James Cook’s Lost World

by Graeme Lay

  King sheltered his eyes from the sun with his hand. ‘It’s a fine haven.’

  ‘Yes. There’s ample wood and fresh water, that’s obvious.’ James frowned. ‘Grass for our animals, not so obvious.’ He stopped abruptly and pointed towards the trees. ‘Look!’

  A brown animal had emerged from the forest and was sitting on its haunches, twisting and turning its small head. It had large bare legs, a long tail, a small head and erect, pointed ears. Seeing the two men a few yards away, it began to run in the opposite direction, bounding along on powerful hind legs and huge tail.

  King’s eyes popped. ‘What is that?’

  ‘It’s what the New Holland natives call a kangaroo. A marsupial.’

  ‘How amazing. Are they edible?’

  James smiled. ‘Banks shot and ate one, when we were on the east coast of this land in 1770. He found it agreeable enough eating. Mind you, Banks would eat anything.’ He sank down onto the sand. ‘Of more significance is the fact that we’ve seen a kangaroo here.’

  King sat down alongside him. ‘I don’t follow you, sir.’

  ‘It means that Van Diemen’s Land must be joined to the rest of New Holland.’ James drew a long line in the sand with his stick. ‘Here is the east coast of this continent, which I charted in 1770.’ He drew a cross at the southern end of the line. ‘And here is Van Diemen’s Land.’ He drew a line parallel to his east coast one, pointing north. ‘I was unable to determine whether the two were separated by a strait, like the two main islands of New Zealand. Furneaux wasn’t able to discover whether they were or were not joined, either. But now that we know kangaroos live here, we can deduce that Van Diemen’s Land must be connected to New Holland.’

  King considered this, then asked, ‘Could kangaroos not have swum across a strait, if there is one? And so settle here?’

  James shook his head. ‘They may be able to swim a short distance, but not across a wide strait. The other indication is the natives’ canoes here. They’re so primitive, just bits of bark tied together. They could never cope with crossing a wide body of water.’ Getting to his feet, he brushed the sand from his breeches. ‘We don’t have time to explore the north of Van Diemen’s Land to prove it beyond dispute, but it’s my belief that we are standing upon the southern part of the continent of New Holland.’

  Slowly, hesitantly, naked natives emerged from the forest and approached the visitors. James and the other veterans of 1770 saw immediately that they were smaller and darker than those they had encountered at Botany Bay and by the Endeavour River. The men here were wiry, with small, even features, and black woolly hair and beards. Their hair and beards were streaked with a kind of red ointment. The heads of the women, several of whom carried babies in slings, were partly shaven. Neither the males nor the females wore any bodily clothing at all and their skin was as black as coal. Even from a few yards away the visitors could smell sweat, grease and fishy odours emanating from their bodies. Although some carried long spears, the men were entirely passive. They smiled at the newcomers, stared at their weird clothing and mumbled amongst themselves. As they stared they fiddled constantly with their penises, playing with them affectionately, as if they were pet mice. When they urinated they did so with complete casualness, not bothering to turn their backs, their urine streaming straight onto the ground.

  The crewmen approached the women slowly, staring at their breasts and pads of pubic hair. The women giggled at this attention, while their babies stared silently at the pale-skinned creatures who had come among them. Able seaman Harrod moved closer to one of the younger women who was not carrying a child. He reached out and began to fondle her breasts. His friend, able seaman Dermot, pushed past him and began to stroke the buttocks of another of the childless women. Other crewmen joined in, reaching out and touching the women’s genitals, causing them to giggle even more. ‘Cunny as black as yer hat,’ Harrod leered. The aboriginal menfolk looked on, chuckling.

  ‘Hi-ah, hi! Hi-ah, hi!’ The cry came from the back of the group of natives. An elderly hunch-backed man with knobbly knees and broad feet ran forward, brandishing a spear. Not at the Englishmen, but at the women being stroked. He began to shout angrily and make shooing movements with his spear at all the women. The men looked at the ground and said nothing. The women turned, walked quickly up the beach and disappeared into the forest, followed by the old man, who was still berating them noisily. The men remained on the foreshore.

