by Graeme Lay
Koa bowed to James and the other officers, then led the party along the shore, stumbling and puffing as he went. At the southern end of the bay, a little way inland, they came upon a raised stone platform surrounded by a rickety wooden fence made of vertical staves. This was a heiau, a place of worship, Koa told them, and it was called Hikiau. The clearing occupied by the shrine was surrounded by mature palms and breadfruit trees. Mounted on the fence was a score of human skulls. They were the heads of the O-why-heeans’ enemies, Koa explained, warriors from the island of Mow-wee whom they had slain. Placed at one end of the large platform were a maggoty pig, some breadfruit, coconuts and plantains. ‘Offerings to the gods,’ King explained after asking Koa why they were there.
The air was thick and sticky, and James was sweating profusely under his jacket. Aware that the support of the priest was vital to them, he allowed himself to be guided by Koa during the protracted rituals that followed. He joined the priest on a raised wooden dais, on which had been placed several carved god images, some wrapped in cloth. A red cloak was placed around his shoulders by one of the attendants. Koa then kissed each carving and indicated that James should do the same. He did so, while his officers observed the proceedings from a distance. The priest held up James’s right hand and recited a series of incantations. The loinclothed male onlookers, whose foreheads had been pressed to the ground, looked up and began to chant: ‘Lono! Lono! Lono!’ Other men came forward and presented James with baskets of sugar cane, coconuts, yams and plantains.
The ceremony now melded into a feast. Koa was handed a dead piglet with rotting flesh. Although it stank terribly, the priest tore off some of the flesh and ate it. He tore off some more and offered it to James.
Gagging at the stench, James shook his head. This he could not stomach. Koa popped the rotten meat into his own mouth, chewed it, took it out and handed it to James. Again he declined the offer, as politely as he could, thinking, The first time I have been offered food I cannot eat. To do so would have made him vomit, an un-Lono reaction. Seemingly unfazed, Koa ate the putrid meat himself.
Further rituals followed—chanting, singing, praying, kava drinking—all of which were led by Koa and were meaningless to James and the others. When masticated coconut flesh was rubbed over James’s face and head, it appeared to conclude the rituals. He nodded his thanks to Koa and his attendants, then took several pieces of iron from his pack and handed them to the priest, who smiled. ‘Ah, maholo, maholo, Lono.’
James now longed to return to the ship. He was weary, queasy and anxious to get on with what they had to do. His gut and his hand ached. They didn’t need any more idol worship and rotten pig; they needed to trade for food, water and wood, and they needed to repair the ships. Days of hard work lay ahead.
Trying to disguise their relief, James and his party farewelled Koa and were led back to the launch by more of Koa’s assistants. They passed crowds of the maka’ainana, who again lowered their foreheads to the ground and cried out repeatedly, ‘Lono! Lono! Lono!’
The launch waited in the shallows, guarded by the oarsmen. As the party was rowed out into the bay, James and the others stared back at the land. King said, ‘I was told by Kanina that Kawaloa, the village to the north, is the domain of the island’s king and the chiefs. To the south, where we were today, Koa and the other priests hold sway.’
Wiping some of the coconut flesh from his forehead, James said thoughtfully, ‘Chiefs at one end of the bay, priests at the other. Like our parliamentarians and bishops. I wonder if there is ever conflict between the two?’
As James and Clerke had both hoped, from now on the ships’ companies’ time was in the main spent productively. On board the sloops, sails were patched and bolt-ropes renewed, spars and masts repaired and cordage replaced. Cleveley and his mates wielded their caulking hammers on Resolution’s decks and hulls, while across on Discovery her carpenter Reynolds and his assistants did the same. Bligh punctiliously charted the bay and the clerks busily supervised the taking aboard and stowing of provisions for the long voyage ahead. Onshore, Webber roamed the area with his drawing pad, sketching its coastal features and the O-why-heeans’ outrigger and double-hulled canoes. He drew the heads and shoulders of particularly striking men and women, who were delighted to see themselves portrayed. Botanist Nelson explored the land above the shore and bagged many new plant specimens, which Webber later illustrated. Just south of the Hikiau shrine, Bayly and King erected their astronomy tent, set their telescopes and sextants up inside it and made their observations. The bay’s co-ordinates were 19° 28’ North and 155° 55’ West, they reported.
