The Pacific

by Meaghan Wilson Anastasios

  DR PETER MEIHANA, Massey University, Ngāti Kuia, Ngāti Apa, Rangitāne, Ngāi Tahu Tribes, Tribal Historian

  In terms of the way history has been written, the received version was always from the position of the outsider looking in. Now we take into account the idea of Māori agency in the events that occurred here.

  The locals gave up any pretence of attempting to establish equal trade terms when exchanging things with the visitors. They expected gifts – tribute, if you like – from men they now saw as subhuman. Lieutenant James Burney, who had been on board the Adventure and had the misfortune of leading the party that discovered the partially devoured remains of his shipmates, found the brazen way the Māori now flaunted their perceived superiority over the men from the British ships utterly galling.

  JAMES BURNEY (1750–1821), Crew Member, Cook’s second and third voyages (later, English rear-admiral)

  Many of them held us in great contempt and I believe chiefly on account of our not revenging the affair of Grass Cove, so contrary to the principles by which they would have been actuated in the like case . . . one man did not scruple to acknowledge his being present and assisting at the killing and eating of the Adventure’s people.

  Even after the litany of trials and tribulations endured on his first and second voyages, Cook’s men had remained steadfast in their loyalty to their captain. But things were different this time round. Cook’s inaction had averted further violence, but his determined moral position alienated him from the crew and caused them to question his leadership.

  After leaving New Zealand, when meat was stolen from an already meagre supply, Cook cut the men’s rations in an attempt to force the culprit to come forward. Nobody confessed, and instead the crew banded together and refused to eat – a gesture Cook declared ‘mutinous’. It must have troubled and saddened him to see his men expressing barely veiled contempt for him.

  Now at the age of forty-eight and beset by old-mangrumpiness, it certainly wouldn’t have helped his state of mind. All Cook really wanted to do was head north to the Arctic Circle and do what was asked of him. But things kept getting in the way.

  For one thing, Cook was paying the price of neglecting oversight of the ships’ refitting back in England. The Resolution was no longer the reliable vessel it had been on the second voyage. Now, it was about as seaworthy as a sieve. The knowledge that he had been slipshod in his duty to ensure the ship he took to sea was in tip-top condition must have been a constant source of annoyance to him. Once they were out in the open ocean, the botched repairs to the damage that had occurred in the daunting waters of the Antarctic on the second voyage failed to hold. He was livid, accusing the shipyard’s naval officers of ‘barbarous neglect’.

  As if the frustration caused by his tetchy crew and unseaworthy ship weren’t bad enough, after Cook left New Zealand his path was blocked by adverse winds. He had hoped to head straight for Tahiti but found himself battling winds that pushed the ships to the south-east. With a demanding menagerie of two- and four-legged beasts on board, Cook couldn’t spend too long between anchorages. Grass was a necessity. So he was forced to island-hop from New Zealand to Tahiti.

  Of Cook’s character, one of the crew observed that ‘procrastination & irresolution he was a stranger to. Action was life to him & repose a kind of death.’ But try as he might to avoid delay, Cook was being thwarted at every turn. It had been over a year since he’d left England and the expedition was still treading water. And it wasn’t over yet. It’s little wonder that Cook was feeling rather irritable. He had come to the Pacific with a new destination in his sights – yet by this stage, pretty much all he had done was go over old ground. It would have driven most people insane.

  In fact, some historians have suggested that this is exactly what was happening to Cook – that he was losing his grip on reality. With irritation worming its way beneath his skin like a parasite, his behaviour became increasingly erratic. But why? What caused the rapid transformation of a man renowned for his forbearance and stoicism into a tyrant whose outbursts of temper were a constant scourge on the third voyage?

