeed all been slain, I make it twenty-eight, sir,’ said Chevillard. ‘Seventeen from the Mascarin, including Monsieur Marion, and eleven from the Castries.’
Such accounting would have been quite beyond André. For a moment he stared at Chevillard with a fierce loathing. Then he remembered the clerk’s distress at the shore camp at the failure of his valiant attempt to mount a rescue operation and noticed the knots working in his clenched jaw. Perhaps it would be more charitable to see his reduction of everything to tallies or records of some sort as simply his way of coping with the unimaginable.
Monsieur Crozet now took charge. ‘We must avoid letting any of the men know of this tragedy so we can withdraw in a controlled fashion,’ he said. ‘I’ve been keeping a close watch, but we’ve not had any savages come anywhere near us up here, so we should be able to pack up what we can without fuss and leave.’
André was observing the surrounding hills. ‘I can see armed savages on all those hills around us now, sir.’
The second-in-command surveyed the hills, then harrumphed. ‘They must’ve seen the boat arrive with reinforcements.’
André made no other comment, thinking it highly unlikely the savages had not been present—if concealed—all along. As they set off to the top of the hill where the masts had been dragged, the savages certainly made no further attempts to conceal themselves. They stood brandishing their weapons, shouting insults and jibes in unmistakably derisory tones.
With Monsieur Crozet maintaining firm discipline and the relief party mounting guard, the masting workers reluctantly began to dismantle all the equipment and pile it in heaps near the small tent they used overnight for shelter.
‘Seems a crying shame to be abandoning the masts after all our hard work,’ one of them grumbled as he added blocks and tackle to the pile. ‘Just when we’d got within sight of the sea, pardieu.’
‘D’accord—we do intend returning for them,’ said Monsieur Crozet, overhearing. ‘In the meantime, you’d do well not to question your orders.’
As soon as everything was dismantled, the second-in-command had the sailors loaded up with what they could carry. The rest, mostly utensils and personal bits and pieces he considered expendable, he ordered placed in a hole dug inside the tent. ‘Pull the tent down over the top and set fire to it—it may be sufficient to fool the savages until we can return.’
But almost before they had left the hilltop, forming a solid phalanx with the laden sailors protected by armed men at back and front, more than twenty savages descended on the still-smoking ashes. They immediately began digging up the buried goods.
So much for them being nowhere near, André thought. That lot must have been concealed in the scrub right on the edge of the site, watching their every move. He cast a wary glance at the savages on the surrounding hills, where there now seemed to be a thousand or more of them, their numbers increasing every time he checked. On all sides, they began threading their way through the scrub and bracken fern, moving to intercept the French party. He alerted Monsieur Crozet that they were on the move.
‘Keep your positions, if you please,’ Monsieur Crozet passed the word through to the front. ‘We know from past experience they’re unlikely to attack if we remain calm and alert. These savages engage only if they have the advantage of surprise.’
Sure enough, the savages merely followed along behind and alongside, frequently jeering and calling out that Monsieur Marion had been killed. Although several marksmen in the detachment reacted, eager to seek vengeance, the savages stayed just beyond musket range. As the marksmen’s frustration grew, the second-in-command ordered them to bide their time. ‘You’d be playing right into their hands, gentlemen,’ he said. ‘Inciting an attack’s exactly what they want. We can’t afford an affray here, being so few. We must focus on getting all our men off the beach and back to the ships without further losses. Your chance for revenge will come—have no doubt of that.’
As they pushed on, determinedly ignoring the insults, André grudgingly gave Monsieur Crozet credit for their doing so. The savages had probably assumed they would panic on learning of Monsieur Marion’s fate and they would then be able to pick off fleeing Frenchmen at their leisure. They would learn soon enough that Frenchmen were not cowards.
They reached the boats without mishap. Monsieur Crozet ordered the sailors to embark immediately without shedding their loads. Increasing numbers of savages gathered on the beach behind them, their cries growing ever more excited. André was increasingly uneasy, reminded of their experience in Van Diemen’s Land. Surely it was only a matter of time before the savages worked themselves into sufficient frenzy to attack? They were outnumbered by at least ten to one.
It seemed Monsieur Crozet was thinking in a similar vein. He took a stick and drew a line in the sand, well above the tide line. He then paced up and down on the seaward side of this line, brandishing his musket, just as if he were one of the savages’ own challengers. One by one, realizing what he was doing, the savages fell silent. Once he had gained their attention, the second-in-command gestured at the line, then pointed his musket at each of several chiefs in turn. His meaning was unmistakable. Satisfied, he turned to André. ‘A bit of reinforcement would do no harm, Monsieur Tallec. Do you by any chance know the words that would make them sit down?’
Armed with the necessary phrase, the ensign faced the most important-looking chief, pointed at the line and said in threatening tones, ‘Eh-noho!’ At the same time, he deliberately raked his unfired musket along the line of watching savages.
Their response was successful beyond anything Andr
é would have expected. The chief quietly repeated the order. Without any fuss, each and every savage sat down on the sand. A thousand and more of them.
For a moment, the startled Frenchmen gaped at them, then got on with loading the boats. ‘As fast as you can, gentlemen,’ said Monsieur Crozet, flushed with his success. ‘We don’t know how long that will hold them.’
With nearly a hundred men to get on board as well as all the gear, embarking took some time. They then struggled to launch the two heavily laden boats. As they pushed and heaved to get the longboat afloat, the savages became restless. The last to embark, André and Monsieur Crozet had to wade up to their knees. As soon as they entered the water, the savages rose to their feet en masse and rushed towards the water’s edge, uttering fierce war cries. Abandoning any semblance of dignity, the two officers splashed hastily towards the boat. By the time their companions helped them clamber on board, some of the savages had approached within a few yards, spears lifted to their shoulders ready to hurl.
‘Peste!’ The coxswain swore, then got the boat underway before André could squeeze in beside Chevillard, who was kneeling awkwardly on the pile of gear in the well of the boat. Monsieur Crozet was forced to stand straddling the tiller. With the boatmen struggling to find any rhythm in the overloaded boats, they slowly drew away from the shore as a shower of spears and stones fell harmlessly amongst them.
Behind the beach, André saw black smoke already billowing from the huts of the shore camp as the savages set fire to them. All along the edge of the tide line, hordes of savages capered and shouted, their voices full of triumph. It was too much for Monsieur Crozet. Gritting his teeth, he gave the fusiliers permission to fire a volley or two. ‘We don’t want the varmints thinking they forced our retreat. It’s time to remind them of our superior weapons.’
