9 FEBRUARY 1779
Dearest Beth,
This entry will be brief, as a serious breakage has occurred on Resolution, necessitating a return to our former anchorage. Making good the damage will take up precious time, but it is imperative that the ship be in the best possible condition before we resume our northward course.
The gales that caused the damage have pursued us all the way back to Kealakekua Bay, causing us the loss of even more inestimable time.
Yours in haste,
James
They reached the bay on 11 February and again lowered their anchors at its northern end, off Kawaloa village. This time there was no tumultuous welcome. The shore seemed empty and only a few canoes came out to trade.
Puzzled, James asked Lieutenant King to seek the reason for this. He went ashore and did so.
‘Kanina says,’ King reported on his return, ‘that there is still a kapu on the bay. It will not be lifted until Kalani’opu’u returns. But that will be soon.’
The split foremast was hove out and floated ashore. Koa and the other priests allowed the carpenters and sailmakers the use of a house to stay in at their end of the bay while they were working on the repairs.
A day later Kalani’opu’u arrived in his huge canoe, accompanied by his family and warrior followers. Soon afterwards he came aboard Resolution in the company of four chiefs. They had brought no gifts, and the manner of the group was noticeably cool. In the Great Cabin, King again interpreted Kalani’opu’u’s words for James. ‘He wishes to know why we have returned.’
James explained, ‘One of our masts is broken. We must repair it.’
Kalani’opu’u grunted dismissively. It seemed he thought this was an excuse. Annoyed, James said, ‘Ask him why he doubts my word.’
After the question was put to him, Kalani’opu’u looked disdainful. Then he muttered something else which King translated. ‘He thinks the real reason is that you have come back here to live, and to lead his people. He is angry, too, that the priests have allowed our men to stay ashore.’
Offended by this misinterpretation, James said bluntly, ‘We did not wish to come back here. We were forced to. We will leave as soon as our ship’s broken “tree” is repaired.’
When King translated, Kalani’opu’u waved one hand impatiently. He said something else, then stood up. The other chiefs followed. King told James, ‘He says he will lift the kapu tonight.’
He did so, and the difference was immediately noticeable. Now many canoes came out from the shore carrying the usual pigs, fruit and vegetables. But the terms of trade had changed radically. The sellers now sought, in exchange for their produce, a new currency: iron daggers. They would accept no other payment.
The ships provided them. The daggers were modelled on the O-why-heeans’ own hardwood ones. But the onboard supplies of iron daggers were soon exhausted, so to satisfy the demand it was necessary for the armourers to set up a foundry onshore. Their fires, anvils, hammers and tongs were soon busy forging the ships’ scrap iron—mainly metal spikes, but also the remains of Bougainville’s anchor, salvaged from Bora Bora’s lagoon 15 months earlier. Sweating profusely in the clammy heat, the armourers forged the iron into daggers.
James and King went ashore to oversee the forging, mast repairs and watering. As he watched the O-why-heeans carrying their daggers away from the foundry, waving them gleefully, James remarked with concern, ‘Those weapons will make their warring more lethal.’
‘Yes. And just when the season of their war god, Ku, has come.’
A day later there was an outbreak of thieving. It began on Discovery, where Clerke was again ill and confined below. A chief stole the armourer’s tongs, presumably with the intention of forging his own daggers. After the thief was apprehended and the tongs recovered, Clerke decided to make an example of him. From his cot he ordered bosun Aitken, ‘Tie him to the shrouds and give him forty lashes.’
Aitken grimaced. ‘Forty lashes, Captain?’
‘Yes. Forty.’
The crew watched in silence as the burly native was spread-eagled, roped to the shrouds and flogged until his brown back ran with blood. But when he was cut down he betrayed neither pain or remorse. He just made his people’s gesture of disdain, a swift upward jerk of his chin. Then he returned to his canoe and was paddled back to shore by his friends.
Soon afterwards another pair of tongs and a chisel were snatched, this time from the deck where Discovery’s armourer had been working. The thief, an athletic young man, grabbed the metal items and dived overboard with them. He was then picked up by the canoe of Palea, who was on Discovery, and paddled towards the shore. Burney immediately ordered the ship’s cutter, commanded by Discovery’s master Edgar, to pursue the canoe. But it was too swift for him to catch.
The mood on Discovery was aggrieved. After Palea intervened, the tongs and chisel were returned to the ship—but not the robber. Considering that the matter remained unresolved, the deeply disgruntled Edgar decided to take Resolution’s pinnace and go in search of the thief. He ordered midshipman George Vancouver to come with him. Together they would confiscate Palea’s canoe and hold it until the thief was handed in.
Unarmed, Edgar and Vancouver went ashore in the pinnace and found and seized the thief’s canoe. From further along the shore, Palea, seeing what they were doing, approached them and protested at their action. Edgar sneered, ‘Oh, you’re the molly who frigs the old bugger, ain’t you!’
