by Graeme Lay
Webber set up his easel and stool a short distance away from the men and worked diligently with his pencils and pastels, capturing these various activities, while the marines stood watch around the fringes of the cove, primed muskets in hand. They eyed warily the local Maoris who had come to trade, and who had built huts roofed with nikau and ponga fronds among the trees. But these traders were as unthreatening as the ones who had visited the cove prior to the massacre.
The ships’ animals were transferred ashore laboriously. The Maoris looked on in astonishment as the sheep, cows, bulls, goats and horses, along with coops and hutches housing the rabbits, ducks and geese, were transferred to the land. Tethered there to graze, the livestock lent the scene a European aspect, so that to an outsider it would have been the camping Maoris who seemed outlandish.
On their fifth day at the cove, another Maori was paddled alongside Resolution in a large canoe. He came aboard, looked around imperiously, then walked up to James. ‘Nau mai, haere mai,’ he said, and they pressed noses. Patting his chest, he said, ‘Kahura.’ He was a rangatira, a chief, Omai informed James. He certainly exuded mana. A tall man in his middle years, he had a broad, round forehead, hair tied in a topknot and a curly beard that partially obscured the spiral tattoos on his cheeks. Fantail feathers dangled from his earlobes and a dog-skin cloak covered his shoulders. James gave him a hatchet and a medallion, which he received with obvious delight. Clutching the gifts, he swaggered about the decks, then with a cheery wave climbed back into his canoe and was paddled away.
The following day James was rowed across to Motuara Island to inspect the English plants he had sown there three years ago. An elder of the tribe residing there showed him that the patches of cabbages, potatoes, leeks, onions and parsley, although infested with weeds, were thriving. There was also a good supply of grass, suitable for gathering by the cutters for fodder.
But in spite of their industriousness, both ships’ companies were still acutely conscious of the terrible event that had occurred on Arapawa Island. The massacre was like a festering abscess that needed to be lanced. Conscious of this, James ordered Omai, Burney and the other officers, along with a party of marines, to be rowed across to Grass Cove.
It was a hot, almost cloudless summer day as the boats were pulled across the sound to the island, and the air was dense with mid-summer heat. High above, gannets floated on the air currents and peered down curiously at the intruders. Wisps of high cloud presaged continuing fine weather.
The cove, which the Maoris knew as Whareunga, was a deep indentation in the western coast of Arapawa Island. As they entered, James and his men were struck by its beauty and serenity. Sheltered by a pair of headlands, the water was like glass, and the foreshore was a sloping grassed shelf. Above the lovely bay the land rose steeply to the spine of the island, which was covered in forest. It did not look like a killing ground.
An ally from their earlier visit, an elderly man James knew as Pedro, met the party as it disembarked. Wearing a dog-skin loincloth, his grey beard now long, Pedro wore a patu—a flat club carved from whalebone—at his side and carried a taiaha—a staff with a sharpened end. He appeared anxious, his brown eyes flicking this way and that. Were the Pakeha going to kill him?
James went directly up to him, presented his nose and said, ‘Tena koe, taio.’ They pressed noses, then James handed him a hatchet. Looking immensely relieved, the old man murmured ‘Kia ora, kia ora, Tute.’
While the sailors spread out and began to harvest the long grass with sickles and short swords, James, Omai and the officers sat on the beach and listened to Pedro recounting to them—slowly and with much gesticulation, as Omai’s language differed in some respects from that of the New Zealanders—what had happened on that fateful day.
Ten of Adventure’s men had arrived at the cove to cut grass, led by master’s mate John Rowe, who was a relative of the ship’s commander, Furneaux. A group of Maoris living in the bush above came down to greet the sailors. One of the Englishmen noticed a beautiful pounamu adze in the hand of a young man, and snatched it from him. Furious, the man seized some ship’s biscuit from the sailor and walked off with it. Rowe immediately raised his musket and shot him dead. Furneaux’s negro servant, James Swilley, saw another Maori running away from the launch with a sailor’s jacket. He ran down and struck him on the head with a piece of wood. In the meantime Rowe had reloaded his musket. He fired it again, killing the would-be jacket thief.
