Fifteen

9 MARCH 1777

Dearest Elizabeth,
Whereas it was my intention to reach Otaheite a few weeks after leaving New Zealand, this course has been thwarted by adverse winds. Expecting favourable westerlies to propel us towards the Society Islands, we at first experienced little wind at all. Then when it returned, the wind came from the south-east, forcing us further west. These conditions greatly frustrate us.

The two New Zealanders we took aboard, Te Weherua and Koa, were initially in high spirits and excited at the prospect of sailing to what Omai had described to them as their people’s original homeland. (It is known as Hawaiiki to the New Zealanders and Raiatea to the Society Islanders.) However, once land was out of sight, the two lads became despondent, weeping and uttering songs of lament. This period of grief has now passed and they have adapted to shipboard life. Koa is as bright as a button and liked by the crew, while Weherua as a chief ’s son considers it entirely natural that he associates mainly with the officers. I have had the tailor sew red jackets for both lads, which they wear very proudly.

I have again been sleeping poorly. As I lie awake hearing the sounds of the sea and the creaking of the ship’s timbers, I reflect endlessly on my relations with the New Zealanders, and in particular the terrible events at Grass Cove and their aftermath. ‘Soul-searching’ I believe is the name given to such deep inward contemplation. My melancholy conclusion is that I erred in my response to those who carried out the killings. I was too willing to accept the notion that Kahura and his warriors were merely insulted natives responding to rash acts on the part of Adventure’s men. This was naive of me. Furthermore, the fact that I did not, when I had the opportunity, punish the guilty one cost me the respect not only of the other New Zealanders—many of whom already detested Kahura—but also of my crews, who I sense are scornful of my credulity. I have to admit now that the New Zealanders are as brutal as any other unenlightened race. Their cruelty to their tribal enemies knows no bounds. In warfare, neither women nor children are spared. The killing is habitual, the fate of those taken captive hideous.

Why did I not admit this to myself earlier? The principal reason was my avowed adherence to the Royal Society’s instruction, whereby the killing of natives must be avoided at all costs. But in the face of the aggression and cruelty displayed by Kahura and his followers, it was unrealistic to uphold such an instruction, formulated as it was in the comfortable setting of London drawing rooms. How many of those esteemed Royal Society philosophers have ever witnessed the results of native warfare, killings and cannibalism? You know the answer.

As you will also realise, this is being wise after the event. However, I will not make the same misjudgment again. To demonstrate my authority, and regain the respect of my crews, from now on any transgressions by the Indians we encounter will be punished severely. Just as my own men are subject to strict naval discipline and flogging if they infringe, any action by the natives against the efficient conduct of this expedition will be similarly punished—in particular the crime of theft, from which we have previously suffered greatly. Thieving I abhor, whether it is a member of my crew stealing from another on board ship, or a native helping himself to the ships’ equipment. Any instance of theft will be met by the harshest punishment I can mete out, short of hanging.

I am sorry to have to make this confession to you, Beth, but it is a matter so deeply personal that there is no one else I can share it with. Not Gore, or Clerke, or Burney or King. I know full well that command is often frustrating and always lonely. I also feel deeply dispirited at what happened, or rather what did not happen, in Queen Charlotte Sound. Consequently I have resolved from now on to exercise my powers of command to their utmost extent.

My love, as always,
James

It was one of the cooks, Morris, who reported the theft of meat from the messes. ‘Several pounds of salt pork have gone,’ he told bosun Ewin, who informed James. ‘Order the crew to assemble on deck,’ he instructed his officers.

Barefoot, the men stared at the planking, hands behind their backs. The ships were again becalmed, a light rain was falling and the crews’ hair and clothing were dripping. The air was clotted with humidity as James stared down at the assembly.

‘Yesterday several pounds of pork were stolen from the messes. Whoever was responsible—one or more of you—step forward. Now!’

They stood as still as stone. Those who dared look up bore surly or defiant expressions. James tried again. ‘I say again, whoever stole the pork, step forward!’

Still no one moved. James glowered at them. ‘Very well. Since the thief or thieves will not own up, you will all—I repeat, all—be on two-thirds salted rations until the culprits confess.’ They slunk away.

