Dawn of Steam: Gods of the Sun (17 page)

From the journals of Gregory Conan Watts,

May 8th, 1816

37º03' S 175º53' E

We have made our first contact with the natives of New Zealand. We were there only one night when they came upon us. At first it was only a scout or two, moving furtively among the trees. Out of habit and concern, I believe Eddy nearly fired upon them, for we have all heard plenty of stories of these strange and savage peoples, reputed to have killed so many mariners in the exploratory age before our time. Caution and the possibility that they may not be hostile stayed his hand, and now we are glad for that.

After those first forays, through the next day these sightings became more common. Quick as darting hares, they would appear, take in the sight of us, and disappear again. As quick and quiet as they are, it is possible they watched us through the night. I do not know.

It is hard to say how long it took before their courage increased again, for the sun is constantly clouded here, the skies everywhere a uniform ashen gray, and the sunrise comes slowly, the sunset early in the day. Sometime, I suspect, around the noon hour, when we were cautiously lunching, under guard, the first of them emerged out onto the beach. Four of them in all – and such a sight to see! Dark-skinned, with painting and tattoos of some sort of deathly white pigment, dressed in furs and dark dyed cloths in the most primitive fashion imaginable, teeth bared, eyes intent.

Miss Bowe bade us lower our guns and wait. She called to them in weird syllables, though even she admits that her grasp of their tongue is poor and slow. Still, it had their attention. The lot of them gibbered among themselves a few moments, then returned to staring. She called once more; they responded – and then disappeared again. When asked what had been said, all she would tell us is that they were trying to determine if we were devils or not. She did not explain how literally we should take that statement.

Some hours later, Eddy gave warning again of movement, and after observing for a while, Miss Bowe instructed everyone to gather, armed, take positions, and keep their guns down, but to be ready. How long we waited like that, again, I cannot be certain and would doubtless guess much longer than it actually was. We had to steady ourselves, for some people were assuredly all nerves by that point, but per instructions, we kept our guns lowered.

Just as we had settled ourselves, they emerged, slowly, uncertainly, but showing themselves even so. It had grown dark enough to help conceal their presence, doubtless part of the point, but right now, with the darkness being so common, that does not mean very much. When they first emerged, they had spears leveled at their front ranks, and we could see a few muskets among them, as well as less identifiable weapons. Only the glint of light off the muskets gave away any idea as to the depth of their ranks, but that was enough to tell us that this could quickly become a difficult stand, and our unready posture would give us a slow start.

An apparent leader stepped forward, lifting one hand. At that signal, a few others broke ranks and moved forward with him, while most of the others raised their spears and pointed their muskets towards the ground.

A few guns were still upon us, but at too great a range to worry us overly, and it was then that I got some idea that these guns were new to them. Certainly they had the idea down, knowing how to point them, how to operate them, how to make a threat of them, but they were still intimidated enough by the idea of these weapons that they had not figured out how far a musket can or cannot fire with any real danger to the target. It was also quite possible that they had muskets, but no way to readily obtain new musket balls or powder, so every bit of ammunition needed to be spent wisely. While there were still too many by far for any comfort, I was slightly less worried than before.

The one who had raised his hand gestured to others, and soon four men came forward. These few were somewhat more tattooed and painted than the rest, adorned with bones and other ornamentations not common to the rest. I took these to be some sign of status, but the leader, or warleader, or whoever he was, intelligently remained back from the rest and waited. He called then, in that weird tongue of theirs, and the four who came forward placed their weapons down in the dirt, taking another ten steps towards us from where they'd set the weapons. Near enough that they might have been able to at least die armed if we turned out to be hostile.

Though they greatly outnumbered us, I got the idea that they were as nervous about our presence here as we were about theirs, and that Miss Bowe, again, had some idea what she was talking about. The show of arms was needed to demonstrate we could be dangerous enough to demand respect, but we did not intend to harm them.

Miss Bowe called out to them as well, then stepped forward cautiously. For the first time since the royal ball, she willingly disarmed herself, carefully placing all of her knives in the dirt, one after another. That she had no gun upon her seemed to alarm some of the strange Maori warriors, especially those with guns and the odd throwing weapons. Those armed with spears and other weapons of close combat nodded amongst themselves, and several grinned – a most discomforting sight on their strange and decorated visages, to be sure. She walked ten steps from her knives and showed open hands.

It followed in a slow process. They would slowly creep further from their arms while she did the same, before she finally was only a meter, perhaps, from them. Then she sat down, cross-legged, in the dirt, and waited. They did the same. Her words were halting
, even in their rapid gibberish. I could tell that this was not a tongue that came easily to her, the way the Apsáalooke and the South Americans' Spanish had. At least she spoke it still, and yet again, I wondered what sort of man this Dr. Bowe was. How had they traveled so far without a dirigible, and who would commit a small child to that kind of journey? Still, there could be no doubt of it, for there is no way their words could be put to writing. I am sure there is no way to learn the tongue but to be surrounded by it, even for a brief time.

They spoke rapidly among themselves at first, and she grew angry, insisting they slow down. I believe I could at least understand that much. Though somewhat uncomfortable, they waved off the people who had suddenly lifted their weapons then – these are a jumpy and nervous people indeed – and with the gesture, they settled in once again.

