Landfalls (38 page)

When the girl realized she would not have to go through with what had been expected of her, she smiled and ran off. But a few minutes later she returned with a friend, and I was obliged to give her a bead as well. And not ten minutes later three more girls appeared.

*   *   *

I am mindful of what Monsieur de Monty said—how my account will stand next to the commander's. I remember too his story about the disagreement between the commander and Monsieur de Langle the night before the watering expedition. I wonder what the commander has written in his journal. Would I write differently if I knew? Perhaps it does not matter what I write. I have been given an order, that is all. Completion is the thing.

I need say no more about the island women, but the beads I cannot ignore:

As we filled up the water casks, more natives arrived, and the crowd grew restless. Monsieur de Langle abandoned his plan to trade with them and gave the order to return to the boats. But first, and this, I believe, to be the primary cause of our misfortune, he gave beads to some of the chiefs. These gifts, distributed to five or six individuals, provoked the others.

We left France with a million glass beads. They are not Venetian beads, nor even the finest French beads, but they are pretty, with smooth, milky surfaces—milky blue, milky green, milky white. They are supposed to help us establish friendly relations with the natives.

*   *   *

Yesterday we sighted Traitors Island, and today we are hove to outside a large bay on its west side. Why is it called Traitors Island? I ask. Monsieur de Monty shrugs. When we get to Botany Bay, he says, I'm transferring to the
Boussole
. I am surprised, and for one dizzying moment I imagine myself captain of the
Astrolabe
, until he says, quite evenly, Monsieur de Clonard will be transferred from the
Boussole
to assume command. Ah, I say, that makes sense, he is senior to you. And then I should have said, I'll miss you, sir, or It's been a pleasure to serve under you, sir, or almost anything at all, but I say nothing, and Monsieur de Monty says, It's time you finished that report of yours, Vaujuas, and walks away.

The natives of Traitors Island come out in their canoes and trade with us in good faith, apparently unaware of the name given them by a previous explorer. They do not have much to trade, but we procure coconuts, bananas, some yams and grapefruit, a pig, and three hens. They like the beads but are also interested in our iron, which bespeaks a better breed of native, more practical and hardworking. Still, we never let down our guard and not one is allowed on board. One of our men notices that nearly all of them have one or two joints of the little finger of their left hand cut off. We have not seen this before.

*   *   *

Tonight Monsieur de Monty and our savants are having dinner on the
Boussole
with the commander and their savants. I have assigned Le Gobien to the watch and now sit at the council room table to work uninterrupted on my report. Reviewing the completed pages, I come to the point where I left off:
These gifts, distributed to five or six individuals, provoked the others.

Somehow I have to get from gift beads to rocks being thrown; from an orderly line of sailors to dozens of men flailing and screaming in the water; from a beach full of curious natives to a mob of deadly savages. I write:

There arose at that point a general murmur, and we were no longer able to control the islanders.

This will not do at all. But from this point I can only remember my own actions, and I cannot—must not—write of myself. I could say that I stayed by Monsieur de Langle as he tried to distribute the beads. That when he saw me, he shouted, What are you doing, Vaujuas? and ordered me back to the boats. That rushing across the beach and into the water, weaving my way through the natives, I felt a surge of panicked vitality that was the first sign I had of a return to health. That I saw that the
Astrolabe
's small boat had no officer aboard, and decided to wade toward it. But no—this is not a personal account. I write:

Although they let us return to our boats, one group of islanders followed us into the water, while others gathered stones from the shore.

Monsieur de Monty returns from dinner flushed with wine. I learned why it's called Traitors Island, he says. Schouten and Le Maire were attacked by the islanders here one hundred and fifty years ago. It had to be something like that, I say. He also learned about the islanders' strange habit of severing their fingertips. They cut them off to pray for an ailing friend or relative, or grieve a lost one, he tells me. I look up from my report. You and I should have no fingers left at all, then, should we? I say. Monsieur de Monty smiles sadly. I'm not sure Monsieur de Lap
é
rouse will recover from this, he says. I look down, remembering again my last sight of the commander in his cabin. He blames Lamanon, Monsieur de Monty adds. He says Lamanon's absurd ideas about savages caused Monsieur de Langle to let go his customary caution. I'm not sure that's what happened, I say. The lieutenant strides to the doorway as if suddenly aware that such informality is no longer appropriate between us. Finish the report, Monsieur de Vaujuas, he says, then perhaps we can all learn what
did
happen. But a moment later he is back, embarrassed, an envelope in his hand. I forgot, he says. From Monsieur de Boutin.