  Omai had observed this incident with great interest. Dressed in his London clothes in spite of the heat, he approached one of the spear-holding natives, then pointed at a solitary sapling a few metres away. He pointed at the man’s stick. ‘Throw, throw,’ he urged him. The aboriginal understood. He drew back his arm and hurled his spear at the sapling. It missed, and impaled itself in the ground. Grinning, Omai put his musket to his shoulder, aimed and fired at the tree. Its thin trunk blew apart and its leaves flew into the air. Shrieking with fright at the musket’s noise and power, the aboriginal men sprinted away into the forest.

  Dewar, Resolution’s clerk, reported to James that there was ample fresh water here, and that the carpenters had felled two trees suitable for replacement spars. A good supply of firewood had also been cut. However, although some grass suitable for animal fodder had been found, the quantity was insufficient. James had earlier taken a pig and a sow ashore so that they could run free and breed. The trussed animals had at first been eagerly eyed by the aboriginals, who clearly intended killing and eating them, so James took the animals into the trees at the head of the bay and released them there.

  The next day Discovery’s bosun, Aneas Aitken, and his mate, John Richardson, reported to Clerke that some of the marines had purloined a cask of brandy that had been taken ashore, intended for the crewmen working there. Instead the marines had consumed the entire cask and were now lying on the sand, dead drunk.

  When Clerke came across to Resolution and informed James of this transgression, he was incensed. The offence was doubly serious, since the marines were meant to be on guard duty. ‘Get the culprits back on board!’ he ordered Ewin and his mate, Doyle.

  Four of the marines were still so insensible they had to be winched aboard. ‘Who are the ringleaders?’ James demanded of those who were now sufficiently sober to respond. Once the leaders were identified, he read the sentence loudly to the assembled crew. ‘Eighteen lashes for the four leaders, twelve lashes for the rest.’

  One by one they were tied to the gratings and Doyle applied the lash. After the 12th stroke of the 18, blood began to run, and by the time the punishment had been fully meted out a stream of blood was running from the grating and across the mid-deck. Doyle’s arm ached so much that the remainder of the offenders had to be lashed the next day. Once they were untied, James ordered them to scrub their own blood from the deck.

  Standing on the quarterdeck, staring across at the bay, he again mulled over the results of this unplanned port-of-call and the matter of their future sailing schedule. The stay had in the main been productive. The carpenters had fashioned a new topmast from a forest tree, brought it aboard and fitted it. The shore parties had collected and stowed plenty of firewood and fresh water, and sufficient cut grass for the animals to feed on for perhaps another fortnight. Bligh had surveyed long stretches of the coastline; Bayly had established with commendable thoroughness that Adventure Bay’s co-ordinates were 43° 22' South and 147° 20' East.

  Even more important, James had seen the evidence—the natives and their feeble canoes, and the presence of marsupials—that Van Diemen’s Land and New Holland must be contiguous. There was no more that needed to be done here; there was nothing that the natives could offer them. They didn’t even seem to catch fish; they only speared them and collected shellfish. Although they seemed contented in themselves, their standard of civilisation was far below that of the natives of the Society Isles, New Zealand and the Friendly Isles. Like the aboriginals of New Holland’s east coast, the Van Diemen’s Landers were merely
hunters and gatherers, not agriculturalists. Physically, James noted, they seemed akin to the New Hebrideans, although those people too were more advanced than the natives of New Holland.

  He stared across the water, to where the sinking sun threw a golden light on the forest and bay. Beautiful the place might be, but there were many beautiful places in the South Sea. And the episode of the drunken marines had infuriated him, proving yet again the way discipline could break down when men were ashore. He turned away from the rail. Why should they tarry here?

  He called down to Williamson, who was overseeing the unloading of cut wood from the launch. ‘Tell the other officers to meet me in the Great Cabin in half an hour. And send a message across to inform Clerke and his officers of the meeting as well.’

  After his eyes had swept the assembly, James announced, ‘Our business here is done, gentlemen. We will hove up, weigh anchor and sail at first light tomorrow on a course due east, for Queen Charlotte Sound, New Zealand.’

  The others looked startled. They were silent for a few moments. Then Clerke spoke up. ‘Why so soon, sir? I thought we would spend more time here.’