Palea looked puzzled. Edgar laughed scornfully, pointed at his groin and began making stroking movements with his hand. Then he turned away and carried on dragging the canoe towards the water. Realising he had been mocked, the tall, strong Palea went to Edgar, pinned his hands behind his back with one hand and with the other gripped the sailor’s long hair. In response, one of the other men from the pinnace grabbed an oar, rushed at Palea and hit him over the head and shoulders with it. Ignoring these blows, the young chief snatched the oar from the sailor, bent it over his thigh and broke it in half as easily as if it was a piece of kindling. Handing back the pieces to Edgar, he smiled with satisfaction.
Yet the affray was not over. Palea’s supporters began to hurl stones at Edgar, Vancouver and the pinnace’s crew. The sailors attempted to wield their oars as weapons but were in danger of being overwhelmed by their attackers, who continued to taunt and goad them. Only an intervention by Palea restored order, although Edgar and Vancouver and several of the others were left cut, bleeding and bruised. Humiliated, they paddled the pinnace back to the ship, followed by jeers and laughter from the O-why-heeans on the shore.
The brawl on the beach was reported to James. Rowed across to Discovery, he flew into a rage, berating Edgar and Vancouver. ‘Fools! Taking authority into your own hands, and going ashore without arms!’ He looked from one abject figure to the other. ‘Your injuries are richly deserved.’
Later that evening, still simmering with anger, he said to King, ‘The wind here is changing. The natives are turning against us. And they have now seen how vulnerable we are without our firearms.’ He clenched his fist. ‘But they must not imagine they have gained an advantage over us. From now on we’ll all bear arms while ashore, and will use force when it’s necessary.’
Next day the watering party was busy at the stream that was Kealakekua’s main source of fresh water. It flowed shallowly through a grove of coconut palms at the northern end of the bay and the ground surrounding it was littered with volcanic stones.
A few commoners were helping the men fill the casks. Just before midday a group of chiefs arrived at the scene and ordered the commoners to leave. Then they began to gather up stones and put them into piles. Some of them picked up pairs of rocks and began to bang them together, at the same time staring at the sailors. Aware that the O-whyheeans could hurl stones to deadly effect, the crewmen were unnerved. Hurriedly they began to roll the filled casks down to the shoreline.
This incident too was reported to James. He told King, ‘Inform Phillips. Tell him to get his marines to protect the watering party. All must be armed.’
The marines went to the watering site. The chiefs were still there, guarding it. When one of them reached for a stone and threatened to throw it, a hothead in the watering party picked up an oar and struck him with it. Before the marines could deploy their weapons they were bombarded with the sharp-edged stones. Three men received deep cuts to their faces. The marines retreated to the beach, looking for their commander.
James was not there. He, King and Gore had gone in search of the tong thief. When they asked a group of commoners where the man had gone, they indicated that he was much further along the bay. ‘Na-poo-poo,’ one man told them, pointing south.
It took them an hour and a half to reach Na-poo-poo, near the far end of the bay. When they reached the village, hot and dishevelled, it was utterly deserted.
James smacked his stick against a palm trunk. ‘We’ve been deceived,’ he said furiously. ‘We’ll return to the ship.’
Something was seriously amiss. There was hostility as well as humidity in the bay’s air. Audacity had supplanted respect and the natives were displaying open defiance and deception. What was the reason for this change, they all wondered. Was it that the season of Ku had arrived, with its warlike behaviour? Was it that they no longer believed that the commander was Lono? Was it that there was now a schism between the still-amiable priests and the increasingly bold, aggressive chiefs? Could it be that the chiefs were planning to seize the sloops and the crews’ weapons and make war against their enemies on Mow-wee?
James was now not only angry; he was deeply worried. Whatever the reason for the change, the expedition was vulnerable. There was one solution: their vastly superior weaponry needed to be displayed and, if necessary, deployed.
He told King, ‘The natives must not imagine they have gained an advantage over us. From now on the marines must load their muskets with ball.’
King frowned. ‘Instead of small shot, sir?’
James gripped his stick. ‘Yes. These people will not be deterred by a scattergun. Tell Phillips and the rest of the marines: load with ball.’
Although he followed this instruction, the policy change greatly concerned King. The captain had always held that if they were attacked, small shot should be fired first, with ball a last resort. Had it come to that stage?
He studied the commander furtively. There were dark crescents beneath his eyes and his cheeks were as sunken as Clerke’s. Yet he did not suffer from consumption. What could be ailing him? He had always favoured negotiating with the natives rather than showing aggression towards them. Why this change? His attitude towards thieving natives was now openly vengeful. And might this hostility invite retribution?
