by Lay, Graeme
The pass through the reef was sinewy with currents, the great mountains above the bay covered in cloud. James ordered the sails furled, the launch hoisted out and preparations made for warping the ship into the bay. Pickersgill and Clerke joined him on the quarterdeck. ‘Tis a sight I could never tire of, sir,’ said Clerke, ‘the mountains of Otaheite.’
‘Aye,’ said James. He too was again captivated, the grand sight displacing his melancholia.
‘Will we be here long?’ asked Pickersgill.
‘As long as it takes to get the ship in good shape again. She needs to be heeled and cleaned. Again, the decks need caulking, and our sails repaired.’
Hitihiti came running up from below to join them, followed by his white-haired dogs. Dressed in breeches and shirt and with a garland of red feathers around his neck, he was grinning. He had never seen this island, and was rapturous. ‘Otaheite! So beautiful! And so much bigger than Bora Bora!’
As soon as the party landed on Point Venus, it was Hitihiti who was the star. Surrounded by men, women and children, his reception put James in mind of Tupaia’s popularity in Uawa, five years before. But Hitihiti had little of Tupaia’s haughtiness and nobility-derived superiority, and so the Otaheitians conveniently ignored the fact that Hitihiti came from an island whose people they mistrusted. Instead he was delighted to mix with everyone, conversing readily, regaling them with stories of the marvels he had seen. Two handsome men of about his own age, but obviously nobility, presented him with a head-dress and a pearl shell pendant, which Hitihiti exchanged for his red feather garland. Then, having established him as their taio, they led him away through the palms.
George Forster, Clerke and Pickersgill had been watching this reception with great interest. ‘The prodigal son has returned,’ George observed, quietly.
Clerke smiled lasciviously. ‘Aye. I think Hitihiti will have a very good time here. I was studying the faces of the young women. Their looks were adoring.’
George shook his head. ‘More wantonness, no doubt,’ he said.
Clerke and Pickersgill exchanged knowing looks. They had already made arrangements with their favourite women to join them in their houses when their time was their own.
Wandering down to the shore of Matavai Bay, Clerke said to Pickersgill, ‘It’s my belief that young Forster needs to sample the local wildlife.’
‘I agree. And what better place to sample it than Otaheite?’
Clerke smiled. ‘Your taio, Hinata. Does she have a young female friend?’
Pickersgill caught his drift. ‘I’m sure she has. And if she hasn’t, I’m sure that your Tehani will have one.’ He grinned. ‘Let’s organise some really exciting botanising for young George.’
As it was still the fruitful season on the island, produce flowed down onto Point Venus from the surrounding villages: plantains, breadfruit, coconuts, along with baskets of fish, pork and chickens. Live pigs and poultry were brought too, organised and paid for with nails and axes by Daniel Clark. But Hitihiti had been astute when he predicted that the most desired currency for the Otaheitians were the red feathers from the Friendly Isles’ parrots. They could not get enough of them, regarding them as sacred objects. When James’s special taio, Tu, the paramount chief of Tahiti-Nui, came aboard Resolution to pay his compliments, James presented him with a piece of Tongatapu bark cloth to which many red feathers had been attached. Such was Tu’s delight, it was as if he had been given a block of solid gold.
A few days after their arrival, James went by launch to visit Tu at his home village at Pare, west of Matavai Bay. When they reached the bay they were startled to see, on the beach and anchored in the bay, dozens of huge double-hulled canoes. Their ornately carved prows arced 20 feet into the air, and clearly also served as lookout points. That they were war canoes was obvious, as the warriors who crewed them were wearing breastplates and the vaka contained spears, clubs and throwing rocks. On the foreshore were other smaller canoes and hundreds of men. Beside James in the launch, Cooper said, ‘Good Lord, sir, it’s a veritable armada.’ He eyed the craft nervously. ‘They could overwhelm us in minutes, by force of numbers.’
Although he too had been surprised by the spectacle, James said in an attempt at reassurance, ‘I think not. This is Tu’s bay, and Tu is my special taio. The fleet is more likely to be deployed against his enemies.’ He stared at the flotilla. ‘Doubtless Tu will tell me.’
