by Graeme Lay
Having observed that the wooden fence around Koa’s heiau was in disrepair, James asked the priest if they could have the wood for much-needed kindling for the galley. After Koa shrugged indifferently, some of the crew tore down the fence and took the wood out to the ships. They also took the carved god images as souvenirs. Shocked by this sacrilege, King offered to retrieve them for Koa, but he appeared not to care. He valued only the carving that he and Lono had kissed, he said. That was the image of Ku, the war god. It needed to be returned to its rightful place, Koa explained, as the season of Lono was nearly over and that of Ku was imminent. It was returned.
Lieutenant King had become a popular figure with the priests, the chiefs and the common people. After watching more provisions being conveyed to the sloops, Koa approached the young officer and made him an offer in words that King now well understood. ‘Son of Lono,’ Koa said, ‘do not leave us. Son of Lono must stay here at Kealakekua with us.’
King explained that, although flattered by the offer, he could not stay. Neither was he Lono’s son. He was a friend of Lono’s, and his officer, so he must go with him. Koa nodded, but sadly. ‘You are a friend of Koa, too,’ he said, embracing him.
The tents and observatory were dismantled, packed up and returned to the ships. The holds were full; the repairs to the decks, sails and rigging were complete. The sloops’ impending departure demanded a farewell celebration, so the O-why-heean leaders organised one. Boxing and wrestling matches between semi-naked men were staged on the foreshore before a huge crowd of spectators and the ships’ crews. Other locals watched from canoes in the bay. An akua pa’ani, representing the head of Lono, who was also the god of play, was erected on the sports ground. This symbolic structure consisted of two wide ribbons of kapa cloth hanging from a tall cross-piece below a head decorated with feathers and foliage. The resemblance to a ship’s mast, sails and spar was unmistakeable.
In response to these activities, James ordered his armourer to provide a fireworks display. When sky rockets were set off they initially terrified the crowd, but after they realised the rockets did them no harm, the people watched the pyrotechnics with a mixture of delight and astonishment.
That evening James called a meeting of all the expedition’s officers, along with both sailing masters. Although still fatigued, he now felt relatively buoyant. His health had somewhat improved lately, which he attributed to the fresh fruit, fish and pork he had been able to partake of at Kealakekua. But he knew the volcano within him was not extinct; it was only dormant.
Standing at the head of the table, he told the meeting, ‘We will unmoor the day after tomorrow, then proceed on a north-west course. We will coast the western shores of the islands of this archipelago and survey them. We will then anchor at Kow-ay-ee, where we were last year. There we will fully replenish the water casks and take on more wood. Then, in accordance with the Admiralty’s Instructions, we will again proceed to the north, to the Bering Sea, the Arctic Ocean and the North-east Passage.’ His eyes swept over the seated officers. ‘I believe O-why-hee has proved a momentous discovery and Kealakekua a bounteous anchorage. Are there any questions, gentlemen?’
There were none. All had savoured this stay, but all were aware that they had unfinished business. It was now almost February, and the northern summer awaited them. This time they must not lose a season.
On the day of their departure, Koa showed them another enormous supply of vegetables and pua’a which he had extracted from his followers. He also informed James that he had changed his own name to Bretannee in commemoration of the visit of the English. Another ultimate tribute, James realised, that would benefit any of his countrymen who followed him.
Troubled by the presentation of this additional food, Lieutenant King appreciated what most of the ships’ companies did not: that the crops and animals of the maka’ainana had been in effect expropriated by their leaders as enforced tributes to Lono. Looking at the piles of food, he thought, This impost will likely leave the people bereft in the months ahead. But fearful of his commander’s reaction, he did not raise this concern with him.
The sloops’ anchors were raised and made fast, sails were loosed and set. As the ships began to move out of the bay in light airs, a flotilla of canoes surrounded them. There were cries of farewell from friends and lovers. ‘A hui hou! A hui kaua!’ Thousands more people lined the shore and headlands, many waving cloths of white kapa.