The shots were heard by a group of Maoris living nearby. They rushed to the scene, led by their chief. Dashing down onto the beach, they cut the sailors off from their muskets in the launch, then set upon them with their clubs before Rowe could reload again. He was killed instantly by a blow to the head with a mere. Several of the other seamen were also killed; the rest were taken prisoner and killed later that day. To complete utu, the bodies were dismembered, and the parts baked in an earth oven and later eaten by members of the tribe.
Pedro looked down, clearly troubled by what had unfolded. Burney’s face had turned pale. Omai looked shocked: the Society Islanders did not practise cannibalism.
Then Pedro muttered something else. ‘What was that that he said?’ James demanded.
‘He says,’ Omai translated, ‘that he took no part in the killings.’
Burney came forward. ‘Ask him who the leader of the murderers was.’
Omai did so, and Pedro replied without hesitation, ‘Kahura.’
On the way back to Ship Cove, James and Burney sat in the stern of the launch. As they were pulled across the sound, Burney said urgently, ‘Now we know who is responsible, we can avenge the deaths of our men. Pedro said that Kahura still lives near Grass Cove. He must be taken prisoner and hanged.’
James again shook his head. ‘No. It was Rowe’s hasty reaction that precipitated the killings. If he and the others had not so rashly resented the thefts, and had not shot and beaten the offenders, all would have been well.’ He stared back at the island. ‘I have always found the New Zealanders to be of a brave, noble, open and benevolent disposition. But they are a people that will never put up with an insult if they have an opportunity to resent it.’
Burney said nothing more, but put his face in his hands.
Fourteen
20 FEBRUARY 1777
Elizabeth dearest,
I have resolved that we will weigh anchor in three days’ time and set sail for the Society Islands. This has been my fifth and assuredly my final visit to Queen Charlotte Sound, which has, as on earlier occasions, furnished nearly all our needs. It is a bountiful as well as a beautiful place.
Two Maori chiefs have urged me to leave some of the animals ashore, so I have given one of them two goats, a male and a female who is with kid, and the other chief a boar and a sow, in the hope that they will breed. Earlier I released a male and a female rabbit, who along with the hogs and goats will surely reproduce and bring a welcome new source of meat for the natives.
In other respects the visit has not been a happy one. Many among the ship’s company have urged me to take revenge on the Maoris who were responsible for the killings of Furneaux’s men. Many of the local natives too have said that we should kill those guilty of the murders. This I have refused to do, in accordance with my own principles and as instructed by the authorities in England, the Royal Society in particular. If killing is done it must only be in self-defence.
A consequence of enforcing this policy is that petulance has set in among the crew. Ill-discipline has also broken out. Two days ago I sentenced one of the quartermasters, Whelan, to be flogged for his insolence towards an officer. This will demonstrate to the men that contempt for authority will not be tolerated. The incident also hardened my resolve to unmoor as soon as possible, as discipline can be more readily enforced at sea.
On a more hopeful note, when we leave here we will have two extra passengers. The son of a deceased local chief, a lad called Te Weherua, asked if he could be taken with us, and I have agreed to his reques
t. He has become friendly with Omai, and has already been sleeping aboard. Omai supported Te Weherua’s request, because he imagines the lad as his servant, I suspect. Te Weherua also asked me if he could bring a friend aboard, a boy called Koa, whom I met on previous visits. He is a chirpy little fellow, who like Te Weherua will benefit from seeing the world beyond Queen Charlotte Sound. So I had no objection to his joining the company either. I greatly admire the Maoris’ curiosity about the European world and the benefits it has to offer them. This inquisitiveness will bring advantages to them in the future, I believe.
As far as the main purpose of this expedition is concerned, it has now lost its season. Because of the many delays, we have no hope of reaching the Arctic Circle and searching for the North-east Passage during the coming northern summer. The distance is too great, the time too brief. This means that we will have to wait for another entire year before sailing for the Arctic Ocean, which I deeply regret. However, I intend to use the time thus afforded me as productively as possible, searching out and surveying any islands not previously known.