The talks went on like that for a very long time. They would address each other in quick, sharp words and streams of gibberish, then speak slowly to her. She would work her tongue around their words and respond, slow and hesitant, as if wanting to guard every word and make sure she could not say the wrong thing. Though she was as calm as ever, I cannot imagine that it was not a nerve-wracking thing, to have so many lives hanging upon an unfamiliar language. No matter how long it went on, however, I do not think any of them much moved from their positions, and certainly none relaxed. I am even more certain that we did not, for I know I was expecting an attack at any moment – and do not believe I was at all alone.

It was full night, such that even those who had emerged from cover appeared little more than shadows. Had they attacked then, I am sure only Eddy could have been sure of hitting anything on his first shot, and then they would be upon us. Still, the four who had come forward raised their open hands, rising to their feet in a slow, uncomfortable fashion, keeping their hands far from their belts. Miss Bowe did likewise, careful to keep her open hands displayed, and she and they moved, almost mirroring one another, until they had reached their weapons.

It was almost a ceremony then, as they rearmed themselves, but did not ever look away from the other side for more than a moment. They would replace a weapon, returning it to hand, or belt, or knife sheath, and then display their open hands again.

Finally, she stepped backwards, not looking at us, the final three meters, and spoke quietly.

“They will meet again with us tomorrow for a morning meal. If we've done them no violence and do not poison their food, then we can talk for real.”

I do not want to know what all of the earlier slow conversation and nervous gesturing was if that was what they had established, but I have also seen politics between lawyers and educated men move far slower. Perhaps they knew something of civilization after all.

I cannot imagine that I will sleep at all tonight, imagining what breakfast may bring.

Letter from Heathsville, Northumberland County, Virginia Colony Archives, Wright Collection.

May 8th, 1816

Dear Everyone,

Another letter that will have to be sent with the last. Mama dear, by the time I get to a post office, I might be mailing you a book. I know, however, that you think lady novelists to be scandalous, so it shall simply be a large bundle of letters.

In good news, I must state that we have now landed for repairs in the area Dr. Bowe described so blissfully – and yet possibly blasphemously – as '
Eden
on
Earth'
in his most controversially titled journal. And, having seen the lush lands flying over, I must say it may very well be true.              

In bad news, we will not be exploring Eden, since it comes with the corollary piece,
The
Deadliest
People
on
Earth
. Having seen the locals, I will take his word, trust his judgment, and stay aboard to make repairs. It is, I know, such a sensible decision, just when you had despaired of my ever displaying a whit of sense.

Repairs would, admittedly be easier with supplies of some sort. I have seen my dear cousin gazing about the
Dame Fortuna
in contemplation. We may soon be disassembling the ship in order to reassemble the ship. Yet another reason to miss dear James: I have to hold all of the bolts myself.

Mrs. Fisher stopped by. I haven't really had the time to ask for her advice lately, but she knocked and said hello. She said the charcoal chemise was a good choice for engine overhaul. That was very nice to hear.

Your Loving Daughter,

Harriet Wright              

May 9th, 1816

37º03' S 175º53' E

My Dearest Cordelia,

We have met with the locals of this land for breakfast, and while it was hardly a civil affair, or even quite what we might recognize as a meeting over a meal, we seem to have made strides. Our men and Miss Bowe alone were allowed to meet with them, with those women who chose to do so serving the food and drink. Though I could certainly not report on the meaning of any of it, their women, who go about bare-chested – it made us quite uncomfortable, to be certain – had some sort of ceremony and precision to how they served. Based upon what I have heard from Miss Bowe, not all wives here are entirely willing, and sometimes marriages, such as they recognize them, are used to seal pacts and peace, so not everyone is always perfectly certain that their new wife or slave can be entirely trusted. So they watch, hold conventions that often present their hands, and show the food before they simply eat, at least at such formal occasions as this. In closer proximity, many of them seem quite lean, a few almost gaunt, and they have very few elders and children among them, and there are only a few who show signs of marriage.

Miss Bowe talked with them very slowly for breakfast, for she does not speak the language well. That she speaks it at all seems a near miracle, for it is incomprehensible to the rest of us. Even hearing so much of it in the morning, I cannot say I understand any more of it. By the end of breakfast, she seemed to have remembered a few more details, or perhaps just re-familiarized herself with its pacing and flow once more, for she was speaking more rapidly, though still slow and measured compared to all of the men we were with.

We learned that their tribe was at war with at least one other, though Miss Bowe has taken them to mean that they have a number of other groups they are at war with, and that territory is very much in dispute among the tribes. Though it has been going for so long as most of them remember, the elders of their tribe have said that this has been a time – or generation – of great change. At one time, while suspicious of outsiders and proudly quite capable of the arts of war, they were primarily farmers and gatherers, with many tribes spread apart enough that war was occasional.

England gave the first official reports of this land, but expansion here was halted during the colonial conflict and the war with Napoleon. While we were sitting idle, the French came here, first forcing the natives back, then giving them no option save to trade or perish. While this trade certainly benefited France, it changed this land. Hard as it may be to imagine, the oldest of these people still regard the potato as a new thing, and it changed a great deal. They grow well in this soil and take up less land than the crops native to the people. And so they needed fewer farmers and more warriors to protect this 'wonder' they had received from the French.

Seeking to strengthen their trade partners, the French armed those tribes most friendly to them with muskets and gave them more potatoes. The tribes then needed more land on which to grow these things. They built structures in the manner the French had, in pale imitation. They made defenses, and they trained more young men to fight, while women and slaves became farmers. This, before us, is their first generation to grow this way, with far more men who know their ways of war and fewer farmers.