The intensity of these farewells masked another emotion: most of the cries were ones of relief. The maka’ainana had had quite enough of these greedy visitors.
6 FEBRUARY 1779
My dearest Elizabeth,
We are at last at sea again, well equipped to take on the northern Pacific and Arctic Oceans. The ice will have retreated towards the polar cap by June and July, so the North-east Passage should be open to us. If we are able to safely negotiate that passage, we may well be home by autumn. That prospect affords me inexpressible pleasure. My naval pension and the share of King George’s reward for the discovery of the passage will enable us to purchase a cottage by the sea. There we can spend my retirement. Somewhere on the Solent. The village of Fareham would be my preference. What say you to this suggestion?
It was a relief to put to sea again, and thus be purposefully employed. Our stay in Kealakekua Bay was for the most part constructive. We achieved useful relations with both the principal priest and the king, mainly by virtue of the linguistic and social proficiencies of my second officer, James King. Thank the Lord, or whoever else may be responsible—his civilised parents, perhaps—that King was there. His skills with language and his ready diplomacy have greatly eased our intercourse with the natives. Would that my other lieutenants possessed his abilities. Harvey is amiable but ineffectual, Gore tends to think he knows everything and Williamson has some offensive characteristics. He believes, for instance, that all natives are inferior beings.
I have already mentioned the ridiculous notion that the natives believed I was one of their great gods, Lono, who personifies the season of fertility. His season, King informed me, extends from October to February. Thereafter, King was told by Koa, the season of another of their primal deities, Ku, arrives. He is their god of war and human sacrifice. Like the timing of our arrival, another strange coincidence: that we should leave when Lono’s time is over and that of Ku, a very different god, is imminent.
We are now on a north-west course, making slow progress in heavy seas. Koa has been on board since we left. However, when we were off a bay that he told us was called Kawaihae, the priest went ashore with Bligh and did not return with him. I believe he was fearful of the rough seas, which even as I write this are worsening. The channel between O-why-hee and Mow-wee to its north contains very powerful currents and also provides a funnel for strong north-easterly winds. We have battled them for two days. Consequently, Resolution is rolling heavily and doubtless Discovery, abaft of us, is similarly beset. These conditions comprise an unpromising beginning to …
At that moment Resolution reeled to larboard and rolled heavily. As James grabbed the edge of the table, Elizabeth’s journal and his inkwell both flew across the cabin and crashed into the larboard bulkhead. Attempting to right herself, the ship then rolled 90 degrees to starboard. Tacking across the cabin, James collected up the journal, inkwell and quill and locked them away. He grabbed his cape and stumbled through the officers’ mess, making for the companionway to the upper deck.
Drenched with driving rain, Resolution was rolling drastically. Through the blackness engulfing the ship, James could see swells coming directly at them: rearing black mountains with white water streaming from their crests. The gale howled through the shrouds and tore at the canvas like a frenzied, feeding beast. Bligh was on the weather deck, cap tied down, cape flying, screaming orders at the top men, who were struggling to close-reef the topsails. Small rounded figures, they resembled black beetles as they clung to the spars. Others of the crew tugged at the larboard sheets, attempting to loo
sen them and so ease the pressure on the canvas. At the helm, Whelan and Roberts had roped themselves to the wheel and were fighting to keep the ship on something resembling an even keel.
James inched his way forward through the darkness, feet wide apart, half-deafened by the sound of the gale smiting the ship. When he reached the mainmast, Resolution pitched forward into a cavernous trough, tumbling into the void. For a few seconds she stopped dead. Then a massive wave rose up like a black wall in front of her. It broke, drenching the ship’s fore- and mid-decks. As she rose, recovered, then dived into the next trough, there was a crack like a musket discharge. Resolution shuddered, then swung crazily to larboard. The helmsmen clung desperately to the wheel, their boots skidding on the wet deck.
Bligh emerged from the blackness. Clutching the rail, he shouted at James above the gale, ‘Damage, Captain!’
‘What is it?’