King approached James the next day, looking very worried. ‘Ewin has reported that the crew are disobeying your order of yesterday, sir. They are refusing to eat the reduced allowance.’

‘Refusing to eat?’

King nodded, his cheeks colouring. James turned away, appalled. This was bordering on the mutinous, something without precedent. He took several slow, deep breaths. Why had it happened? But even as the thought entered his mind, he knew the answer. His leniency in Queen Charlotte Sound. He was in danger of losing his crew’s confidence: they thought him feeble.

Feeble? He’d show them. From now on his wrath would be felt by all.

Adding to the crew’s already sullen mood was the frustration of realising that they were now being forced on a course in the opposite direction to that of the Society Isles. The winds continued to frustrate them, being either light or contrary. The ships were obliged to head due north and well to the west of the Society Isles. They were not able to cross the Tropic of Capricorn until towards the end of March.

Yet again time was slipping away. The livestock did not stop eating or drinking; in fact, in the blistering conditions their water consumption was prodigious. Although squalls allowed the crews to collect some rainwater by spreading awnings, they still had to be rationed to two quarts daily, hardly more than a man sweated in the tropical heat. And the much-vaunted salt distillation apparatus was of little use, producing only small quantities of fresh water.

There were some compensations. They came upon two high coral islands whose crowns were covered in forest. Both were surrounded by coral reefs upon which the ocean swells smashed dangerously. The inhabitants who came out to greet them in their canoes told them the islands were called Mangaia and Atiu. Here Omai proved as useful an envoy as Tupaia had been, going ashore with landing parties and talking cordially with the islanders. Mangaia and Atiu were both ruggedly impressive, but neither had what the ships now badly needed: grass and fresh water in sufficient quantity.

A few days later, still on a nor-westerly course, they reached Palmerston Atoll, discovered and named by James three years earlier. While the sloops stood off, the boats were hoisted and a passage between two of the atoll’s islets allowed them entry to Palmerston’s extensive lagoon. The island itself was still uninhabited. Under a burning sun, directed by Gore, the men harvested a creeping ground plant and palm saplings. The plentiful coconuts were collected, then fed to the livestock and poultry. Omai caught fish from the lagoon and the marines shot nesting birds, which they all feasted on, along with their eggs. But what was needed above all else was fresh water, and Palmerston Atoll had none.

James and Clerke had also gone ashore, and while the crews continued to load the boats with grass and coconuts and transfer these supplies to the ships, the two commanders considered how they could obtain the now desperately needed water. Standing on Palmerston’s coral sand shore, James pointed west. ‘We’ll make for Annamoka,’ he told Clerke, ‘in the Friendly Isles. There’s water there.’

THURSDAY, 1 MAY 1777

I came to an anchor in the very same place as I did when last here, viz. In 18 fathom water, the bottom coarse gravel sand; the island extending from E to SW and the west point of the westernmost cove SE about three-quarters of a mile distant. The next morning while preparations were making for watering, I went ashore accompanied by Captain Clerke and some of the officers, to fix on a place to set up the observatories and to keep a guard, leave being soon obtained of the natives who accommodated us with a boat house and shewed us every other mark of civility. Tupoulangi the chief of the island took me and Omai to his house, situated in a pleasant spot in the midst of his plantation.

Tupoulangi was a short, muscular man of about thirty. He had come out to meet Resolution in a canoe, accompanied by another chief, an older man called Tapa. Both men were dark-skinned and wore woven mats about their midriffs and garlands of red feathers around their necks. Whereas Tupoulangi was taciturn, Tapa was voluble, breaking into speech at every opportunity. The two chiefs presented James with baskets of pork, breadfruit, plantains and sugar cane. When he gave them each a knife, a hatchet and several nails, they looked delighted. Tapa smiled broadly as he fondled his gifts, saying, ‘Malo ’aupito.’

Omai was able to understand some of the Friendly Islanders’ language. Translating for James, he said, ‘Tapa says thank you very much.’

Tapa again broke into a long speech. ‘He also says,’ Omai explained, repeating the chief’s hand gestures, ‘that there are many, many islands in his domain.’ He pointed to the north-east. ‘That way is a group they call Ha’apai. The largest island there is Lifuka. Further north still is another group called Vava’u. Tongatapu is that way.’ He pointed south. ‘Annamoka is in between.’