  When a goat was stolen from one of the ships in the Society Islands, Cook led thirty-five armed men on a rampage across the island of Mo’orea, burning houses and canoes and plundering provisions until the cloven-footed creature was returned. As far as some of the more level-headed members of his crew were concerned, Cook had slipped a cog or two. One midshipman wrote, ‘I can’t well account for Capt Cook’s proceedings on this occasion as they were so different from his conduct in like cases in his former voyages.’ James King’s assessment of the incident was scathing:

  Not being able to account for Captn Cook’s precipitate proceeding in this business, I cannot think it justifiable; less destructive measures might have been adopted & the end gained . . . I doubt whether our ideas of propriety in punishing so many innocent people for the crimes of a few, will be ever reconcilable to any principle one can form of justice.’

  The real reason for his excesses are not known. There are many opinions on the matter, but no clear answer.

  JOHN ROBSON, Map Librarian, University of Waikato

  One of the saddest things about our knowledge of Cook is that nobody who knew him wrote a biography of him. We really don’t have many insights about him as a person.

  In her landmark book, The Trial of the Cannibal Dog: Captain Cook in the South Seas, Professor Dame Anne Salmond argues convincingly that Cook harboured deep resentment and a sense of betrayal after his encounter with Kahura and the Māori in Whareunga Bay, and that his irrational behaviour was attributable to a switch in attitude towards Polynesian people. Where in the past he had spoken of the Māori people in glowing terms, there’s a marked shift in the way he describes them in the journal from his third voyage.

  CAPTAIN JAMES COOK

  [Māori] kill every soul that falls in their way, not even sparing the women and children, and then either feast or gorge themselves on the spot or carry off as many of the dead as they can and do it at home with acts of brutality horrible to relate.

  Salmond also points out that there was one noteworthy difference between the first two voyages and the third. On his final voyage Cook had only one civilian with him – the astronomer William Bayly, who had also accompanied Cook on his second Pacific endeavour. But he was housed on the Discovery, not the Resolution. It is possible that the absence of independent observers on board his ship meant Cook dropped his guard, to the detriment of the men under his command.

  Cook was also overseeing a second ship, and there were complications and difficulties that came with that responsibility. Although the Resolution had travelled with the Adventure on the second voyage, Furneaux’s inability to keep track of his commander meant they didn’t spend much time travelling in company. This time, Cook had over two hundred men making demands – for fresh food, for rest, for water. Not to mention discipline. Flogging, which had been infrequent on Cook’s earlier voyages, became commonplace. Keeping things on an even keel required constant vigilance.

  The question has to be asked, though: is this just wishful thinking based on a desperation to find a reasonable excuse for Cook’s irrational behaviour? It shouldn’t be discounted that by 1777 Cook had spent many years at sea; he was – for his chosen occupation – an old man, and his reasons for embarking this time round were pragmatic, rather than romantic. And things weren’t going to plan.

  Cook was also physically unwell. He was taking an opium derivative for a stomach disorder. Although opium is usually equated with euphoria and a general sense of placid wellbeing, if the pain was severe enough to require analgesia, one can only imagine that it would have left him feeling rather out of sorts. It’s likely that this would also have been affecting his judgement.

  On Tahiti, a chieftain learnt of the Englishman’s affliction and sent twelve women including his mother and three of his sisters, on board the Resolution to relieve his pain. After repeated massages, he declared himself cured and the
pains ‘entirely removed’.

  CAPTAIN JAMES COOK

  At first I thought that this numerous train of females came into my boat with no other view than to get a passage to Matavai. But when we arrived at the ship, they told me, they intended passing the night on board, for the express purpose of undertaking the cure of the disorder I complained of; which was a pain of the rheumatic kind . . . I accepted the friendly offer . . . and submitted myself to their directions . . . as many of them as could get round me, began to squeeze me with both hands, from head to foot, but more particularly on the parts where the pain was lodged, till they made my bones crack, and my flesh became a perfect mummy. In short, after undergoing this discipline about a quarter of an hour, I was glad to get away from them. However, the operation gave me immediate relief.

