James Cook.
As for the recruits, Mr. Hawkins simply greeted them with a “Good day.”
There is reason to admit that their demeanor did not make a better impression on him than on Mr. Gibson. They could have, however, with no trouble, been permitted to go ashore. They would not have had the idea of deserting after forty-eight hours of navigation, and they would certainly have returned before the departure of the brig. Vin Mod had worked them over well, and despite the presence of Mr. Hawkins and Nat Gibson, they were quite sure that some occasion would present itself to take over the ship. It would be a bit more difficult. But what is impossible to people who have no faith, no law, and are determined not to back down from any crime?
After an hour, during which Mr. Hawkins and Mr. Gibson examined the books of the trip, the captain announced that the brig would put to sea the next day at dawn. The shipowner and Nat Gibson would return that evening to take possession of their cabin, to which they had already sent their baggage.
However, before getting back to the dock, Mr. Gibson asked Flig Balt if he had no reason to return to land:
“No, Captain,” replied the bosun. “I prefer to remain on board. It’s wiser to keep an eye on the crew.”
“You’re right, Balt,” said Mr. Gibson. “Anyway, the cook will have to go pick up the provisions.”
“I’ll send him, Captain, and if needed, two men with him.”
All was agreed upon, and the dinghy that had brought the shipowner and his two companions brought them back to the dock. From there they returned to the office, where Mr. Balfour was waiting. He joined them for lunch.
During the meal, they discussed business. Up to now, the voyages of the James Cook had been among the most lucrative, and it was showing good profits.
The great coastline trade had, indeed, developed remarkably well in this part of the Pacific. Germany, having taken possession of the neighboring archipelagoes of New Guinea, had opened up new opportunities for trade.15 It was not without reason that Mr. Hawkins had established relations with Mr. Zieger, his correspondent from New Ireland, now Neu-Mecklenburg. The office that he had founded in Wellington was meant especially to build these relations through the attention of Mr. Balfour and Nat Gibson, who would be installed next to him in a few months.
Lunch out of the way, Mr. Gibson wanted to take care of the provisions for the brig that the cook could pick up that afternoon: canned goods, fowl, pork, flour, dry beans, cheeses, beer, gin and sherry, coffee and spices of various sorts.
“Father, you can’t leave until I’ve taken your picture!” declared Nat.
“Not again,” called out the captain.
“There, old friend,” Mr. Hawkins added, “we are both obsessed with the demon of photography, and we give people no rest until they pose in front of our lens. So you have to submit gracefully!”
“But I already have two or three portraits at home, in Hobart Town!”
“Fine, this’ll make one more,” replied Nat Gibson. “And since we leave tomorrow, Mr. Balfour will take charge of sending it to mother in the next mail.”
“Agreed,” Mr. Balfour said.
“See, Father,” resumed the young man, “a portrait is like a fish! It has no value unless it’s fresh! Just think, now you are ten months older than when you left Hobart Town, and I’m sure you don’t look like your last photograph, the one over the fireplace of your room.”
“Nat is right,” confirmed Mr. Hawkins, laughing. “I barely recognized you this morning!”
“For heaven’s sake!” Mr. Gibson exclaimed.
“No, I assure you! There’s nothing that changes you more than ten months of navigation at sea!”
“Go ahead, my child,” replied the captain, “here I am ready for the sacrifice.”
“And what attitude are you going to take?” asked the shipowner in a pleasant tone. “That of the sailor departing or of the sailor arriving? Will it be the commander’s posture, his arm extended toward the horizon, his hand holding the sextant or the telescope, or the pose of the master second only to God?”
“Either one you want, Hawkins.”
“And then, while you’re posing in front of our camera, try to think of something! That gives more expression to your face! What will you be thinking about?”
“I’ll be thinking of my dear wife,” answered Mr. Gibson, “of my son … and of you … my friend.”
“So, we’d have a magnificent print.”
Nat Gibson owned one of those portable cameras, top of the line, that produce the negative in a few seconds. Mr. Gibson’s photo was very successful, so it seems, according to what his son said when he had examined the negative, and the print would be left in the care of Mr. Balfour.16
Mr. Hawkins, the captain, and Nat then left the office in order to buy everything needed for a voyage of nine or ten weeks. Warehouses are not scarce in Wellington, and one can find diverse maritime supplies: foodstuffs, sea instruments, tackle, pulleys, ropes, spare sails, fishing equipment, barrels of grease and tar, caulking and carpenter’s tools. But except for replacing a few ropes and chains, the needs of the brig were limited to that of food for the passengers and crew. This was quickly bought, paid for, then sent to the James Cook, as soon as the sailors Wickley and Hobbes and the head cook had arrived.
At the same time, Mr. Gibson completed the formalities that are obligatory for every ship upon entry and departure. Therefore, nothing would prevent the brig from weighing anchor, more fortunate than several other ships of commerce whose crew desertions held them in port at Wellington.
New Zealand dug-out canoes*
Maoris (photo: J. Valentine & Sons, Dundee)
During his trips across the city, in the midst of a very busy populace, Mr. Hawkins and his companions met a certain number of Maoris from the surrounding region.17 Their numerical importance has diminished greatly in New Zealand, like Australians in Australia, and above all Tasmanians in Tasmania, since the last specimens of this latter race have practically disappeared.
They number today but some forty natives on the northern island and scarcely two thousand on the southern one. These Maoris keep busy mostly with market gardening, principally with the cultivation of fruit trees, whose products are very abundant and of excellent quality.
The men are a handsome sort and boast an energetic character and a constitution that is both robust and healthy. In comparison, the women seem inferior. In any case, one must get used to seeing this “weaker” sex walk the streets, pipe in mouth and smoking more than the “strong” sex. It is also not surprising that the exchange of civilities with Maori women is very difficult since, according to custom, it is not just a question of saying “hello” or of shaking hands, but of rubbing noses.
These