Produce flowed from shore to ship, Koa and his priestly assistants instructing the commoners to supply food to satisfy the returned deity Lono and his followers. Most prized by the visitors, the priests soon learned, was pua’a—pig. The maka’ainana produced hundreds of them. Taken out to the ships, the pigs were butchered, salted down and crammed into casks in the holds. It was also the maka’ainana who supplied other foods, such as fruit, sugar cane and potatoes, for the sloops’ 181 sailors. The food was paid for either with trifles—beads, coins, pieces of linen—or was given in tribute, with no payment expected. After a week of supplying the visitors, the garden plots of the maka’ainana were becoming visibly depleted.
Two items of supply the bay lacked in sufficient quantities were fresh water and firewood. Few trees grew on the exposed lava slopes above the bay, and there was no river in the area, only a stream and some springs. Recalling their time spent on the other Sandwich Isles a year ago, James and Clerke decided that on their way back north they would call at Kow-ay-ee to obtain water and wood. There had been ample quantities of both there.
During this time there was a free trade in sex, with the incurably lustful Samwell leading the coupling. The Welshman was disgusted when one of the O-why-heean men asked him if he was James’s ’aikane. Affronted by this slur, and to demonstrate that he was exclusively heterosexual, he promptly bought the man’s sister for a nail and had sex with her in front of him. He later remarked to Law, ‘What I really love about this part of the world is its open season on rutting. The women here will take no denial; they almost use violence to force you into their embrace.’
Law laughed. Mimicking Samwell’s sing-song accent, he said, ‘A bit diff-rent from the Welsh ladies then, eh, Day-fyd?’
Although the flagrant copulation greatly perturbed James, because many of the men had to stay ashore to work, and because this was the Makahiki season, when sex was openly celebrated, there was nothing he could do to prevent the associated licentiousness.
For their part, the O-why-heeans keenly observed the strange creatures moving among them and were astonished by their attributes. They marvelled at their loose, wrinkled skin—their clothing; the burning fires in their mouths—their pipes; the way they took the tops of their heads off—their wigs; the way they reached into their skin when they needed something—their pockets; and their horned heads—their tricorns. They carried staffs that could erupt—their muskets; and their ships were floating forests, with clouds attached to the trees. How could they not be supernatural beings?
From the visitors’ point of view, James and his men were greatly impressed with the O-why-heeans’ chiefly cloaks and headwear, the finest such artefacts they had seen in the Pacific. King noted, after some research, ‘Their cloaks are embellished with hundreds of thousands of black feathers—mainly from the Pacific fowl—and bordered along the top with scarlet and yellow feathers. Their helmets, although of varying styles, are woven from the aerial roots of a vine called ie’ie, then covered with a net of twine made from bark, to which coloured feathers are tied.’ And when Webber depicted what he entitled A Man of the Sandwich Islands, with His Helmet, the man’s cloak and headdress made striking additions to the portrait.
The visitors also noted with interest that the O-why-heeans crafted beautiful but lethal weapons: daggers made from hardwood, which they called pahooah, and wooden knives edg
ed with sharks’ teeth. They used these for dismembering their prisoners, King was informed by a young warrior. There were also daggers made from sharks’ teeth whose barbs could be used to tear out the victim’s throat. They crafted clubs, too, from lengths of koa—hardwood—to the end of which were lashed chunks of basalt rock. These could crush a human skull with one blow.
In spite of his ailments, James remained impressed with these islands that he had claimed for England. He was delighted, he wrote in his journal, ‘to enrich our voyage with a discovery which, though the last, seemed in many respects to be the most important that had hitherto been made by Europeans throughout the extent of the Pacific Ocean’. By ‘the last’, he meant that there could surely now be no other large archipelagos remaining undiscovered in the Pacific. The largest ocean on Earth had been traversed completely, by himself and the earlier navigators. And of the great ocean’s numerous island groups, this one, he was certain, was the most significant.
