by Lay, Graeme
‘Yes. Let’s hope it continues. How is Forster today?’
‘Still sulking. But young George is fine. He’s drawing the birds they killed on Raiatea. His work is admirable, and—’
‘Land! Land ho! Off the starboard bow!’
The cry came from high above, from bare-foot and bare-chested Blackburn. James and Pickersgill’s eyes swerved to starboard, to a smudge amid the mist. Land!
Middleburg was ruggedly cliffed along its western coast and covered in dense forest. The ships had been observed—even before Resolution and Adventure had found an anchorage, canoes had put out from the shore and surrounded both sloops. Young men and women swarmed aboard, holding out pieces of bark cloth, finely woven matting and hardwood carvings. These people were markedly different to the Otaheitians. Both men and women were tall, large-boned and with dark complexions. The men’s hair was tied back, the women’s hung long and loose. The men were powerfully built, the women bare-breasted, their skin glistening with a sheen of coconut oil. All had woven mats wrapped around their loins and cinched with ties woven from pandanus leaves. Dozens of red feathers had been inserted into the mats and they stood out brightly against the wearers’ dark skin.
The ships’ crews soon found what the Middleburgers wanted in exchange for their offerings—the old currency, nails. And as bartering broke out around the decks, the crews looked at the handsome young women hungrily.
James, Cooper and Pickersgill observed the trading from the quarterdeck. Although the natives seemed far from physically threatening, they roamed the decks and picked up any items of interest. James wondered if they would prove as adept at thievery as the Otaheitians. He searched the crowd for whoever their leader might be so he could enter into negotiations with him.
One man stood out obviously among the others. Aged about 30, he was well over six feet tall and had several woven mats wrapped about his body. A strand of red pandanus nuts hung around his neck and his thick black hair was tied in a topknot. He carried a long wooden club with a carved head as he strode imperiously about the deck, peering up at the masts and rigging, at the pigs and chickens in their pens, then at the launch which was being hoisted out. James walked down to the deck and greeted the man in Otaheitian. He looked blank for a moment, then replied, ‘Talitali fiefia.’ James tapped himself on the chest and said, ‘Ames Tute.’ The man nodded and replied, ‘Taione.’ James handed him a piece of red baize and an axe, pointed to the launch, then the shore. ‘Malo,’ said the chief firmly, accepting the gifts with a grin. He had large, brilliantly white teeth. James waved up to Pickersgill. ‘Assemble a landing party, Lieutenant. Include the marines. And Omai.’
4 OCTOBER 1773
My dearest Beth,
We are now in the islands which Tasman visited in 1643 and named after cities in the Netherlands. The natives call the two islands we are visiting Eua and Tongatapu. We called first at Eua, which was a craggy, forested island. A vast crowd greeted the Resolutions and Adventures on the shore, staring at us in amazement but offering no threat to us. I told our two natives, Omai and Hitihiti, to explain to the local chieftain who we were and what we wanted, but he could not understand Otaheitian. It was obvious to me then that these people differ both in their appearance and language to the natives of the Society Islands and New Zealand. We mistakenly assume that the Pacific peoples are all the same, but they are not. But we were accorded great hospitality, taken to the fine house of the chief, Taione, where we were seated on woven mats on the floor and given fresh fruits. I then requested that our gunner, Anderson, play the bagpipes for the chief and his followers, a recital that was received first with astonishment, then delight. When Taione asked if he could play the pipes Anderson passed them to him. He blew and blew until his cheeks were like balloons but could produce no sound, and his people shrieked with laughter. We were then given drink, taken in half coconut shells, from a carved wooden bowl. The liquid was pale brown and imbibed with ceremony, the cup being passed around a circle of seated men, with the bowl in the centre, and each guest drinking in turn. The drink had little taste and was in appearance like muddy puddle water. We had several cups each. After a time it had a noticeably mellowing effect on the drinker, accompanied by a slight numbing of the lips. Refreshing, too, we found. The natives call this drink ‘kava’. George Forster has made inquiries as to its source, and has been told that it is derived from the root of the pepper shrub (called, George also informs me, Piper methysticum) which is chewed to a pulp by young women, then spat into the bowl. Water is then added. The result is a drink which is thirst-quenching but not intoxicating. I cannot imagine, Beth, that it will ever be served in the taverns of London!