  James shook his head. ‘Time is something we do not have enough of. It is now the height of the southern summer and we are as yet a great distance from the North-east Passage. From now on, every day is precious.’ His gaze again scoured the gathering. ‘Is that understood?’

  The officers all nodded, but as they left the Great Cabin more than one of them was thinking: If time was so vital, then why did we bother to divert here in the first place? Queen Charlotte Sound had plenty of spar wood, greens and water. To come here had been a strange decision for the commander to make.

  Thirteen

  9 FEBRUARY 1777

  Dearest Elizabeth,

  We are now bound for one of my favourite anchorages: Ship Cove, New Zealand. After we left Van Diemen’s Land conditions were at first stormy, but thereafter we have enjoyed favourable westerlies and both ships are making good progress. Many of my men would have preferred to stay longer at Adventure Bay, and it is an undeniably congenial location. But as there was insufficient grass there to sustain the livestock we carry I felt it best to press on for the place where we know there is ample fodder, notably at Grass Cove.

  I know the very mention of that place will cause you to shudder, after the fate that befell Furneaux’s men there in 1773. Already among my crew there is apprehension about returning there. There have also been mutterings about the need to avenge the 10 men killed and eaten at Grass Cove. It is my hope that on this visit I will be able to determine just what provoked the killings, and hence avoid such provocations in the future. In all first contacts between civilised and uncivilised peoples, I believe it essential that a long-term prospect be borne in mind, rather than relying on reflexive, retributive actions.

  Webber has shown me a draft of the portrait of me that he began in Cape Town. Although he is at pains to point out that the painting remains unfinished, what he has done seems to me to be close to completion. What can I say of this latest portrait? Shock was my reaction. It is the image of an ageing man. Yes, I am in my 49th year and thus can with justification be described as elderly. Yet as Webber has depicted me I also appear a deeply disturbed person. It was true that I was suffering from constipation at the time—a condition which still afflicts me—but in the Webber portrait my eyes have a hollow, haunted aspect. In spite of the naval finery I am wearing he has endowed me with a spectral appearance. (Fortunately my scarred right hand is concealed by the glove I insisted on wearing, whereas my left hand is portrayed with the fingers extended and rather elegant, like those of a musician, which I most assuredly am not.)

  So the latest portrait is another example of the warts-and-all category, of Oliver Cromwell infamy, and will now join the Dance and Hodges representations. Of the three portraits I greatly favour the Dance, purely for reasons of vanity. That artist has endowed me with a pensiveness which I certainly possess on occasions. But Hodges has depicted me as unduly dour and the Webber portrait is hideous.

  I said nothing to Webber of my misgivings about his work, however. I believe he is pleased with the portrait. And such images are important for future generations. It will be of interest to our children’s children, and the world at large, to know what James Cook looked like, after I am dead.

  Returning to the present, we have pursued our course towards New Zealand without meeting anything worthy of note—until the night of 6 February, when a marine belonging to Discovery fell overboard and was never seen again. This is the second marine Clerke has had the misfortune to lose since he left England. I have lost no crew members.

  I will end now, dearest Beth. My deepest love to you, baby Hugh, Nathaniel and James.

  Your loving husband,

  James

  They doubled Cape Farewell on Tuesday, 11 February, with Discovery abeam of Resolution by a league. Both ships then steered for Cape Jackson, bore due south and next morning lowered their anchors in Ship Cove.

  Although the surroundings were as beautiful as ever, the air as balmy, the forest as luxuriant, the birdsong as melodious, the mood on both ships was one of disquiet. All were aware of the massacre which had been perpetrated less than three years ago on Arapawa, the island on the south-eastern side of Queen Charlotte Sound. All were aware that the murderers were almost certainly still in the vicinity. Every Maori in the area was thus suspect, the crews concluded.

  On their first morning in the cove, four canoes put out from nearby Motuara Island and paddled across to the ships. In them were several young men and women, people the ships’ companies had not had dealings with before. Wearing skirts of plaited reeds and dog-skin cloaks, they greeted James and Clerke on the mid-deck of Resolution by pressing noses. They were visibly nervous, however. They looked apprehensively at the marines standing guard on the deck with their muskets, and at the ship’s swivel guns.