*   *   *

Thank you for asking after me, M. de Vaujuas
, Boutin writes.
I am very nearly recovered, and the rest of our injured are mending as well. Lieutenant Colinet, who was unconscious by the time we brought him back to the
Boussole
, sustained a broken arm and several gashes on his head but is already back at work …
I shut my eyes, oppressed by these confidences. I asked about the
dead
, not the living. I turn the page to read the end:
As I said in my first note, we lost four from the
Boussole. And then a list, very neat, in rank order, with names in full:

Jean-Honoré-Robert de Paul de Lamanon, physicist

Pierre Talin, master-at-arms

André Roth, fusilier

Joseph Rais, soldier

During the night Le Gobien slips his reply under my door:
I can account for only the seven I reported earlier.

There is nothing for it but to tour the frigates, question every company, account for every person. I leave my cabin with a lead pencil and a piece of paper, and begin at the stern deck, where I write:

Paul-Antoine-Marie Fleuriot, Viscount de Langle, captain

Who would have believed, before December 11, that muskets and swivel guns were no match against rocks? But muskets must be understood to be feared, and they must be used to be understood. They must also be dry to be usable, and then must be reloaded, a difficult matter when wading through water, or crouched in a pitching boat filled with bleeding and panicked sailors, or cowering under a hail of rocks.

Monsieur de Langle was doomed by his moderation. He somehow made it back to our longboat and ordered the grapnel raised, but several of the islanders held the cablet to prevent our leaving. Instead of firing at them, Monsieur de Langle fired in the air, which, rather than frightening the natives, worked like a signal for a general attack. If we had not been the intended target, we should have been most impressed by their surprising skill and strength in throwing rocks. Had he survived, Lamanon would have found a perfect marriage of physics and mineralogy in calculating the velocities and trajectories of the natives' missiles.

Monsieur de Langle was knocked over in the first volley, falling across our longboat's thwart and then into the water on the port side, where the natives set upon him with clubs. A similar fate awaited everyone who remained in the longboats. For every native who fell to a successfully discharged musket, there seemed to be ten to take his place. I got the
Astrolabe
's small boat to the reef and, looking back, saw that an officer from the
Boussole
had command of their small boat. We began dumping the water casks overboard to make room for the men who swam out to us. The last I saw of my captain, the natives had hauled his bloodied body out of the water and were tying one limp arm to a tholepin on the
Boussole
's longboat.

*   *   *

I go belowdecks to talk to the seamen. Don't forget my brother, a man growls from his hammock. I make my way toward him and ask him his name. Jean Hamon, he says. And your brother? Yves, he says. Why aren't you up, Hamon? I ask. My legs, he replies, they're swollen. I feel a chill at this revelation. I ask if he has seen Monsieur Lavaux. He doesn't answer. His friends, who have gathered around, tell me he figures it's judgment for what happened at the cove. What do you mean? I demand. The men look at one another, then one whispers, Well, sir, some of us who were there, we became friendly with the women, and Jean here thinks we might've caused some unpleasantness that led to the fighting that killed his brother. Not one of you is to blame for what happened, do you hear me? I say. I point to one seaman: Go tell Monsieur Lavaux about Hamon's legs. I ask the others, Who else did you lose down here? They crowd around, watching me write in the dim light.