As our supplies of water were low, and there was little to be found on Eua, we sailed on to the neighbouring island of Tongatapu, after I honoured our Eua anchorage with the name ‘English Roads’. We followed Tongatapu’s south-western coastline, against the spiky reefs on which ocean rollers broke strongly, until we were able to double the island’s western extremity, then anchor safely in a large sheltered bay in the north-west of this much larger and flatter island. After we were at anchor a chieftain wearing an elaborate headdress was paddled out to the ship in a large canoe to greet us, then guided us ashore to a sheltered beach. The chieftain’s name, we ascertained, was Ata-ongo. He was tall, clean-shaven and very dark-skinned—again, markedly different to the Otaheitian chieftains. On the shore we were again greeted by a large and respectful crowd, whose welcome we much appreciated. Gifts were again exchanged, but again too Omai and Hitihiti could not make themselves understood by the natives. Both grew frustrated and disgruntled as a result, withdrawing from the welcome ceremony.
Furneaux and I then walked inland with Ata-ongo for a great distance, he proudly pointing out features of interest, of which there were many, including a grove of imposing trees, in the boughs of which hung hundreds of sleeping bats. Black and hooded, dangling upside down, they resembled the corpses of a multitude of hanged felons. The bats forage at night, our guide explained by gestures, on the various fruits which grow in abundance here.
Ata-ongo was accompanied by two servants, young men who kept a distance behind us. Although it was very hot, the going was not difficult, this island being unusually level and the trail well-formed. It is obviously very fertile, also. In its fertility and productivity, Tongatapu is as verdant as anywhere in Europe, I believe. We passed through plantations of coconuts, plantains and root crops I did not recognise, and pretty villages whose house roofs were thatched with palm leaves and walled with pandanus mats which can be lowered or raised according to the weather conditions. Ata-ongo solemnly told us the name of each village as we approached it. Small naked children stared at us in amazement as we passed, being the first Europeans they or their parents had ever seen. Pigs and chickens were also in great abundance in these hamlets, some of the pigs being an unusually large size. Each village has its own burial ground, built on a sandy mound, the graves themselves being decorated with flowers, shells and mats. [‘Art trouveau’, Hodges told me later that this custom is known as in Europe.]
After two hours we came to a great tidal lagoon and proceeded around its shores in an easterly direction. Pigs wallowed in the lagoon’s shallows, feeding on marine worms. What most astonished me, however, was that these people have built great monuments of stone in the places they hold sacred. The largest of these was called ‘Lapaha’, and it consisted of a large platform surrounded by a wall of closely fitting rocks. Ata-ongo explained that this was the ‘langi’ or tomb of the ancient kings of this land, called he said, the ‘Too-ee-Tong-ga’. Furneaux and I examined the construction of these tombs closely and exclaimed at how the blocks of coral stone had been worked and fitted together without iron tools. ‘It is as impressive as Stonehenge,’ Furneaux said admiringly. (Although I have not myself visited Stonehenge in Wiltshire, Furneaux has, so he speaks with some authority on the subject of ancient monuments.) When we asked Ata-ongo about the origins of the stone bloc
ks, he pointed across the lagoon and made paddling gestures, meaning that the blocks had been carried by canoes from the other side of the wide inlet, a feat almost as remarkable as the shaping and fitting of them.
We walked on eastward, to a lagoon-side village where women wearing woven mats around their bodies provided us with fruit and drinking coconuts. Thus refreshed, we continued until we came to a place called Niutoua. Again, Furneaux and I were amazed at what we were shown here: in a clearing in the forest, three huge rectangles of coral stone had been arranged into a gate. Its construction had been ordered by a Too-ee-Tong-ga, Ata-ongo told us, many generations ago. We wandered about this massive structure in awe. Its lintel rests in notched grooves in the upright menhirs, which are 15 feet high and 12 feet wide. The lintel itself is 20 feet long. The effort required to erect this small Stonehenge without steel chisels is a challenge to the imagination. The more I discover about the peoples of the Pacific, the greater my sense of wonder at what they have managed to create on their islands. The vast stone maraes of the Otaheitians, the ornate jade carvings of the New Zealanders and these great monuments of Tongatapu lead me to speculate as to what these native peoples might achieve when they are able to obtain steel hammers, chisels and axes.