He locked his journal away. He was too busy to maintain it; from now on he would only summarise daily events. The pain and fatigue which were his constant companions left him drained. He knew he must not turn into a semi-invalid like Clerke. He needed to conserve the energy he still had in order to reach and properly probe the Arctic during the coming summer.
He was also concerned about an outbreak of indiscipline on Resolution. In recent days several of the crew had had to be flogged, some for going ashore without permission (12 lashes each) and one for fornicating with local women while knowing he had a venereal disorder (24 lashes).
The time would soon come, James averred to his officers, when they would put to sea again. There was too much temptation here.
But another development complicated the departure plan. King, who had been spending time ashore with Koa collecting more words for his lexicon, approached James on the quarterdeck. He removed his tricorn and fanned his face with it. ‘Koa has placed a kapu on the bay, Captain.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Like the Otaheitians’ tapu. It’s a kind of ban.’ He wiped the sweat from his brow with his hand. ‘From now on, no vessels are to leave the bay for the open sea.’
‘Why?’
‘Koa has received a message. The king of all O-why-hee is coming here.’
James frowned. ‘The king?’
‘The one who came out to the ship when we were standing off Mow-wee. The little old man with the scaly skin and red eyes. Kalani’opu’u.’
‘I remember.’ James looked doubtful. ‘Is he really the king of O-why-hee?’
‘Apparently so. And he’s coming to visit.’
Thirty-one
PROPELLED BY A LATEEN SAIL of woven pandanus and scores of loinclothed paddlers, the great double-hulled canoe entered Kealakekua Bay from the north. Kalani’opu’u stood in the bow, a small figure with a red-feathered cloak draped around his upper body, his head encased in an ornate helmet. He was surrounded by several lesser but much larger chiefs, men who dwarfed the shrivelled little king.
The canoe drew up alongside Resolution and the venerated figure of Kalani’opu’u came aboard. His ’aikane, Palea, was with him, along with two of the king’s sons—boys of about 10 and 12 respectively—and one of his wives. She was a big woman, larger than her husband, not tall but very stout. Her face was perfectly round, her eyes dark brown, and she wore bracelets of boars’ tusks around her wrists. Seeming shy, she said little, but James ascertained that her name was Aolani, which meant ‘Heavenly Cloud’. Also with the party was a young man introduced as Kalani’opu’u’s nephew. More than six and a half feet tall and powerfully built, the young giant had a long, handsome face and a prominent nose. Twice the size of his kingly uncle, he even towered over James. His name was Kamehameha, Kalani’opu’u told them, showing obvious pride in the lad, who displayed a dignified bearing, nodding respectfully towards James and the other officers and murmuring, ‘Aloha, aloha.’
After greeting Kalani’opu’u and his family, James took them below to the Great Cabin and gave them gifts—medallions, axes, a short sword and a square of linen for Kalani’opu’u’s wife. These were accepted with obvious pleasure, Aolani’s eyes shining as she examined the cloth. The two sons and young Kamehameha stared around the cabin, big-eyed. Thinking of his own sons, James presented each of them with a copper coin, which they clasped as if they were gold sovereigns. They all dined, and before he left, Kalani’opu’u invited James to meet him ashore the next day, suggesting the Hikiau shrine as the venue. He would like to see what was inside the tent that the haole, the visitors, had pitched there, he said.
Next morning James went ashore, led Kalani’opu’u to the astronomers’ tent and ushered him inside. Clearly awed by the exotic technology, especially the timepieces and sextants, Kalani’opu’u turned one of the instruments over in his hands, exclaiming at the hardness of the brass and its manoeuvrability. But when Bayly offered to let him see through a telescope, he shook his head firmly and waved it away. ‘He thinks it’s a firearm,’ King explained, ‘and hence dangerous.’
Outside the tent, Kalani’opu’u made presentations to James. He removed his feathered cloak and placed it around James’s shoulders. Then, reaching up, he placed his helmet on James’s head and handed him the symbol of authority he carried, a staff with feathers attached to the top. After James accepted it, King said quietly, ‘I believe that is a very great honour, Captain. The staff is the symbol of the highest ali’i in these islands.’