‘The lower foremast’s gone. Split at the head!’ Again the ship plunged into a trough. Bligh stumbled, crashing against the mainmast before regaining his feet. ‘With the foremast sprung, she can carry no sail above the course. The mast’ll have to be repaired. Again!’
While the gale raged on around them, James, Bligh and Cleveley examined the foremast. It was badly split and had been wrenched off its base. Resolution could now safely set only six or seven sails out of her usual 12. Bligh also reported that one of the old leaks had re-opened and she was taking on water.
The officers and Bligh met with James in the Great Cabin. Resolution was still wallowing in the swells. James summarised their dilemma: ‘The whole lower foremast needs to be unstepped and repaired, and the leak must be plugged.’
‘We’ll need a safe anchorage for that,’ Gore said. ‘And an even keel.’
James glared at him. ‘That’s perfectly obvious. The question is, where?’
Williamson spoke up. ‘We could continue on to Mow-wee, and search for a bay on its west coast.’
James considered this. ‘That would mean crossing the channel between O-why-hee and Mow-wee. It’s wide, with contrary winds and tides. And there’d be no certainty of a safe anchorage even if we did traverse it.’ He exhaled slowly. ‘The reality is, we have found only one safe anchorage in these islands.’
A heavy silence descended on the cabin. Then King said, ‘Kealakekua Bay.’
James nodded. ‘Yes.’ He turned to Bligh. ‘Signal Discovery. We must return to the bay.’
After Gore informed the crewmen of this intention, he reported their reaction to James.
‘All hands are much chagrined, sir, and damning the foremast. They are eager to see the other islands.’
Staring towards the foredeck, James said bitterly, ‘Their damning could not possibly exceed mine.’
Thirty-two
9 FEBRUARY 1779
Dearest Beth,
This entry will be brief, as a serious breakage has occurred on Resolution, necessitating a return to our former anchorage. Making good the damage will take up precious time, but it is imperative that the ship be in the best possible condition before we resume our northward course.
The gales that caused the damage have pursued us all the way back to Kealakekua Bay, causing us the loss of even more inestimable time.
Yours in haste,
James
They reached the bay on 11 February and again lowered their anchors at its northern end, off Kawaloa village. This time there was no tumultuous welcome. The shore seemed empty and only a few canoes came out to trade.
Puzzled, James asked Lieutenant King to seek the reason for this. He went ashore and did so.
‘Kanina says,’ King reported on his return, ‘that there is still a kapu on the bay. It will not be lifted until Kalani’opu’u returns. But that will be soon.’
The split foremast was hove out and floated ashore. Koa and the other priests allowed the carpenters and sailmakers the use of a house to stay in at their end of the bay while they were working on the repairs.
A day later Kalani’opu’u arrived in his huge canoe, accompanied by his family and warrior followers. Soon afterwards he came aboard Resolution in the company of four chiefs. They had brought no gifts, and the manner of the group was noticeably cool. In the Great Cabin, King again interpreted Kalani’opu’u’s words for James. ‘He wishes to know why we have returned.’
James explained, ‘One of our masts is broken. We must repair it.’
Kalani’opu’u grunted dismissively. It seemed he thought this was an excuse. Annoyed, James said, ‘Ask him why he doubts my word.’
After the question was put to him, Kalani’opu’u looked disdainful. Then he muttered something else which King translated. ‘He thinks the real reason is that you have come back here to live, and to lead his people. He is angry, too, that the priests have allowed our men to stay ashore.’
Offended by this misinterpretation, James said bluntly, ‘We did not wish to come back here. We were forced to. We will leave as soon as our ship’s broken “tree” is repaired.’
When King translated, Kalani’opu’u waved one hand impatiently. He said something else, then stood up. The other chiefs followed. King told James, ‘He says he will lift the kapu tonight.’
He did so, and the difference was immediately noticeable. Now many canoes came out from the shore carrying the usual pigs, fruit and vegetables. But the terms of trade had changed radically. The sellers now sought, in exchange for their produce, a new currency: iron daggers. They would accept no other payment.