A novelty here is the incorporation in their costumes of bright red feathers, taken from the plumage of a species of parrot which is very common on the islands. The people weave these feathers into their skirts and headdresses, giving them a gay appearance. Our Bora Boran, Hitihiti, loves the red feathers and has collected many bunches of them. He tells me that the people of his islands, where the red parrots are not known, will greatly prize the feathers. Accordingly, many of the crew have obtained them and plan to keep them for future trading when we return to Otaheite.
Another aspect of society in Eua and Tongatapu which differs from the islands to the east of this region is that the ordinary people’s obeisance to their chiefs is absolute. Society here is so hierarchically arranged that the lowest class of people—commoners, in our expression—are looked upon with contempt by the leaders, who achieve their rank through hereditary entitlement, as with our English system. These Too-ee-Tong-ga are treated like deities by the rest of society, their subjects prostrating themselves before them when they approach. The chiefs look upon the commoners with almost complete disdain. And when some of the lower orders were caught thieving some of our goods and we peppered them with small shot, Ata-ongo made it clear that he had no sympathy for the culprits.
Now that the southern spring equinox has passed, we anticipate unsettled weather for the next few weeks. As Tongatapu will furnish us with ample provisions, we will not tarry in these islands, but will weigh anchor and sail once more to the south, bound for Queen Charlotte Sound in New Zealand. There we will take on yet more provisions for further explorations in the high southern latitudes, in pursuit of what I now think of as that phantom landmass, the Great Southern Continent. And as we prepare to leave these islands, in view of the continuous hospitality their people have accorded us, I have decided to name them the Friendly Isles. Yesterday Ata-onga, in saying farewell, requested that I return, and that when I do I bring him the uniform of an officer of our King’s Navy.
At present it is autumn for you and the children, whose soft days I am sure you will be relishing, although the prospect of the cold months ahead will not be appealing. Be assured, dearest Beth, that my thoughts are always with you and our sons, however distant from you I may be.
Your loving husband,
James
Eighteen
IN LATE OCTOBER, OFF THE EAST COAST of the northern island of New Zealand, gale force winds and mountainous seas took the two ships out of sight of each other. On Adventure, all Furneaux, his officers and crew could see as they rode out the storm were the waves which drove in upon the ship from the south and broke over her decks, pouring down the companionways and drenching everything below. Between the waves were colossal troughs into which the ship plunged, limiting visibility even more.
When at last the skies cleared and the wind abated, Adventure was several miles off the south-east coast and a barricade of dark blue mountains was spread across the horizon to the west of the ship. The wind had swung to the south-west and was blowing strongly offshore and Resolution was still nowhere in sight.
Kempe joined Furneaux on Adventure’s quarterdeck. Both wore their fearnought coats against the bitter wind. Although the dark coast of the northern island was still visible, Adventure was making minimal progress southward. Furneaux looked up at the darkened sky, his face tight with anxiety. Kempe followed the trajectory of his gaze. ‘The arrangement to rendezvous with Resolution at Ship Cove still stands, sir?’
‘Aye, but with this wind—’ As if to prove his point, a sudden gust made the sloop lurch to starboard. Below, the men at the helm struggled to hold the wheel. Kempe looked up.
‘It’s turning sou’-west-west. Unfavourable for making for Cook’s Strait.’
Furneaux flashed his lieutenant a resentful look. Sometimes Kempe was a master at stating the obvious.
Kempe squinted at the coastline. ‘Our clerk reports that our water and wood supplies are low, and that the supplies of greens are almost exhausted. So there is the possibility of scurvy if we do not replenish them.’
Furneaux made no reply. It had become a taboo word, ‘scurvy’, in the same league as ‘plague’ or ‘pox’, scarcely able to be uttered since Cook’s fury over the outbreaks of scurvy on Adventure. Then he made a snap decision. ‘We will bear north, and make for Uawa Bay.’