Kalani’opu’u said something else, speaking very earnestly now, with tears streaming from his rheumy eyes. King translated: ‘He wishes to exchange names with you. He now wishes to be known as Kuki and he wishes you to be known as Kalani’opu’u. This is the very highest honour he can bestow on you, Captain. You are now a truly sacred figure to him and his people, as you bear his great name.’
James took the king’s hand and shook it, saying, ‘Maholo, maholo.’
The old man smiled, intoning, ‘Ae, ae, ae, ae.’
James was dozing in his cot after the midday meal when Ewin knocked on the cabin door. James sat up, stifling a groan. ‘What is it?’
‘It’s Watman, Captain. He’s passed away.’
‘Oh, no!’
James was moved by this death. Able seaman Watman was an elderly 47, just three years younger than himself. Originally from Surrey, he had also been an able seaman with Resolution on James’s second voyage, and before this one had been in retirement at the Greenwich Hospital. It was James who had encouraged Watman to be added to Resolution’s muster roll. Although he had recently been unwell, his health had improved to the extent that Law had pronounced him fit for duties. Now, instead of enjoying a pensioned retirement in London, he was dead. On the other side of the world.
The surgeon surmised that Watman had died from bleeding on the brain. ‘He haemorrhaged heavily from his ears and nose as he died,’ Law said. ‘And just before he passed away, he expressed a wish to be buried ashore, near the shrine you visited.’
James nodded. ‘Watman was a good man. We must honour his last wish.’
Permission was sought from Koa for a burial at Hikiau, and obtained. A party accompanied the rough-sawn coffin containing Watman’s body when it was rowed ashore. As they marched along the shore, a troop of marines and a flutist playing mournful notes preceded them, with James, the officers and six of Watman’s mates from the lower deck carrying the coffin.
The onlookers, commoners mainly, stared at them and their burden. They began to frown and mutter among themselves. Realising that a dead person was being carried, they looked disconcerted. Some laughed. James was then struck by an awkward thought: They have already seen us fornicating with their women like any mortal man would. Has this death reinforced that we are not immortal gods after all?
Koa’s attendants had already dug a grave, and Watman’s body was lowered into it. James stood at the head of the grave, reciting the words of the Church of England’s ‘Thanksgiving for the Life of the Departed�
�� from his commander’s prayer book. The others stood around the grave, sweat streaming down their faces, hats in hand, heads bowed as the prayer was delivered: ‘Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ who has blessed us all with the gift of this earthly life and has given to our brother William his span of years and gifts of character. God our Father, we thank you now for his life and for every memory of love and joy.’
Even as he recited the words, James thought they sounded hollow, even insincere. He had long since stopped being a believer, and for all he knew Watman had not been one either. This was merely a duty, and a perfunctory one at that.
He closed the prayer book. Koa stepped forward, raised his hands and recited what seemed to be an O-why-heean burial prayer. Behind him, his attendants chanted lamentations. Then they came forward and threw into the grave a dead pig, some coconuts and stalks of sugar cane. The grave was filled, quickly and efficiently, by more attendants.
Watman’s mates had prepared a plaque, which they nailed to a post at the head of the grave. On it was a Latin inscription King had written: Georgius Tertius Rex 1779. Hic jacet Gulielmus Watman. As he looked on, James realised with a jolt that Watman was the only one of his crew to have been buried ashore in a foreign land since Forby Sutherland in Botany Bay back in May 1770. That seemed half a lifetime ago.
From then on, things began to change. The O-why-heeans’ respect for the haole—the visitors—began to noticeably dissipate. There was an outbreak of thieving. Pewter plates and cutlery were stolen after nightfall from King and Phillips’s shore encampment, and on Discovery a native was apprehended in the act of stealing a knife and sentenced to a flogging by Clerke. Around the bay, tensions began to tighten.
When James next met with Kalani’opu’u, the King asked him when they would be leaving. ‘Soon,’ James assured him, and he noticed that the king received this news with some pleasure. Word had spread that the sailors were showing disrespect towards the O-why-heeans by helping themselves to their crops and pigs. The people’s gardens had been almost completely stripped of their crops in order to fulfil the priests’ demands that they supply the visitors.