James nodded. ‘We know Tongatapu, from three years ago. But we do not know Lifuka. Perhaps we shall also visit there.’ He stood up and inclined his head to the two visiting chiefs. ‘Thank you for your gifts of food.’ He said to Omai, ‘Tell them that we wish to fully supply our ships while we are in these waters.’

He was unable to resist asking after Foa, the beautiful girl who had been offered to him when he first came to Annamoka. Although he had rejected the offer, knowing he must set an example of moral conduct, he had never forgotten her. Omai translated his request, then told him, ‘Foa has been married to a chief on Vava’u. She lives there now, with her husband.’

James nodded stoically. Hardly surprising.

Anderson and King went ashore and stayed in a house provided by Tupoulangi, in order to observe his people’s buildings and gardens. They also made notes on the islanders’ vocabulary and traditions such as kava-making. Webber drew their houses and sketched their finely built canoes; Bligh again went off alone to survey the island’s coastline.

When King returned to Resolution, he explained to James and Gore what he had been able to learn of the Friendly Isles’ authority structure. ‘It seems,’ he began, ‘that there is a very strict hierarchy in these islands. Although there are many chiefs, the very highest authority is the Tu’i Tonga. He is a sacred figure, said to be descended from the great God of the Sea, Tang-a-roa. Below the Tu’i Tonga is the Tu’i Ha’a-taka-lau-a.’ He pronounced the vowel-rich name carefully. ‘He wields worldly authority. He in turn delegates to another chief, the Tu’i Kano-ku-po-lu, who holds political authority.’ King looked up. ‘There are also many nobles, women as well as men, whom they call eiki.’

Gore smiled. ‘As complex as the nobility of England.’

‘Indeed,’ said James. ‘And the good relations we’ve established with their chiefs should assist our trade with these people.’

It did. Both the crews and the livestock were revitalised by what Annamoka had to offer. The island provided them with plentiful water, wood, food and fodder. The stale shipboard diet was replaced with a healthy island one: fresh pork, fish, breadfruit, yams, plantains and sugar cane. Ducks were shot on the island’s lagoon, adding further variety to their meals. The livestock were taken ashore to graze on the grass that grew beneath the coconut palms. As it was now the drier season, the men were able to wash their clothes and hang them out to air in the sun, reinstating a regime of personal hygiene that was difficult to enforce entirely while they were at sea.

But the thieving the Resolutions had experienced while on the island three years ago began again. The Annamokans who came out to the ship to trade tried to seize anything not bolted down, while onshore the visitors’ possessions were pilfered at every opportunity. After some days of this, Clerke was given to remark to James: ‘Friendly Isles? More like the Fiendly Isles.’

Loathing this habitual thieving, James’s response now became compulsorily punitive. After a lesser chief was caught in the act of stealing an iron bolt, he sentenced him to a dozen strokes of the lash and watched the flogging from the quarterdeck. When the offender accepted his punishment calmly, James’s anger worsened. He announced, ‘And in addition he is fined one pig. A large pig.’ He instructed Doyle, ‘Keep him tied to the grating until the pig arrives.’ The chief’s followers promptly brought one out to the ship.

It seemed that nothing deterred the thieves, and with every reported theft James became angrier. Whenever would these people learn not to steal? He wondered, what if the offender was a noble person, or a chief, and he was taken and put in irons, and held hostage until the stolen item was returned? That strategy could be worth a try.

The thefts continued. When a youth was caught on the ship stealing a boat hook, James sentenced him to 12 strokes of the lash. The youth then stole again on the shore, seizing a sextant from Anderson’s tent. James was incensed. He instructed Doyle to tie the offender to a palm tree.

He did so, then, reaching for the cat-’o-nine-tails, he asked, ‘How many strokes this time, sir?’

James shook his head. ‘No lash. Fetch a pair of shears and cut the tops of his ears off.’

Doyle’s mouth fell open. ‘His ears, sir?’

‘Yes. Fetch the shears and do it.’