After they disembarked on the beach, watched over by the marine contingent, the Englishmen were greeted by the short, burly figure of Ti’i, a relative of Tu’s. He took James’s arm, to escort him to the chief’s house, a little way inland. But as he did so a lofty, grey-bearded man wearing a wickerwork helmet stepped from one of the war canoes, walked up the beach and glowered at Ti’i. Touching his own chest, he said, ‘To’ofa.’ He appeared to be the commander of Tu’s flotilla.
Seizing James’s arm, To’ofa tried to drag him towards the largest of the canoes. ‘Come,’ he ordered, ‘Come!’ Scowling, Ti’i grabbed James’s other arm and pulled it, indicating that he should go with him to see Tu. Looking from one man to the other, James pushed both their hands away. He had no intention of becoming a pawn in this obvious power play between the two men. Walking away abruptly, he called to Beard, the marine corporal, ‘Ready the launch, we’ll return to the ship.’
Still curious as to why the great armada had been assembled, James was later given various explanations by visitors to the ship. Some said the canoes were to invade neighbouring Moorea and defeat its chief, Mahine; others said that the fleet would sail to Tahiti-Iti and attack the long-time foe, Vehiatua. ‘As usual,’ James remarked wryly to Cooper at supper that evening, ‘Otaheitian politics is more complicated than those of Westminster.’ He finished his port. ‘The main thing is, we are not the object of Tu’s bellicosity.’
The next day after breakfast Clerke approached George Forster on the mid-deck. It was a hot, still day and the lagoon water shone like mercury. The young botanist was sitting with his back against the main mast, wearing his wide-brimmed hat, reading a history of Prussia.
‘George, good morning!’
‘Oh, Clerke. Good morning to you.’ George blinked against the sunlight. ‘Or “Ia orana”, as we should say here.’
Clerke smiled. ‘Indeed.’ He looked landward. ‘Pickersgill and I are going to visit our taios in their village. Why don’t you come along?’
George looked uncertain. ‘I planned to spend the day reading.’
Pickersgill took off his tricorn and fanned his face with it. ‘It would be well worth your while to join us. We’ve heard of a new creature that’s been seen in the forest, at Mahina.’
George became instantly alert. ‘What kind of creature?’
‘One that’s not yet been collected or catalogued. It’d be a great chance for you to do so.’
‘Right.’ The young man scrambled to his feet. ‘I’ll go below and get my bag. Wait for me.’
There were three trails leading to and from Point Venus. One ran down the centre of the peninsula, the other two skirted left and right. The right-hand path shadowed Matavai Bay and the coast to the east of the promontory. Clerke, Pickersgill and Forster, packs on their backs, walked through the grove of palms. A little distance away, several of the crewmen rolled water casks, which had been filled from the nearby stream, down to the beach, for transfer to Resolution. Other sailors lopped the boughs of saplings into lengths suitable for the galley’s firebox. Hodges sat at his easel under the palms, sketching the lagoon, the coastline and the distant island of Moorea. Engrossed in his work, the artist ignored the trio.
‘The village is this way,’ said Pickersgill, taking the right-hand trail. A few outriggers were drawn up on the black sand, and a group of Otaheitians was waist-deep in the water, dragging a seine. They waved and called ‘Ia orana!’ as the visitors walked past. The trail turned inland and began to climb, sand giving way to reddish dirt.
The vegetation alongside the track was luxuria
nt: coconut palms, breadfruit trees, pandanus bushes, hibiscus shrubs, custard-apple trees and tipani trees in bloom. Fallen coconuts littered the trail. Sweating now, the trio carried sticks with which they struck out from time to time at the creepers which hung down from the trees.
‘This creature you mentioned,’ said George, panting. ‘Is it animal or avian?’
‘Animal,’ said Clerke. ‘A very special one. It has a beautiful pelt, I was told.’
Wiping his beaded brow, George said, ‘It would be a victory for me to discover a new creature before my father did.’
‘Indeed it would,’ replied Pickersgill. ‘And you should certainly get the credit for it.’
The trail rose steadily, passed through another coconut grove, then opened out to a large clearing where a dozen open-sided huts, thatched with palm fronds, were spread about. Chickens, roosters, dogs and pigs roamed about in the grass at the margins. A heap of coconut husks smouldered in a pit near the centre of the village and a dozen shiny bonita hung from a wooden rack beside the pit. Three elderly women sat around a wooden bowl, pounding bananas into the mash the Otaheitians called ‘poe’ with stone pestles.