Spring will be approaching for you, Beth, a prospect which you will relish after the rigours of the London winter. Now that Nathaniel has left for his naval training, I think of you and little Hugh taking walks on the green and along the river. You are in my thoughts constantly.
Your devoted husband,
James
Ship Cove had been their base for 14 days. Having observed that the sloops were preparing to leave, the Maoris began to make the most of their trading opportunities. The canoes that came out to Resolution and Discovery were laden with goods the natives knew the Pakeha valued—feathered cloaks, greenstone adzes, tiki pendants and ornately carved treasure boxes. These they exchanged for axes, knives and items of English clothing.
The shore settlement at Ship Cove was dismantled and the equipment rowed back out to the ships. The cumbersome task of bringing the animals back on board began, along with the loading of their fodder. Resolution and Discovery had been rigorously cleaned and all the crew’s clothing washed and dried. The damaged spars and rigging had been repaired, the sails dried. Scurvy grass had been harvested and stowed, along with casks of freshly brewed spruce beer.
The day before they were to leave, a large canoe drew up alongside Resolution. A tall man stepped from it, climbed the hull steps and walked onto the mid-deck. He wore a feathered cloak and carried an elaborately carved stick. It was Kahura.
James, Omai and Gore observed his arrival from the quarterdeck. Aghast, Omai hissed in James’s ear. ‘There he is! Murderer!’ He gripped James’s arm. ‘Kill him, sir!’
Gore stepped forward. ‘I’ll shoot the swine,’ he snarled. Then he said to James, ‘With your permission of course, Captain.’
Kahura looked up, saw the trio and called out, ‘Nau mai, haere mai.’
James held up his own stick. ‘Tena koto katoa. Welcome.’
The other two stared at him in disbelief. ‘You welcome him?’ demanded Omai.
‘Certainly,’ said James calmly. ‘I need to hear his side of the story.’
Omai shook his head, incredulous. The killer of Furneaux’s men had come among them, and was being welcomed. He had already heard from other local Maoris that because they had not exacted utu on Kahura, the Englishmen were considered spineless. They had a word for such people, Omai was told. Taurekareka, people of no mana, people who were no better than slaves. This welcoming of their enemy would confirm that belief.
James walked down and greeted Kahura by pressing noses. He said to the chief, ‘Come below.’ Turning back to the quarterdeck, he said, ‘Omai, come with us. I need you to translate.’
They sat on the seats under the open stern windows, Omai to one side, smouldering between interpretations. Kahura stared, wide-eyed, at the contents of the cabin: the cased compass hanging from the ceiling, the oil lamps, the racks of charts, the glass-fronted bookcase and the portrait of King George. The chief showed special interest in a new Webber pencil drawing pinned to the wall, portraying the recent temporary settlement at the cove.
James listened as Kahura spoke gutturally, emphasising certain points by raising his right fist and shaking it. He was handsome, with fierce brown eyes. His version of the events at Grass Cove was virtually identical to Pedro’s. The sailors were killed because they had stolen from and insulted Kahura’s men. He became animated as he reached the end of the story, rolling his eyes and making hard downward strokes with the edge of one hand. As he did so, Omai closed his own eyes and turned away.
Kahura then brightened. He pointed to the Webber drawing, said something, then tapped his own chest. ‘What does he want?’ James asked.
‘He wants the man who did that drawing to draw one of himself.’
James nodded. This could underscore the peace he had established. He said to Omai, ‘Fetch Webber. Tell him to report here with his drawing materials.’
When the sitting was finished, Kahura was shown the drawing. He nodded approvingly. ‘Ae, kapai, kapai.’ Then he returned to the deck, where he was farewelled by James with a handshake. The smiling chief was watched with loathing by the crew. Those in the rigging began to hiss. Some spat in his direction.