The ships provided them. The daggers were modelled on the O-why-heeans’ own hardwood ones. But the onboard supplies of iron daggers were soon exhausted, so to satisfy the demand it was necessary for the armourers to set up a foundry onshore. Their fires, anvils, hammers and tongs were soon busy forging the ships’ scrap iron—mainly metal spikes, but also the remains of Bougainville’s anchor, salvaged from Bora Bora’s lagoon 15 months earlier. Sweating profusely in the clammy heat, the armourers forged the iron into daggers.
James and King went ashore to oversee the forging, mast repairs and watering. As he watched the O-why-heeans carrying their daggers away from the foundry, waving them gleefully, James remarked with concern, ‘Those weapons will make their warring more lethal.’
‘Yes. And just when the season of their war god, Ku, has come.’
A day later there was an outbreak of thieving. It began on Discovery, where Clerke was again ill and confined below. A chief stole the armourer’s tongs, presumably with the intention of forging his own daggers. After the thief was apprehended and the tongs recovered, Clerke decided to make an example of him. From his cot he ordered bosun Aitken, ‘Tie him to the shrouds and give him forty lashes.’
Aitken grimaced. ‘Forty lashes, Captain?’
‘Yes. Forty.’
The crew watched in silence as the burly native was spread-eagled, roped to the shrouds and flogged until his brown back ran with blood. But when he was cut down he betrayed neither pain or remorse. He just made his people’s gesture of disdain, a swift upward jerk of his chin. Then he returned to his canoe and was paddled back to shore by his friends.
Soon afterwards another pair of tongs and a chisel were snatched, this time from the deck where Discovery’s armourer had been working. The thief, an athletic young man, grabbed the metal items and dived overboard with them. He was then picked up by the canoe of Palea, who was on Discovery, and paddled towards the shore. Burney immediately ordered the ship’s cutter, commanded by Discovery’s master Edgar, to pursue the canoe. But it was too swift for him to catch.
The mood on Discovery was aggrieved. After Palea intervened, the tongs and chisel were returned to the ship—but not the robber. Considering that the matter remained unresolved, the deeply disgruntled Edgar decided to take Resolution’s pinnace and go in search of the thief. He ordered midshipman George Vancouver to come with him. Together they would confiscate Palea’s canoe and hold it until the thief was handed in.
Unarmed, Edgar and Vancouver wen
t ashore in the pinnace and found and seized the thief’s canoe. From further along the shore, Palea, seeing what they were doing, approached them and protested at their action. Edgar sneered, ‘Oh, you’re the molly who frigs the old bugger, ain’t you!’
Palea looked puzzled. Edgar laughed scornfully, pointed at his groin and began making stroking movements with his hand. Then he turned away and carried on dragging the canoe towards the water. Realising he had been mocked, the tall, strong Palea went to Edgar, pinned his hands behind his back with one hand and with the other gripped the sailor’s long hair. In response, one of the other men from the pinnace grabbed an oar, rushed at Palea and hit him over the head and shoulders with it. Ignoring these blows, the young chief snatched the oar from the sailor, bent it over his thigh and broke it in half as easily as if it was a piece of kindling. Handing back the pieces to Edgar, he smiled with satisfaction.
Yet the affray was not over. Palea’s supporters began to hurl stones at Edgar, Vancouver and the pinnace’s crew. The sailors attempted to wield their oars as weapons but were in danger of being overwhelmed by their attackers, who continued to taunt and goad them. Only an intervention by Palea restored order, although Edgar and Vancouver and several of the others were left cut, bleeding and bruised. Humiliated, they paddled the pinnace back to the ship, followed by jeers and laughter from the O-why-heeans on the shore.
The brawl on the beach was reported to James. Rowed across to Discovery, he flew into a rage, berating Edgar and Vancouver. ‘Fools! Taking authority into your own hands, and going ashore without arms!’ He looked from one abject figure to the other. ‘Your injuries are richly deserved.’