A crowd gathered around to watch. Ewin handed the shears to Doyle. Seeing them, the youth howled and closed his eyes. Flinching himself, Doyle cut the youth’s right ear in half. He screamed; blood streamed from the wound and ran down onto his shoulder. Doyle let the shears fall to his side. He looked at James, beseechingly, a look that clearly meant Surely that will do, sir.

‘Now the other ear,’ James snapped.

He observed the second cutting, heard the howl of pain, saw the blood streaming. Then he strode away, thinking, That’ll teach them.

The crew members who had witnessed the deed stared in bewilderment at James’s retreating back. Why such a cruel punishment? Why had the captain’s tactics changed? One muttered, ‘If only he’d taken such action against the murderer Kahura.’

An islander in his 20s was caught stealing a sailor’s shirt which had been washed and hung out to dry in a tree. When the thief was caught, Doyle tied his hands and brought him before the commander. He asked James, ‘The lash, sir?’

‘Yes.’

‘How many strokes, sir? Twelve?’

‘Sixty.’

‘Sixty?’

‘You heard me. Sixty.’

Watching the man tied to the grating, seeing the cat rise and fall, rise and fall, witnessing the man’s flayed back turning gory, James thought, That’ll show them I’m not soft. From now on I’ll crack the whip. Again and again.

The common people of Annamoka showed little compassion for the punished offenders, the Englishmen noticed, probably because their chiefs showed none. The leaders were often observed hitting the commoners, women as well as men, over the head and back with sticks after they had committed some minor infraction.

Discovery too suffered from theft when the natives came aboard. To deter the stealing Clerke adopted a different policy from that of James. When thieves were caught he ordered the ship’s barber to cut half their long hair off. If they were bearded, half of that was shaved too. Then the culprits were tossed overboard and obliged to swim back to shore, where they became the object of ridicule from their peers. This punishment merely slowed the incidence of theft, however; it did not eradicate it.

They had been on Annamoka for a week when a large double-hulled canoe drew up alongside Resolution and a newcomer climbed aboard. A party of several men and women, obviously nobles judging by their dress and bearing, followed him.

Nodding respectfully to James, the leader, clearly a chief, pointed to himself and said, ‘Finau. Tu’i Kanokupolu.’ His dark eyes darted about the deck. He was about 35, tall and slim, wrapped in finely woven mats, and with his glossy black hair tied in a topknot. Around his neck was a pair of boar’s tusks on a cord. His face was broad, his cheekbones prominent.

In deference to the newcomer’s high rank, James presented him with a length of linen cloth, two hatchets and some beads. Finau nodded gratefully, then called to one of his followers. The young man handed James a bouquet of red feathers and baskets of fruit and pork. James called up Gore, the officer on watch, and said: ‘Order Anderson and Peckover to prepare the cannons to fire a five-gun salute.’

The cannons boomed out across the bay; the balls sent spray flying as they struck the water. Smoke hung in the air, along with the stench of cordite. Finau and his entourage looked at each other in amazement. What noise! What power!

James invited Finau to dine with him in the mess along with Clerke and Omai. When the chief invited the two commanders and their ships to be his guests on his island, Lifuka, they readily agreed. They needed to move on anyway, as they had almost exhausted Annamoka’s food supplies. They made the two-day sail to Lifuka, led by Finau’s great canoe, which had to slow down to allow Resolution and Discovery to keep up with it.

Lifuka was a low, elongated island, its shores lined with coconut palms. The anchorage Finau led them to was at the island’s north-western end, and as the ships’ anchors were lowered they saw a huge crowd of people waiting on the beach.

‘The fellow certainly has a following,’ Gore mused as the boats were being hoisted.

Once again it had been a very hot and almost windless day, and the light was now fading. As the ships’ boats drew up on the sand the western sky began to flare into brilliant ribbons of orange, gold and red.

In front of the crowd of men, women and children, James presented Finau with a belted sword. The chief promptly strapped it to his side. Then he beckoned and women came forward with baskets of yams, coconuts and breadfruit, and lengths of bark cloth decorated with brown patterns. ‘Tapa,’ he said, unfolding one proudly. It was several yards long.

The marines had come ashore too, and James ordered Phillips to make them go through their drills. They played their instruments, including fifes and drums, then concluded the performance by firing several musket volleys into the air. The crowd watched all this avidly, captivated by the weapons and instruments and the sounds they emitted.

