James Cook’s Lost World

by Graeme Lay

  Ignoring them, the priest handed the parcel to Clerke. Inside was a slice of scorched human flesh, part of Captain Cook’s thigh. Clerke told Lieutenant King to demand of the priest where the other remains were. The priest replied passively. King translated: ‘The bones of the captain were presented to the king, Kalani’opu’u.’

  Clerke told the priest that the ships would never leave the bay without the return of their captain’s remains. No truce was possible without this. The priest then explained that after the captain’s body had been dismembered, Kalani’opu’u had distributed his bodily parts among all the other chiefs, in recognition of the captain’s great mana. His bones had then been placed in baskets and sent to various kapu locations, such as the caves in the cliff face.

  Clerke reiterated his ultimatum to the priest: Lono’s remains must be returned. Then he permitted him to leave.

  Lieutenant King was sent to the remaining shore camp, where the foremast and rigging were. He was still on good terms with the priests, who agreed that the sailors could take the mast and float it back to Resolution, along with the rigging and the precious astronomical instruments.

  But at the other end of the bay, a combination of the natives’ continued taunting from the shore and the grisly contents of the delivered parcel were the final straws. Revenge erupted like Killaway-ah blowing her top. Clerke gave in and ordered the ships’ gunners to fire their cannons into the crowds at the death site. As four-pound cannon balls struck the natives, killing and wounding many, those watching from the decks rejoiced.

  Discovery’s Rickman and a party of marines went ashore to obtain water from the stream. After they were pelted with rocks by some of the natives, the marines shot six villagers dead. They then set their houses aflame. When the occupants ran out, many were shot or run through with bayonets.

  Vengeance became rampant, the sailors and marines attacking every native they encountered, beating, burning, stabbing. Some of the victims were decapitated. Their heads were stuck on poles, then waved derisively at the people watching from the cliff-top above the bay, where they had fled in fear for their lives.

  The foremast was floated out and hoisted onto the deck. Repairs resumed on board. Onshore, things gradually became more settled. The taunting stopped. Five days after the death of the commander, a message was sent out to Resolution. Captain Cook’s remains had been brought down to the shore at Kawaloa, along with other peace offerings. After a discussion, Clerke and King agreed to take in Resolution’s pinnace and cutter to receive this offering, but they would not land.

  Kalani’opu’u was paddled out to the pinnace in an outrigger, then transferred aboard. His hands were shakier than ever. Uttering lamentations, he clutched a large bundle. It was wrapped in a cloak covered with black and white feathers, the colours of O-why-heean mourning. The king explained that he too was grieving for Lono. After all, he and Lono had exchanged names, so that when Lono was killed, the mana of Kalani’opu’u had been partly destroyed as well.

  The old man began to cry. His face became contorted with grief. Making no attempt to stem the tears streaming from his eyes, he cried out, ‘Aue! Aue! We did not mean for Lono to die!’ Then he handed the parcel to Clerke, who unwrapped it.

  He and King stared, horrified. In it was a pair of hands, one with a vivid scar across its palm, the result of the captain’s powder-horn injury years ago in Newfoundland. Both the hands had been scored, then stuffed with salt to preserve the flesh. The parcel also contained a scalp, a skull whose jawbone had been removed, and four long bones from the Captain’s thighs and arms.

  The pinnace returned to Resolution with the parcel of remains in King’s lap. Both Clerke and King were weeping. That it should have come to this: their great commander bludgeoned, stabbed, dismembered, burned. Reduced to a parcel of bones and body parts.

  The remains were wrapped in a canvas shroud and placed in a coffin weighted with cannon balls. At sunset on 22 February, the coffin was placed at Resolution’s starboard gate. The crew stood about the deck in a terrible, numbed silence. Both sloops had their ensigns and pendants hoisted at half-staff. The yards had been crossed, in accordance with naval mourning tradition, to give the sloops a suitably bedraggled look.