  *

  The physical discomfort Cook had been experiencing would not have improved his state of mind. Nor would the unwelcome news that greeted him when he arrived on Tahiti that since his last visit the Spaniards had been sniffing about the islands. The Tahitians reported that two Spanish vessels from Lima in Peru had deposited two Catholic priests on the island for a ten-month sabbatical. The ships returned to collect them and left a nine-foot-high cross behind, inscribed in Spanish and asserting Spanish sovereignty over Tahiti. Furious, Cook tore down the cross and added his own inscription claiming the island for King George III.

  For Cook, Tahiti and its archipelago had served up no end of irritants during the time he had spent there. The same can’t be said for his men, for whom the temptations of a blissful climate and beautiful and available young women meant they saw this place as heaven on earth. On Ra’iatea, there was much gnashing of teeth and tearing of hair at the news that departure from the Society Islands was imminent. Although none of the sailors were under any illusions about the severity of the punishment that would be invited by a decision to go AWOL, some foolhardy souls attempted to flee with their lovers.

  When the Ra’iateans were not forthcoming with help to corral the deserters, Cook’s response was swift and high-handed. He had his mind set on his ships’ next destination – the northern Pacific. The last thing he wanted to do was waste time chasing lovesick sailors around the jungle. So he gave Clerke instructions to invite the chieftain Reo’s children on board under the guise of giving them some gifts, and then Cook held them hostage until the lovesick crew members were forced to return.

  Reo, who was also Cook’s taio (ceremonial friend), was livid. He hatched a plot to kill Cook and Clerke while they took their daily bath in a freshwater river – a plot that was foiled when Cook became suspicious of Reo’s behaviour, and the Ra’iatean lover of a man aboard the Discovery warned the British about it. The absconders were returned to the ship to face their inevitable flogging on the orders of the man known in the Society Islands as ‘Toote’.

  DAVID SAMWELL (1751–1791), Welsh Naval Surgeon on Cook’s third voyage

  [N]o man could be more esteemed & dreaded than Capt Cook was among them, who upon all occasions preserved his consequence with an admirable address, & the name of Toottee will be handed down to posterity as the greatest chief & a man of the greatest power that ever visited their island.

  On board his ships, Cook generally insisted on observing the strict hierarchy of naval conventions. Discipline required that the commander retain a distance from his crew, which is why Cook remained aloof from his men other than on the odd occasion when he let down his guard. Cook was expected to remain in control of the men on board his ship.

  His high-handed treatment of indigenous peoples was another thing altogether. For a man who fancied himself as reasonable and fair-minded, it was a peculiar approach that inevitably engendered ill will towards him.

  In Tonga on the third voyage, he and Clerke had devised a cruel way to punish thieves: they would slash crosses on the culprits’ arms and shave half a head of their hair to impose on them a ‘mark of infamy’ that was calculated to be a grievous insult – by this time Cook and his men knew all too well the importance that Polynesian people placed upon their heads and hair.

  GEORGE GILBERT (?–1781) crew member, Cook’s third voyage

  Capt Cook punished in a manner rather unbecoming of a European . . . by cutting off their ears; firing at them with small shot, or ball, as they were swimming or paddling to the shore and suffering the people . . . to beat them with the oars, and stick the boat hook into them . . . one in particular he punished by ordering one of our people to make two cuts upon his arm to the bone one across the other close below his shoulder; which was an act that I cannot account for any other ways than to have proceeded from a momentary fit of anger.

  Remember that before travelling to Ra’iatea, Cook had just escaped a plot to kill him during his three months in Tonga. Was it any wonder, given the way he was treating the locals?

  The point is, Cook didn’t – and perhaps couldn’t – see when he had overstayed his welcome. He kept pushing. On the third voyage, what had been a natural curiosity about unfamiliar things seemed to become an obsession. Cook may have been unflinching in his commitment to naval conventions on board a ship, but on land he was willing to overstep boundaries in order to bear witness to native rituals.

  Cook returned to Tonga in July 1777. Paulaho, the Tu'i Tonga or paramount chief, had what must have seemed like a good idea at the time – and it was one that he hoped would consolidate his power over his lands and his people.