Kempe frowned. ‘Not Ship Cove?’
‘No. In these contrary winds we could scarcely make headway. It could take us weeks to work into the strait.’ He pointed north. ‘We will take advantage of this following wind to pass Poverty Bay and make for Uawa. We’ll provision there. The Endeavours found friendly natives and ample greens and water at the bay four years ago.’
Kempe looked away, his dissatisfaction with this decision obvious. If they missed another rendezvous with Resolution the whole expedition would be in jeopardy. Gripping the rail and staring landward, he heard Furneaux call down to the master, ‘Nor-nor-east. Hold her steady.’ This is a risky diversion, Kempe thought: it will cost us weeks of sailing. And what will Cook think when we do not appear in Ship Cove?
Resolution too fought against the enormous seas and ferocious gales as she turned south and attempted to beat up to the entrance to Cook’s Strait. But the storm continued unabated. Occasionally and tantalisingly the dark clouds parted and patches of blue appeared, hinting at a break in the weather. Then the black clouds closed in again, obliterating the blue. On one afternoon the sky cleared more extensively, allowing them to sight the bulging cape that was the northern island’s southernmost extremity, the one that James had named after Hugh Palliser. Tacking westward and rounding Cape Palliser, the Resolutions glimpsed the narrow entrance to what appeared to be a sheltered harbour, its egress bordered by a rocky shore upon which rollers were breaking heavily. The haven beyond the entrance was enclosed by steep, forested hills, but James decided against seeking sanctuary here. Once within the harbour it would be difficult to work the ship out again in contrary winds, and the arranged rendezvous with Adventure in Ship Cove had to be met.
Only days later, James realised that at some time during the storm he had turned 45.
Eventually Resolution was able to enter the eastern end of Cook’s Strait, although the nor-easterly winds were still punishing. The swells were breaking irregularly and unpredictably and the white-capped water was surprisingly pale—almost jade-green. The land in the distance was cloud-shrouded and ghostly, constantly appearing then disappearing.
After another two days, and beating into a gale which had abruptly turned southerly, they doubled Cape Jackson, then entered the relative calm of Queen Charlotte Sound. It was 3 November. As they sailed past Motuara Island the officers and crew gathered along the starboard rails in excited anticipation of a reunion with t
heir sister vessel. Others climbed the shrouds and masts to get a better view. The rain which had pursued them through the strait had stopped, but the dark hills lining the sound were veiled by drifts of gossamer mist. It was almost midday and a rainbow arced above the headland that protected Ship Cove.
The cove was as serene as ever. From the dense forest surrounding it came the serenading sounds of birdsong. Waves lapped at the cove’s pebbly shore. But of Adventure there was no sign whatsoever. The bay was empty.
That night in the Great Cabin the mood was one of despond. After the supper plates had been cleared away, officers and gentlemen discussed their prospects sombrely. James led the discussion. Heavy-hearted, he declared: ‘We must, I fear, now face the real possibility that Adventure has been lost off the coast of the northern island.’ The others all looked down at the table, their faces crimped with concern. ‘In which case, we must reassess the next stage of our voyage. We must leave here as soon as it is practicable to do so.’
Around the table, eyes remained downcast. Pickersgill, his brow deeply furrowed, said, ‘Surely, sir, we should wait some time here, to see if Adventure is yet able to join us. She may not have foundered.’
Some of the others nodded. None relished the possibility of sailing into uncharted waters with just one ship. James grunted. He had feared this attitude might arise. But he also knew what had to be done. He leaned forward across the table. ‘We must be mindful of our instructions, Pickersgill. We must make a sweep of the unexplored southern ocean east of New Zealand, making use of the prevailing westerlies, to determine what lies deep within that ocean. As it is now November, our time is limited. So we will provision and refit here, dry our sails and repair our rigging, then set sail for the south-eastern Pacific. In all probability, alone.’
Cooper, grey-faced, raised his hand. ‘But should Adventure arrive here after we leave, what then, sir?’