  From the quarterdeck, through halting breaths, Clerke read from James’s naval commander’s prayer book, which he had recently inherited: ‘Unto Almighty God we commend the soul of our brother departed and we commit his remains to the deep in the sure and certain hope of the Resurrection unto eternal life through our Lord Jesus Christ at whose coming in glorious majesty to judge the world the sea shall give up the dead.’

  At three-quarters past the hour of five o’clock, Resolution’s bell tolled. The coffin was lowered into the sea. The ship’s cannons fired 10 four-pounders, at 30-second intervals. The detonations boomed out across Kealakekua Bay and echoed from the great cliff. The smell of gunpowder permeated the decks, and lingered there.

  Thus was signalled the end of James Cook’s presence in this world, and the committing of his remains to the place that had been his home for two-thirds of his life.

  5 JANUARY 1780

  Admiralty Secretary Philip Stephens held the letter in both hands, to control his trembling. He resumed his reading, acutely conscious of the gaze of the woman opposite him. She was sitting perfectly still, her eyes fixed on the letter.

  … on the morning of the 14th day of February, 1779, on the island of O-why-hee, one of the Sandwich Archipelago, Captain James Cook, of His Majesty’s Navy, was killed by natives during an affray.

  Stephens looked up. Although the woman’s face remained completely still, there was a slight movement of the muscle in her throat.

  Stephens swallowed, looked down again, read on.

  Captain Cook died while defending his men, four of whom also died in the altercation. His remains were later recovered, and buried at sea in accordance with naval tradition and accompanied by the traditional seaman’s prayer. The late Captain Cook’s two vessels, Resolution and Discovery, are continuing on their voyage in search of the North-east Passage, pursuant to the 1776 Instructions of the Lords of the Admiralty. Captain Cook’s personal effects will be returned to his family upon the completion of the voyage and his ships’ safe return to England.

  I remain,

  Yours dutifully,

  Charles Clerke RN

  Stephens folded the letter and handed it to Elizabeth. She took it, held it, looked down. She closed her eyes, tightly. Tears began to leak from under her lids, but she remained as if turned to stone.

  ‘Mistress Cook …’ Stephens’s voice was hesitant. ‘It is hardly necessary for me to add that the Lords of the Admiralty wish me to convey to you their deepest sympathy over your grievous loss.’ He caught his breath. ‘Captain Cook was our finest commander. A man of the rarest talents and …’ He was unable to continue.

  Elizabeth opened her eyes. Tears coursing down her cheeks, she reached out and put a hand on Stephens’s arm. ‘You are not required to make a speech, Mr Stephens. I am well aware of my husband’s—my late husband’s—abilities. They are known not only to me, but to all of England, and … and the world.’

  Lifting her chin, she took a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes. Shoulders slumping, she then covered her face with her left hand. On the other side of the room, little Hugh stared at her solemnly, well aware of his mother’s anguish.

  Discomforted and sorrowful in equal measure, Stephens pressed on. ‘The King has received the tragic news of your husband’s death and has already decided that you will be granted an annuity of two hundred pounds. You will also be entitled to a proportion of the profits from the sales of the published accounts of your husband’s voyages.’

  Elizabeth looked up. ‘Thank you, Mr Stephens.’ She tipped her head back and inhaled deeply. Visibly stiffening, her tone now with an edge of reproach, she said, ‘But I would willingly exchange the King’s annuity to have my husband back.’

  She stood up, indica
ting there was little more she wished to say. Smoothing the front of her gown with one hand, she told him firmly, ‘Now, you must excuse me, I have letters to write. To my other sons, informing them of their father’s death.’

  Stephens got to his feet. ‘Yes, yes.’ He hesitated, unsure whether to say more, then added, ‘The news is bound to reach the London news-sheets soon. That is why I came to tell you, directly after I received Captain Clerke’s letter.’

  Elizabeth’s lips were tightly compressed. Again she wiped the tears from her face, then tucked the kerchief into her sleeve. ‘Yes. So now there will be no need for me to read the news-sheet reports. Now, Mr Stephens, allow me to show you out.’