The three men walked into the clearing. ‘Welcome to Mahina, George,’ said Pickersgill.
A wizened old man in a bark-cloth skirt, husking coconuts with an adze, gave them a toothless grin. ‘Ia orana, Papa,’ said Clerke, smiling. ‘Tehani?’ Cackling, the old man pointed to one of the huts.
As they approached it, a girl of about 17 came out. She was slender but broad-hipped, her solitary item of clothing a bark-cloth skirt. She wore several necklaces of tiny yellow shells around her neck and across her large breasts, and her long black hair was adorned with orange and white flowers. Beaming, she went straight to Clerke and embraced him. ‘Maeva taio, Sharl,’ she said. ‘E aha te huru?’
‘I am well, thank you, Tehani,’ he murmured, pressing his face into her hair.
A second young woman came out of the hut. She ran to Pickersgill. This was Hinata. Petite, and with a very pretty face, she threw her arms around him. ‘Ia orana, taio Tick,’ she said, turning her head and lying it across his sweaty chest.
Clerke took several red feathers from his breeches pocket. He gave one to Tehani and another to Hinata. Both gave squeals of delight, then held the feathers up to the sun, reverently. George hung back, confused. Was it these women who knew where the strange creature lived?
Clerke said to Hinata. ‘Tiare?’
Hinata pointed to another hut, away to their left. ‘Fare Tiare.’
Smiling coquettishly, Tehani said, ‘Fevver for Tiare?’
Clerke immediately produced another red feather from his pocket. Handing it to Tehani, then gesturing to their young companion, he said, ‘This is taio George. Please take him to Tiare.’ Turning to Forster, he said, ‘Tiare knows all about the furry creature.’
Eagerly, George followed Tehani across the clearing to the hut. She stopped outside, handed him the feather and indicated that he should go inside.
The palm fronds of the hut roof hung down low, so that George had to stoop to enter. He ducked under the fronds, stood up straight and blinked rapidly in the dim light. The floor of the hut was covered in woven pandanus mats, and on a heap of more mats sat a girl of about 16, weaving flowers into a thick garland. She was naked, and her long black hair was laced with small white flowers. Even from several feet away, George could smell the fragrance of the flowers and the monoi oil which gave the girl’s nut-brown skin a gloss. She got to her feet, smiled, went to George and carefully placed the garland around his neck. She placed her hands across her small, high breasts. ‘Tiare,’ she said. Her dark eyes were huge. She pointed at him. ‘You?’
‘George,’ he croaked. She was the most beautiful person he had ever seen. She came closer.
‘Fevver?’ she said expectantly, her eyes opening wider.
‘Oh, yes.’
He handed the red feather to her, and she gave a cry of delight. ‘Oh, mauruuru, mauruuru.’
She slipped it into the hair on top of her head, smiled with delight, then wrapped her arms around him. She began to nuzzle his neck. Inhaling her fragrance, feeling the softness of her body, he felt too a sudden swelling inside his breeches. He moved against her, and as he did so Tiare slipped her hand down. Feeling the hardness there, she gave a little gasp. Then, laughing delightedly, she led him to the pile of sleeping mats.
Well before they reached them, George had removed his boots and blouse. His breeches were tossed aside. After some fumbling on his part he was on his back and she was astride him. Then she was rising and falling, rising and falling, her perfumed hair like a veil over her face, and George was experiencing a marvellous sensation, one so full of wonder that it could not compare it to anything he had ever felt or seen before.
Pickersgill and Clerke were waiting for him at the edge of the clearing. Both grinned as George joined them. His hair was messy, his boots unlaced, his face flushed. ‘Well,’ said Clerke, ‘did you have a good time?’
‘Did you find the furry creature interesting?’ asked Pickersgill.
George threw his head back and smiled, dreamily. ‘Tiare is wonderful.’
Pickersgill clapped him on the back. ‘Well done, lad.’
As they started off back down the track, Clerke said, ‘We should invite our taios onto the ship, before we leave. Have a heiva—a farewell party—for them.’
‘Good idea,’ said Pickersgill.
George suddenly looked worried. ‘I could not. My father—’
The others nodded, understanding only too well. Then George brightened again. ‘Did you know I am compiling a dictionary of Otaheitian?’