Yves Hamon, sailor

Jean Nedellec, sailor

François Foret, sailor

Laurent Robin, sailor

Next I find the chief gunner. He scowls. It's been nearly three weeks, he says, you're only now getting around to figuring out who's dead? Just tell me who you lost, I say. He walks away as I write:

Louis David, fusilier

I then make my way to the galley, where I find Monsieur de Langle's servant, Fran
ç
ois, and his suspiciously thin cook, Deveau. Deveau hears my errand and says, Of course you've counted our captain, God rest his soul, and Fran
ç
ois repeats, his voice breaking, God rest his soul. I suspect they've been drinking. What about the servants? I ask, returning to the task at hand. Deveau says, There was poor Geraud, and Fran
ç
ois echoes, Poor Geraud.

Jean Geraud, servant

With that I have the seven Le Gobien listed for me. Who else can there be? I wonder, shaking the list in my hand. Fran
ç
ois says, Sir, didn't we lose one of the Chinese out there? A Chinese? I say. Yes, a Chinese, Deveau says, nodding with approval at Fran
ç
ois before saying to me, You forgot about them, didn't you, sir?

I go up on deck and find Le Gobien. I have so successfully avoided seeing him that I am shocked by the large scab on his forehead and his still blackened eye. He had been the last to leave our longboat alive. What is it, sir? he says, looking at the list in my hand. Is it possible, I ask, that one of the Chinese was killed in that cove? He clicks his tongue and draws in a long breath. Yes, he says, we did lose one of them, now that you mention it. Had he a name? I ask. No doubt he did, Le Gobien says, but I'm damned if I know it. I stare hard at him, and he adds,
Sir.
I complete my list as he walks away:

a Chinese

Next I find Monsieur de Monty. We may have scurvy aboard, I say, then tell him about Hamon's legs. Also, I suggest, we should assign some meaningful tasks to Fran
ç
ois. Like what? Monsieur de Monty asks.
Anything
, I say. Deveau is turning the lad into a drunkard. And then I return to the council room, where I am now, where I am prepared to stay till I have written my way through the disaster. I thought I had only been pretending that the discrepancy in the numbers was an obstacle to completing the report, but the freedom I feel now is not imaginary. My mind is easier. The missing man was not even French.

*   *   *

It is nearly dawn before I finish describing our retreat from the cove and our arrival back at the frigates, and I am wondering again why the natives did not massacre all of us. Their canoes were faster than our small boats under any conditions, much less laden, as we were with forty-nine men, only a few of us uninjured enough to work the oars. They could easily have prevented our leaving the cove, but they did not. We rowed back through the channel in the reef and only a few canoes followed us, heckling us but careful to keep a safe distance from our muskets, whose power they now understood.

When we came in sight of the frigates it was as though nothing had happened, as if we had passed through a nightmare world and would now wake to the safety of our lives aboard the ships. Scores of canoes still surrounded the frigates, and we could see natives on deck visiting and trading with our people. No one on board even noticed us or our distress till we were quite close. We reached the
Astrolabe
first and delivered the injured, then made our way to the
Boussole.
Boutin and I fairly crawled up the side. At any moment I feared one or the other of us might faint and plunge into the sea. He was bleeding from the head and very pale. Later I would discover a gash on my own head, but whether the injury was caused by one of the native's rocks or sustained during our frantic escape, I cannot say.

Once on deck, Boutin saw the commander and cried out, We were attacked, then dropped to his knees. I tried to hold him up, but he is larger than I am and dragged me to the deck with him. An angry cry came from the men, and they ran for their weapons—soldiers for muskets, gunners to their cannons. The commander stood in shocked silence for a moment, then called out, No! Do not fire! Seeing one of the men grab a native on deck, he shouted to let him go, whereupon the frightened native leaped overboard and swam away, followed by the other natives on board. The commander took his trumpet and called over to the
Astrolabe
: Do not fire! I repeat, do not fire! He ordered the survivors brought up from the boats below, had Boutin taken to the sick bay, then turned to me and fixed my face between his hands. What happened? he said. They killed him, I cried. Who? the commander said. The captain, I said, it was the beads, he was trying to help. The commander shook me. Where is Monsieur de Langle? he shouted. He told me to go back to the boats, I said, so I did. Then the commander's face crumpled in grief. No, he said, no, not him, not like this, and I cannot say now whether he held me or I held him, and whether the sobs I heard were mine alone.