  20 SEPTEMBER 1780

  Lieutenant James King RN left his Piccadilly lodging at 10 o’clock and walked the short distance to the Admiralty office at the north end of Whitehall. It was a chilly morning and he was glad of his top coat. The leaves on the plane trees that lined the streets had turned golden, and as he passed them King thought, How good it is to once again see trees whose leaves turn with the seasons! The evergreen trees of the Pacific did not have the same variations as these.

  He crossed the Mall, treading carefully around heaps of horse dung. But how strange, too, to be back in civilisation again. Carriages, sedan chairs, elegantly gowned women, dandified gentlemen, children playing in the park. After four years of nothing but ships, oceans and islands, he felt like an abandoned orphan in his mother country.

  A day earlier, King had been summoned to appear before the Lords of the Admiralty, three days after he had sent them a note informing them of his arrival in London. Now he carried a precious bundle of papers, wrapped in canvas. In it were the journals and charts that had accumulated over Resolution and Discovery’s four-year voyage. Gore had entrusted him with the package, and King had kept it always within reach during his 10-day coach journey south. From Stromness on Orkney Island to Thurso, to Glasgow, to Manchester, to Birmingham and finally, to London.

  He went through the colonnaded screen in front of the Admiralty building and up to the grand entrance. A doorman showed him into the meeting room and advised him that the lords would be informed of his arrival. Conscious that his naval uniform was not in the finest condition—his jacket faded and worn, his tricorn battered, his boots cracked—King took a seat on the chaise longue under the windows and surveyed the long room. Its high ceiling was ornately decorated, and a huge chandelier hung from the rose in its centre. An oak table ran almost the length of the room, with upholstered chairs arranged around it. The carpet was floral-patterned in pink and blue shades. At one end were twin cabinets crammed with naval and military histories, separated by a large globe table, its orb depicting the known world. The other walls were taken up with oil paintings of naval battles and racks of rolled charts.

  King knew he ought to be nervous in the midst of this grandeur, but he wasn’t. He was too weary to be nervous.

  How comfortable and secure all this was, he thought, compared with the conditions serving mariners such as himself had to endure, on cramped, heaving ships at sea, in all weathers. Such a restful haven for the Lords of the Admiralty. Could they know what life on a voyage of exploration was really like?

  While these vaguely subversive thoughts were uppermost in his mind, the door was opened by a footman. Hosed, wigged and blue-jacketed, he announced, ‘Be upstanding for Their Lordships of His Majesty’s Admiralty!’

  King leapt to his feet as the lords traipsed in, led by Lord Sandwich. There were five of them, all wearing dark blue jackets with gold shoulder boards, and wigs that extended down to their shoulders. All wore silk cravats and satin waistcoats, white hose and shoes with brass buckles. Admiralty Secretary Stephens followed them in, notebook and quill in hand.

  One by one, led by Sandwich, they approached King and shook his hand. Each looked at the officer very intently as they were introduced to him by the First Lord. ‘The Earl of Lisburne. The Lord Mulgrave. The Honourable Robert Man, Naval Lord. The Honourable Bamber Gascoyne the Elder, Member of Parliament.’

  Uniformly rubicund, the lords varied only in stature. Mulgrave and Lisburne were short and corpulent; Gascoyne was elderly, tall but slump-shouldered. Robert Man was tall and straight, with a steely gaze. Sandwich, as well as being florid-faced, had a jutting chin and bulbous nose. Admiralty Secretary Stephens was compact and of medium height, with alert, darting eyes.

  ‘Please be seated,’ said Sandwich, indicating that King should sit at one end of the long table. To the footman he said, ‘Bring in the coffee and cake.’

  They arranged themselves around the table, Stephens to Sandwich’s left, quill, inkwell and sheets of notepaper before him. He placed an opened notebook in front of Sandwich. Coffee was poured and slices of fruit cake placed before them. The lords nibbled at the cake and sipped their coffee.

  King tasted his coffee but ignored the cake. The butterflies in his stomach were now fluttering their wings wildly. He took deep, slow breaths. The butterflies settled.

  Hands spread on the table, Sandwich declared the meeting open. ‘We greet you this morning, Lieutenant King, as the first member of the late Captain James Cook’s third world voyage to return to London. Remind us, firstly, how long have you been away?’