The morning of 14 February—the third since their return to Kealakekua—dawned fine and warm, with only a light wind. Not long after daybreak Lieutenant Burney brought a message across to Resolution from Discovery. He went below and was shown by the sentry into the Great Cabin, where James had just breakfasted.
Burney touched his forehead. ‘Captain, Discovery’s cutter has been taken from its mooring.’
James leapt to his feet. ‘When?’
‘In the night.’
James strode to one of the stern windows. Although the bay was still in the shadow of the great cliff, it was light enough for him to see that many people had gathered on the Kawaloa shore.
The cutter, taken. A brazen theft, of Discovery’s largest boat. This was too much. The lava within him boiled, then began to force itself upwards. The thieves must not be allowed to get away with this.
‘Tell Clerke the bay is to be blockaded. No canoes are to leave. If they try to, turn cannon fire on them. And tell Lieutenant Rickman to take Discovery’s launch to the south end of the bay, with an armed escort, to enforce the cordon.’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Burney, and left the cabin hurriedly.
James took his double-barrelled Bess from its rack. He loaded one barrel with small shot, the other with ball, and slung his powder horn over his shoulder. He buckled on his belt, with its short sword and hanger. He gathered the officers together on the quarterdeck.
Only Lieutenant King was still ashore. The day remained clear, but a stronger breeze was now blowing. He told the others: ‘I’ll go ashore with Phillips and the marines.’
‘What’s the plan, Captain?’ asked Gore.
‘We’ll take Kalani’opu’u hostage. Bring him back to the ship and hold him here until the cutter is returned.’ He turned to Lieutenant Harvey. ‘You stay here and oversee the gunners. Order them to fire the cannons at any canoes that try to leave.’
James and the marines were rowed ashore in the launch and disembarked on the shore near Kawaloa. A crowd had gathered, mostly men. They studied James and the marines, and their muskets, suspiciously. The air was thick with morning heat and simmering surmise. The haole were obviously upset and threatening. What were they going to do?
Ignoring the brooding crowd, James and the marine contingent marched up the beach to Kawaloa village. Kalani’opu’u’s house was the largest. James stopped a little distance away, and said to Phillips, ‘Go inside and tell the king he must come with us.’
Phillips did so, then moments later came back, embarrassed. ‘He’s asleep, sir. His wife is too.’
James erupted. ‘Then wake them up!’
Kalani’opu’u emerged, wearing a red loincloth. His grey hair hung loose, his face, neck and shoulders were flaked from his skin disease. He blinked his reddened eyes at James. ‘Aloha, Lono,’ he said, blearily.
A crowd had begun to gather around the king’s house and its compound, which was kapu to the commoners. Their expressions were uniformly angry. It was kapu to make a chief wake up abruptly, as his akua—his ancestral spirit—would be roaming while he slept and must not be disturbed.
James nodded curtly at Kalani’opu’u. Wishing King were with him to fully explain the situation, he said loudly, pointing to Kalani’opu’u, then out at the sloops. ‘Our cutter, our vaka, has been stolen. You must come with me to my ship, and remain there, until the vaka is returned.’
‘Uh?’ said Kalani’opu’u, frowning.
James repeated the message, pointing at the chief, then the ship.
Kalani’opu’u nodded. ‘Ae.’ He understood. He patted his chest, then pointed out towards Resolution. Yes, he would go with Lono until the vaka was brought back.
Around Kawaloa, the crowd was growing. People streamed from their huts and houses and down the hillside to gather near Kalani’opu’u’s dwelling. When they realised what was happening, that their king was being taken away by the haole, many of the men picked up stones that lay on the ground.
James gestured for the chief to follow him and they made their way back to the shoreline. Kalani’opu’u was in front, James and the scarlet-jacketed marines covering him from the rear. James felt relief that the king had willingly become his hostage. He would now seek out Koa and entreat the priest to add to his plea for the thief or thieves to return the cutter. Once it was brought back, peace would be restored.
They marched down to the shoreline, where there was a sloping shelf of lava rock. The tide was rising, and small waves surged at the rock shelf and the rubbly beach above it. But before they reached the water, Aolani, Kalani’opu’u’s wife, rushed out from the crowd. Long hair flying, she tugged at her husband’s arm. She began to weep, crying out, ‘Aue! Aue, pilikua!’ Husband!
Kalani’opu’u stopped. He looked from Aolani to James, then back again. Visibly confused, he became tremulous. His wife again cried out, ‘Pilikua! Pilikua!’ Husband! Husband!
The crowd had by now grown to several hundred men and women. When Aolani cried out in distress they moved closer to the party. Many of the men carried clubs and spears. Some held the long metal daggers they had recently traded for. Most also wore chest-protecting mat vests.
They began to shout, calling to one another. The cause of their resentment was clear: their king was being taken away by the haole to their huge vaka, where he could be lashed, shackled or even killed. From around the bay came a humming sound, like that of bees whose hive has been upturned. It was the sound of conches being blown, a signal for battle.