Although the arrival of the two ships on Lifuka had begun well, the goodwill did not last. As usual, the cause was theft. This time it was two of Discovery’s cats which were stolen from the ship, and this time the thief was the son of a Lifuka chief. Clerke was irate: the cats were invaluable for keeping the ship’s rat population in check. The youth was captured by the marines, brought back to the ship and clamped in irons on the deck. ‘Until the cats are returned,’ Clerke declared, and Omai translated. The youth lay on the boards, squirming and whimpering.

A day later the cats were brought back to the ship. The youth was released, but the mood of the Lifuka people was now resentful. Being a chief’s son, the youth was considered to be beyond punishment. But he had not only been shackled, he had also been humiliated.

The following day Finau issued an invitation to the ships’ companies to witness a demonstration by his warriors. James and Clerke cautiously accepted. But, aware of the deteriorating atmosphere on the island, James told Phillips, ‘Your men, and the gunners, will accompany us. Ensure all are fully armed.’

The performance took place on Lifuka’s western shore. Finau gestured for his warriors to come forward, and rank upon rank of them obeyed. There were about 200 in all, athletic young men in leaf skirts whose arms and shoulders glistened with coconut oil. At Finau’s command they launched into an unmisteakably violent dance, perfectly choreographed and accompanied by guttural cries and the waving of paddle-like weapons of carved wood. Finau led them from the front, stomping his feet, waving his arms and exhorting the men behind him to become even more aggressive.

Watching this belligerence, James felt uneasy. Were they about to attack? If so, the Englishmen would be hugely outnumbered. The marines could not hope to repel such numbers with their muskets.

As the war dance became more frenzied and threatening, James called over the gunners, Anderson and Peckover. He said quietly, ‘You brought the fireworks?’

‘Yes.’ Anderson pointed to the crates that held them.

‘Good. Set them up now and let them go. Start with the water-rockets.’

The war dance ended. The warriors were panting, but still wielding their clubs. Finau’s eyes seemed afire as he stared at the Englishmen, seemingly on the verge of ordering his men to attack, taking no notice of what the gunners were doing. They worked quickly, removing the water rockets from the crates, setting them in the ground in a line and pointing them at the lagoon.

Diverted now by this activity, the Lifukans fell silent. What were these strange devices?

‘Let them go!’ James ordered.

The flints were worked, the fuses lit. The rockets shot into the air, then plunged into the lagoon. Seconds later they emerged from the water, accompanied by explosions that lit up the now-dark sky. The Lifukans gasped and held up their hands. Weapons that exploded under water! And lit up the night!

‘Now the sky rockets,’ James ordered.

The gunners again set the rockets in the sand, in a long line. The islanders looked on in stunned silence. Then, one by one, the fuses were lit. The rockets soared into the sky then burst into blossoms of brilliantly coloured light. Again the Lifukans shook their heads in wonder. Was there anything that these Papalangi were not capable of?

There was no attack. Instead, lavish feasting began and continued for most of the night.

Over the next few days, now confident of their security, the Resolutions and Discoveries thoroughly explored the long island. Lifuka’s only high land lay on its eastern side, and that rose to barely 40 feet above the sea. It had well-formed trails and carefully nurtured yam and banana plantations. The island’s leaders lived in elegantly constructed, oval-shaped houses thatched with palm leaves, with woven mats for walls which could be lowered or raised according to the weather conditions. The landscape and houses were drawn by Webber, who hiked around the island lugging his materials, and Lifuka was surveyed meticulously by Bligh, whose face turned as pink as a cat’s tongue from the sun.

On 8 June a large, double-hulled canoe with lateen sails glided into the bay where the two sloops lay at anchor. After the canoe drew up on the beach, a very fat, middle-aged man stepped ashore. He had a creased forehead, a receding hairline and dewlaps that were so slumped he was virtually neckless. Encased in many woven mats, and accompanied by a substantial retinue, he clearly possessed great authority. Through his spyglass, James saw that even Finau bowed his head as the large man came ashore.

‘Find out who he is,’ James instructed Omai.

When he returned he told James in an awed voice, ‘His name is Paulaho. He is the Tu’i Tonga. The islands’ sacred chief.’