  ‘We left Plymouth on 12 July 1776, my Lord, and gales in the North Atlantic forced us to put in at Stromness Harbour on 22 August last. So over four years in all.’

  Sandwich nodded. ‘Probably the longest voyage Englishmen have ever undertaken.’ He looked perturbed. ‘Tell us, King, why did you return here from Orkney, and not Lieutenant Gore, who we understand now commands the expedition?’

  ‘Lieutenant Gore considered it his duty to stay with Resolution and Discovery until the ships can safely negotiate the east coast of Scotland and England. We suffered contrary winds for weeks and were unable to return directly to London. Gore considered it a matter of urgency that someone should travel overland to London, deliver the ships’ official journals and charts to you, and provide Your Lordships with a first-hand summary of the voyage. Particularly an account of the tragic loss of Captain Cook.’ He placed the canvas package on the table. ‘Accordingly, the journals and charts are here and will be left here with you for your later perusal.’

  The others grunted their acknowledgment. Sandwich applied snuff to his nose, sneezed, took a kerchief from under his cuff and wiped his nose with it.

  ‘Our entire nation, and most of Europe, is mourning the loss of our greatest commander, Captain Cook,’ he said. ‘For you and the other men of the expedition, his death must have come as a great shock.’

  They all stared at King gravely. For a few moments he was unable to continue, as the hideous events of that day came rushing back. Then, recovering, he said: ‘Indeed it was, particularly as so many witnessed the killing, and the desecration of his body that followed. For a time we were inconsolable. Only after his remains were recovered and committed with due ceremony to the sea did our grieving subside, and then only a little. Although we had cause on occasion to question his judgments, Captain Cook never lost our respect. He was like a father to us. No commander cared more for the health and well-being of his men. No one ever died of scurvy on his ships, a record of which he was very proud.’ King felt a prickling under his eyelids. ‘He was hard, very hard, yet always fair to his crews.’ He hesitated. ‘Yes, he was at times a tyrant. But he was our tyrant.’

  After a decent pause, Sandwich continued his questioning. ‘We have been informed that he was killed on the shore of one of the newly discovered Sandwich Isles.’ The First Lord looked suitably satisfied at the mention of the eponymous archipelago.

  ‘Yes. An island the natives call O-why-hee, my Lord.’

  ‘My next question must be: what was the reason for the killing of the commander, in your opinion?’

  King thought very hard before replying. ‘The natives of the Sandwich Isles at first venerated Captain Cook. They considered him to be supernatural. We learned from their pr
iests that they considered him a reincarnation of one of their principal deities, one called Lono. Therefore they revered him as a god who had returned to them. They considered it necessary to prostrate themselves in his presence. And we were all initially treated with great hospitality throughout the archipelago. Gifts of food poured in for us. We were given everything we desired. Their women especially were very hospitable towards our men.’

  Lisburne and Mulgrave chuckled lasciviously. Sandwich interjected, ‘Did the native men not object to sharing their women’s “hospitality” with our men?’ The subject of sexually jealous husbands was clearly not unfamiliar to him.

  King replied, ‘Not when their women were paid in the currency that the men treasured above all else—iron spikes.’ The lords nodded.

  ‘However, when weeks later we were obliged to return to O-why-hee to repair a damaged foremast on Resolution, the attitude of the natives had greatly changed. They were now resentful and unwelcoming.’

  Robert Man leaned forward. ‘Why this change?’

  ‘I believe they thought they had supplied us enough. They thought we were exploiting them. And I’m bound to say I sympathised with that view. We were like house guests who had greatly outstayed our welcome.’

  ‘So they killed Captain Cook for that?’ Sandwich demanded.

  ‘No. The killing was the culmination of other discontents. To mention just two: the captain had punished the natives severely for their thieving, which angered him greatly. The natives also felt that the captain had insulted their king by waking him up without warning then taking him hostage. I believe these and other resentments gradually built up, to our ultimate detriment. They had also come to realise that we were not supernatural beings after all, and so not deserving of their veneration.’