Then, from out in the bay, came the boom-boom of cannons. The gunners on the sloops were firing their cannons at some canoes that were attempting to run the blockade. Between each boom an ominous silence descended, like the pause between lightning and thunder.
The 10 marines accompanying James marched down to the water in a phalanx, their primed muskets shouldered. The crowd parted, allowing them through. Phillips came forward, interposing himself between Kalani’opu’u and James. Musket in hand, he said to James quietly, ‘I believe they mean to harm us, sir. Shall we form up a defensive line?’
‘Yes. Get the others between us and the crowd.’
Aolani grabbed her confused husband by the arm and pulled him to one side. A man came out of the crowd holding an open coconut. He held it up tauntingly to James, then withdrew.
The crowd, now unruly and jostling, advanced, their arms raised. They were on the verge of becoming a mob. James saw again their raised clubs, spears and daggers. But he remained confident. Help was at hand. They just needed to withdraw behind the marines’ defensive wall, get into the boats, then back to the ship under covering fire. Determined to remain calm, he was also realistic. He said to Phillips, ‘We won’t proceed with taking the old fellow hostage. Release him.’
‘Aye, Captain,’ Phillips replied.
James looked out towards the pinnace and the launch, which had hove to 50 yards from the shore. The sailors in both boats carried primed muskets. Raising his left hand, he beckoned them in.
Turning to face the mob, he saw a warrior wearing a chest mat rush towards him with an uplifted dagger in his left hand, a rock in his right. James raised his musket and fired the barrel containing small shot. It struck the man in the chest. The man stopped, stared, then began to laugh scornfully. His matting vest had stopped the shot: there was no injury.
Incited by James’s firing, the mob rushed forward, yelling. James selected a leading figure, a rotund man, aimed and fired his other barrel. The ball struck the man in the face. He fell forward, mortally wounded, his face turned to a bloody pulp.
James turned to the marines. ‘Take to the boats!’ he shouted.
They didn’t. Instead they raised their muskets and fired into the clamorous crowd. Out in the boats, the sailors also lifted their muskets and discharged them into the throng. Several O-why-heeans fell, dead or wounded.
The marines now needed to reload. This would take 20 seconds. Too long. The mob surged closer, then was upon them.
Phillips stood his ground and had almost finished reloading when a tall warrior raised his dagger and stabbed him in the neck. A second later he was struck by a stone. Bleeding from the neck, Phillips nevertheless managed to complete his reload. He raised his musket and shot one of his attackers dead.
Now there was chaos. Dropping their muskets, some of the marines turned and ran into the sea. Corporal James Thomas did not. As he attempted to finish reloading, a warrior plunged a dagger into his guts and he fell. Private John Harrison was overcome and speared to death by several warriors. Private Theophilus Hinks was stabbed to death before he reached the water; Private Thomas Fatchett was bludgeoned to death. Private John Jackson was speared through the eye and fell into the water in agony. Phillips, the only marine who could swim, managed to help Jackson get further out into the water, then he dragged him into the waiting pinnace.
James, separated now from the remaining marines, turned his back on the attackers. Raising his right arm, his gestured for the boats to come in closer. He remained composed, knowing that their firearms were infinitely superior to clubs, spears and daggers.
In the boats, the sailors were busy reloading. Help was at hand. In moments he would be uplifted by his men.
The sailors in the pinnace began to pull towards him. But Williamson, in charge of the other boat, ordered his crew to pull away.
Seeing the pinnace coming towards him, James began to wade along the shelf of lava rock towards it, still clutching his musket. Although the shelf was half-submerged by the rising tide, the pinnace was now only a dozen yards away.
The attackers began to hurl stones. His back still to the mob, James raised his left arm against the fusillade.
For a few seconds, the O-why-heeans paused, as if to let him go. Then a thickset man rushed out of the crowd, wielding a club. He raised it in both hands then brought it down on the back of James’s head.
Behind his eyes, an explosion of red, then a constellation of stars. Through the stars emerged a parade of faces. An ageing woman, collecting wildflowers. An elderly man tending his garden. A kindly Quaker shipowner. A smiling young woman in a tavern. Two boys playing around a pond. A newborn child, handed to him by a midwife. And a boy, climbing a hill.
An instant later, the other images had gone.
Just one remained. A solitary woman, sitting beside a fire, knitting a scarf.
Then she too was gone. And there was nothing.
The mob fell upon the body as it lay in the shallows. One man plunged an iron dagger deep into James’s neck. Another warrior brought a rock down on his head. Another dagger struck deep into his back. Then another rock rose and fell. And another, and another, until the skull was completely crushed and the back was penetrated, over and over again.
Leaking blood from a score of wounds, the limp body slipped into the sea.