As Kahura rejoined his friends in the waiting canoe, Omai and Gore stared at the departing figure, still unable to believe the actions of their commander. At the very least, they agreed, the villain ought to have been tied to the gratings and flogged. The murderer had not only got off scot-free, he had even been honoured by having their artist draw his portrait. What on Earth was Captain Cook thinking?
Much, much later, when they were asked when things on this voyage had begun to go wrong, several witnesses stated that it was this day that marked the beginning of the end.
James called a meeting of both ships’ officers to inform them what he next intended for the expedition. All now knew only too well that they had lost the season, so what was to be done with the many intervening months until the next northern summer?
James stood at the head of the table. ‘I remind you all, gentlemen, that this voyage has three aims: to deliver the native Omai to his homeland, to introduce livestock to the islands of the South Sea, and to discover and chart a North-east Passage.’ He looked around at the solemn faces. ‘Accordingly, we will weigh the day after tomorrow and set sail for the Society Isles.’
The mood of the meeting lifted. Clerke looked at Gore and winked. Both men knew what the Society Isles was synonymous with. Women.
‘Are there any questions?’
Clerke spoke up. ‘How long will we be there, sir?’
‘It’s not possible to say. It could be a month, it could be two.’
Around the table, mental calculations were being made. March, April, May …
Williamson raised his hand. ‘But that will still leave many more months before we can sail for New Albion. How will we use that time?’
James looked at him sternly. ‘Be assured, Williamson, our time will not be wasted. There is much exploring and surveying to be carried out in the South Sea. That will be all, gentlemen. Ensure that everything is in order before our departure.’
On Tuesday the 25th February at 10 am a light breeze springing up at NWBN, we weighed, stood out of the sound and made sail through the strait with the Discovery in company. We had hardly got the length of Cape Tierawhitte before the wind took us aback at SE; where it continued till two o’clock the next morning when we had a few hours calm, after which we had a breeze at north; but it continued not long before it veered to the east and after that to south. At length on the 27th at 8 am we took our departure from Cape Palliser, which at this time bore west 7 or 8 leagues distant, we had a fine gale and I steered EBN.
Fifteen
9 MARCH 1777
Dearest Elizabeth,
Whereas it was my intention to reach Otaheite a few weeks after leaving New Zealand, this course has been thwarted by adverse winds. Expecting favourable westerlies to propel us towards the Society Islands,
we at first experienced little wind at all. Then when it returned, the wind came from the south-east, forcing us further west. These conditions greatly frustrate us.
The two New Zealanders we took aboard, Te Weherua and Koa, were initially in high spirits and excited at the prospect of sailing to what Omai had described to them as their people’s original homeland. (It is known as Hawaiiki to the New Zealanders and Raiatea to the Society Islanders.) However, once land was out of sight, the two lads became despondent, weeping and uttering songs of lament. This period of grief has now passed and they have adapted to shipboard life. Koa is as bright as a button and liked by the crew, while Weherua as a chief ’s son considers it entirely natural that he associates mainly with the officers. I have had the tailor sew red jackets for both lads, which they wear very proudly.
I have again been sleeping poorly. As I lie awake hearing the sounds of the sea and the creaking of the ship’s timbers, I reflect endlessly on my relations with the New Zealanders, and in particular the terrible events at Grass Cove and their aftermath. ‘Soul-searching’ I believe is the name given to such deep inward contemplation. My melancholy conclusion is that I erred in my response to those who carried out the killings. I was too willing to accept the notion that Kahura and his warriors were merely insulted natives responding to rash acts on the part of Adventure’s men. This was naive of me. Furthermore, the fact that I did not, when I had the opportunity, punish the guilty one cost me the respect not only of the other New Zealanders—many of whom already detested Kahura—but also of my crews, who I sense are scornful of my credulity. I have to admit now that the New Zealanders are as brutal as any other unenlightened race. Their cruelty to their tribal enemies knows no bounds. In warfare, neither women nor children are spared. The killing is habitual, the fate of those taken captive hideous.