  Both commanders gratefully accepted their flax kits filled with sweet potatoes, shellfish and rock lobsters. With Omai translating, James and Clerke explained that they were here to obtain food supplies, fresh water and animal fodder, so some of the men would stay ashore. They also needed to carry out maintenance on the ships. No one mentioned the massacre of Furneaux’s men. The group accepted some squares of linen and a medallion from James, then returned to Motuara Island.

  In spite of this promising beginning, the mood on the ships remained uneasy. Sensing this, and to reassure his crews, James told the officers, and marine Phillips and his sergeant, Kich: ‘Shore parties, including those of the astronomers, will be accompanied at all times by the marines.’ To Phillips and Kich he emphasised, ‘Your men will carry primed muskets and remain vigilant at all times.’ They nodded gravely, understanding the implications of the order.

  It was Lieutenant Burney who had been in charge of the party that had come across the dismembered remains of their shipmates three years ago. And it was Burney who now requested a private meeting with James.

  When the two men met in Resolution’s Great Cabin, Burney was courteous but insistent. ‘Once we find who was responsible for the Grass Cove outrage, sir, I wish to lead the men who will take retribution from the savages.’

  ‘And just how do you propose to find out who was responsible?’

  ‘By asking the other natives.’

  ‘You say “retribution”. What exactly do you have in mind?’

  ‘Execution of those responsible. By hanging, as in England.’

  ‘No. There will be no hangings, Burney.’

  The officer’s features became twisted. ‘Why ever not? It will be justice done.’

  James met his furious gaze. ‘Because we are civilised men. Accordingly, we need to display civilised conduct towards those who are yet to attain our level of enlightenment.’

  ‘But sir, the natives expect us to take revenge on the guilty ones. They have a word for such retribution. Utu, they call it, and it is a custom natural to them.’ His expression became hood
ed. ‘I am willing to find and apprehend those responsible for the atrocity, and carry out the executions. We hang murderers in England—why not here?’

  ‘Because England’s laws do not apply in this land. And I repeat, to adopt the natives’ notion of justice would be to lower ourselves to their unenlightened level.’ James stared out the cabin window in the direction of Arapawa Island. ‘So there must be no more killing.’

  Burney’s face reddened. ‘With respect, sir, you were not there. I was. I saw the bodies. The body parts, I should say.’ His hands were shaking now. ‘And if the natives realise we won’t take revenge, they will think us weak. They will think we lack mana, to use another of their words. And they will attack us.’

  James shook his head. ‘That is absurd. The natives know full well what our muskets and cannons are capable of. They will not dare attack us, provided we keep the marines and their weapons at the ready.’

  Burney looked down, his manner now abject. Feeling sorry for him, James said, ‘I do understand your sentiments in this matter, Burney. When I met your sister Fanny she recounted to me vividly what you went through at Grass Cove. Doubtless what happened to Rowe and his men, and those of you who found them, was dreadful. But I repeat, crude reprisals have no place in this expedition. We are not French or Spanish.’ Again he peered out the window. ‘What I will do is discover just why the killings occurred. That is more important, if similar incidents are to be avoided from now on.’

  ‘And how do you mean to find that out?’ Burney’s voice was now little more than a mumble.

  ‘By getting Omai to converse with the other natives. They will know. But in the meantime, there are other more important matters at hand.’ He stared at the lieutenant. ‘Is that all?’

  ‘Yes, Captain,’ he replied. But his expression was wretched.

  Once again the foreshore of Ship Cove became a hub of English industriousness. Bayly and Anderson’s tents were erected to house their quadrants and reflecting astronomical telescopes. The blacksmiths’ forge was set up, with charcoal fire, anvil and hammers. There was a carpenters’ workshop, where the damaged masts and yards could be repaired or replaced with totara and matai boughs cut from the forest. Soon sawing and planing sounds joined the calls of the forest’s bellbirds, pigeons and tuis. Wooding and watering parties were also housed in tents on the edge of the forest, and the cooks collected manuka and rimu leaves with which to brew a version of spruce beer.