‘You have mentioned it, yes,’ said Pickersgill. ‘Did Tiare teach you some new words?’
‘Several.’ George’s blush deepened. ‘But I don’t think I could include them in the dictionary.’
They all chuckled, then carried on down the leafy track to the bay.
Amid the provisioning, the repairs to the ship and the many visits ashore, there was the matter of the future of Hitihiti. He had been a popular and helpful member of the ship’s company for seven months. On Otaheite he was a hero. Men, women and children flocked to hear his stories of collecting red feathers from Tongatapu, of cannibalism in New Zealand, of the ice mountains in the far south. Now where did he belong? In Raiatea? In Bora Bora? Or should he return with them to England?
‘He should come with us to Raiatea,’ Johann Forster declared.
‘Why so?’ James replied. ‘He is happy here. The people love his stories. Have you not seen the damsels who hang on his every word?’
‘I have, and I disapprove. He is putting his adventures with us to licentious use. Raiatea and Bora Bora are where his family lives. There he will have land and a place to settle.’ He shrugged. ‘Here, once the people have grown tired of his stories, he will have nothing.’
James considered this. For once, Forster had a point. He said, ‘I will ask him. It is his decision to make.’
Hitihiti’s dress was now a hybrid, combining an English seaman’s trousers and blouse with an Otaheitian’s headdress. As he entered the Great Cabin, he removed the headdress respectfully. The two men shook hands, then James asked Hitihiti what he wished to do. ‘You have been a valuable member of my crew, and popular with the men. Should you wish to sail on with us to Britain—to Peretane—you can do so.’
Hitihiti gave James his boyish smile. ‘Mauruuru, sir. But I do not wish to go to your country, because I may never be able to come back. I would like to come with you to Raiatea, to see again my family and friends. Then, later, I will go to Bora Bora.’
‘As you wish. That is a wise decision.’ James put a hand on the young man’s shoulder. ‘But I will miss you. We all will.’
With Resolution now fully provisioned and repaired, rumours as to the next stage of the voyage began to circulate around the decks. It was known—because they would be returning Hitihiti to his home island—that
other of the Society Islands would be called at, but after that? Not the Antarctic again, please not the freezing gales and ice mountains, the men muttered.
James, Cooper, Pickersgill and Clerke met in the Great Cabin on the afternoon of 14 May. Spread out on the table were three charts of the known Pacific Ocean south of the equator. After his servant brought coffee for them all, James announced: ‘We have now been away from England for a month short of two years. It is time to consider our return.’
There were spontaneous but just-audible sighs of relief from the officers. All were in good spirits, tanned from the tropical sun and rejuvenated by their fresh food and the sexual diet of the last weeks. Cooper spoke up first. ‘By which route shall we be returning, sir? Cape Horn or Cape Town?’
‘Both.’
Cooper blinked. Clerke and Pickersgill frowned. ‘I do not follow, sir,’ said Clerke.
James smiled, patiently, and traced a course across the chart. ‘Ship Cove.’ His finger moved east. ‘The Horn.’ There the chart ended. James looked up. ‘Across the South Atlantic, and thence north to Cape Town.’
There was a long silence, then Pickersgill said, ‘Why the South Atlantic, sir?’
James felt a tremor of annoyance. Had his officers forgotten the purpose of this voyage? Coolly he said, ‘To ascertain which lands, if any, lie to the east of the Falkland Islands.’
This announcement brought a silence, induced by unwelcome thoughts of the high southern latitudes. ‘But first we will sail west from the Leeward Islands.’
‘West, sir?’ Now all three officers looked confused. Cape Horn was to the east. Only Pickersgill had the temerity to add, ‘Why west, sir?’
James’s finger returned to the chart. ‘West of the Leeward Islands there may well be others, along with the Friendly Isles and the New Hebrides, which have not yet been discovered.’ His eyes went from one man to the next. ‘I remind you, gentlemen, that ours is a voyage of discovery. And that apart from a great but improvident ice land, we have discovered and claimed nothing of benefit to England.’ He began to roll up the chart. ‘So we will sail first west, making use of the south-east trade winds, to approximately 160 degrees east of Greenwich, charting whichever lands we may encounter. We will then turn south and return to Ship Cove. There we will re-provision, before setting a course west for Cape Horn.’ He gave each of the officers a dismissive look. ‘That will be all, gentlemen.’