  The July of 1777 was a big month in Tonga, and Paulaho was hosting the 'Inasi – a formal ceremony to lobby the higher powers for a prolific growing season.

  This was the biggest event on the Tongan social calendar, attended by chiefs from across the Archipelago who came to pay homage to the paramount chief. Paulaho planned to make it even bigger this year by announcing his son as his successor. And in Polynesian society, nothing was more important at events like these than mana – prestige. It occurred to Paulaho that the mana of his 'Inasi would be enhanced if James Cook – and, by proxy, Cook’s god – attended the ceremony. Needless to say, things didn’t quite go according to plan.

  The 'Inasi was an enormously significant occasion so completely knotted up in tapu (sacred protocol) it’s a wonder the Tu'i Tonga took the risk. But as Paulaho was a god according to Tongan belief, he probably assumed he’d have enough authority to be able to control Cook. But Paulaho didn’t figure on his guest’s character. The Englishman was used to giving orders, not taking them. It was never going to end well.

  Cook did begrudgingly agree to remove his hat, untie his hair and take off whatever clothes he had on his upper body – an absolute prerequisite for viewing the ceremony. What a sight he must have been; a tall, near-naked Englishman observing a passing parade of chieftains and warriors. Cook was under the supervision of some Tongan men entrusted with the impossible task of making sure he followed protocol. They tried to get him to conform by urging him to bow his head at appropriate times as the Tu'i Tonga and his son received their offerings, and to avert his eyes when sacred tapu rituals were underway.

  TAKAPU, Matāpule to the King of Tonga

  Captain Cook adopted the word tapu from the Tongan language and took it with him to Great Britain where it ended up in the English dictionaries as ‘taboo’. Tapu, as we pronounce it in the common language, means some sort of prohibition, but it actually relates to the hierarchy of our system. The tapus are an obligation to keep the relationship between the hierarchy of society intact. The hierarchy contributes to the harmony of the Tongan society because it’s based on blood relationships, so we are all related to one another within that system.

  For the most part Cook ignored the entreaties of the Tongan men. Eventually he left the compound where he was expected to remain, and he walked over consecrated ground. This act was the equivalent of wandering up to the altar in Westminster Cathedral during Sunday mass and helping yourself to a mouthful of Communion wine. Cook knew full well he was pushing his luck, later writing: ‘I was several times desired t
o go away, and at last when they found I would not stir, they . . . desired I would bare my shoulders.’ Yet he persisted.

  Although he’d never know it, Cook had cheated death yet again. Before the 'Inasi he had been warned about the significance of the ceremony and the consequences for any breach of tapu.

  His flagrant disregard for these sacred laws was peculiar given that by this voyage – his third – he knew Polynesian society well enough to understand the ins and outs of tapu and the penalties incurred by flouting the rules. He couldn’t pretend he didn’t know what was going on.

  An early missionary who was given the Tongan perspective of Cook’s behaviour at the 'Inasi marvelled at the fact that the Englishman managed to avert a sticky end that time.

  JOHN THOMAS (1797–1881), Missionary, Tonga

  Although [Cook] was checked again and again and told it was tapu or unlawful for him to be present as he was with clothes, yet he persisted . . . Only priests were present for a certain part of the ceremony, and being full of fear for their gods, the wonder is, that the Captain escaped being struck, or killed by some of them.

  Cook had only been given this chance to let his hair down and kick his heels up – figuratively and literally – because unfavourable conditions had delayed his ship’s planned departure for Tahiti. Standing there with the wind in his hair and the sun on his bare back, he might well have been having a whale of a time. But in what was to become a common theme on the third voyage, his men were less than impressed by his performance.

  JOHN WILLIAMSON (1745?–1798), Lieutenant, Cook’s third voyage

  We . . . were not a little surprised at seeing Capt Cook in the procession of the chiefs, with his hair hanging loose & his body naked down to the waist . . . I do not pretend to dispute the propriety of Capt Cook’s conduct, but I cannot help thinking he rather let himself down.