[ASAO 2005: “Survival at sea”]

judith huntsman

University of Auckland

 
During several evenings in mid-1976, Konelio Taupe, an Atafu man then 45 years old, told me the story of his adventure with his two age-mates, Mativa Faō and Lale Etueni, over 25 years before. Then they were adventurous schoolboys eager to experience a wider world than their atoll homeland, yet knowledgeable about canoes and winds and, indeed, survival. His story (38 typed pages of text), while repetitive in parts, is well constructed and entertaining. He had told it many times before, but his imagination was constrained because his co-adventurers were around to hold it in check.
 

konelio’s story

Preparations

After pastor’s school one day the three of us hatched a plan to purloin a large outrigger canoe and sail away. We stockpiled 260 drinking coconuts at the lagoon shoreline not far from the village. Then we returned to the village to join the evening festivities of the aumaga ‘body of able-bodied men’, where we sang our farewell song, but the others did not know that. Even later we strolled around the village singing to the accompaniment of a banjo.
At about 2 pm we started to launch the canoe we had selected as our voyaging vessel, adding to our supplies a purloined camp stove and some chickens. During these preparations, one of our age-mates happened by and wanted to join us. He repeatedly undertook to pilfer kerosene needed for the stove. He kept disappearing for a time and returning empty-handed (or with other things in hand). Nearly two hours passed and we got fed up waiting and launched the vessel.

Departure

By that time it was between 4 and 5 am, the moon was shining and dawn would soon break. Indeed, some people were up and about, and they saw us, but did not realise what we were up to. There were other canoes sailing north and south from the village, and we decided that should any canoe approach ours, we would turn towards it and confront it with the weapons we had to hand—a pointed pole, a club and a cane knife. Fortunately no canoe approached.

Sailing off and away

We sailed for a week by my reckoning, never taking down the sail either day or night, with one of us always awake. We sighted masses of fish—shark and marlin. After about two weeks at sea we sighted a ship and tried to hail and intercept it without success. We surmised that they thought we were fishing and that if they thought we were fishing, then we must be close to land.

Sighting land

We had already taken down the sail and now we paddled in the direction to which the ship had disappeared. Perhaps it was three or four days that we paddled before we sighted land. Neither Lale nor I had ever voyaged overseas, so we asked Mativa, who had visited the other Tokelau atolls when he was very young, “Where is this?” Mativa at first pretended to know, first saying it was Fakaofo and second Nukunonu,  but then admitted, “Actually I am not certain—the island is huge. I don’t know what it is.” Anyway, we adjusted the sail and headed towards the island—it was early afternoon as I recall.

The Saga at Sea

The canoe was going along fine, but then suddenly the wind shifted direction, and then it died down. So we took up the paddles. Night descended, say about 7, and we were exhausted from paddling. But we could see lights far away from the villages in the mountains. Of course, we had never seen anything like that before. It seemed that we were close to land when in fact we were still far away. Even though we were exhausted, we carried on paddling. Finally, we put down our paddles and slept—totally exhausted. Well, when morning dawned, the island had disappeared, and when we awoke, the wind! The wind howled and the sea was very high. We asked ourselves, where is that island now? The wind is coming from where? It was in fact coming right from where that island was. Our canoe was left to just drift. The next day at the break of dawn there was no sight of land. So I said, “What’s to be done. Put up the sail again. Let’s sail there.” According to my calculations, it was about 8 in the morning—at least between 7 and 8—as we sailed the canoe towards the setting sun [the west]. Suddenly, at that very time—at 7 or 8—as our canoe was going directly towards the island, but we become fog bound; the fog obscured the island. Immediately we took down the sail and gave thanks to God—asking that He might respond to our prayers, that He might have compassion for us, that we might just land somewhere. Well, time passed—perhaps it was 9 or 10—some time like that—the day was completely dark, it seemed it would be a rainy day. Well, right at that moment the rain descended; it poured down and it was not until 1 or 2 that the rain let up. At the very moment that the rain ceased, there was absolutely no wind. The wind had died completely. As for the sun—the heat of the sun! This was the first time we had encountered such conditions. Our bodies felt absolutely limp—we had no strength. Lale was lying at the bow and Mativa was in the centre and I was at the stern at that time. Well, I just picked up my paddle and paddled. I called out, “Mativa, Mativa, Mativa!” I could not hear Mativa’s voice coming back to me. “Mativa, Mativa, Mativa!” Well Mativa (if you will excuse me), his mouth was wide open and the same for Lale. They were flat on their backs in the canoe’s bilge with their mouths’ wide open—completely overcome—because at that particular time there was absolutely no breeze. The sail was standing, but the lower boom clung to the support pole. The canoe was just a thing lying in the sea not going anywhere. I set about filling the canoe with water, taking up the bailer and pouring water into the canoe up to the level of the faces of those two. I reached out to paddle, but after I don’t know how many strokes, I cast the paddle aside (the paddle was attached by a line to the outrigger). Grasping it again, I cast it away and collapsed on top of the outrigger—exhausted. That day we just waited for the moment when we would expire from weakness. We had absolutely no strength. From time to time I glanced over there, since the wind was staying there.  I looked one time and it was as if the sea was rippling. I thought to myself, “A wind is coming up this way.” Yet what I saw was far away. Looking over I saw a cloud coming up—rising on that side of the horizon. But the thing was, the cloud did not move to the front, but was settling down over there. Perhaps it was when the cloud disappeared that the wind came up. Looking out I saw that a wind was approaching. As soon as the wind reached our canoe, the two others immediately sat up. It was like a miracle. We experienced renewed strength in our bodies, we had returned to our previous state. We spoke together about the dire straits we had reached.

Reaching Land

Our canoe sailed towards land. At that time the sun was probably about there in the sky [motion], and our canoe was reaching right towards land. The coast was just like the leeward side [of Atafu] with no obstructing reef; the canoe just entered, entered straight from the sea. There were no obstacles in approaching land. Then I said, “Someone come here and replace me because I am tired.” Because our canoe is shooting stern first ashore, with my shifting over, I simply moved to sit in the stern [which was then the bow]. We were close by… an islet on the reef was near to us and we approached it. Then we spoke among ourselves, “As soon as we land, we’ll go fishing and see if there are not some fish for us to eat because we are dying of hunger.” As we were punting our canoe over there we saw another canoe coming—coming the same way, heading the same place we were heading. As our canoe is going over, coming. We reached that little islet at the same time—a little islet like Fogālaki i Matagi [a small islet on the northern margin of Atafu]. Going forward we landed there. To my thinking our canoe was as far away as that [pointing], while the canoe of those people was just over there. It was a small canoe carrying three people—two girls and one boy. The girls alighted from the canoe; one pulled out a coconut leaf basket while the other girl had a bunch of bananas in hand. They were now walking to shore. Meanwhile we were beaching our canoe at the shore with the idea that this was Samoa. We thought to ourselves, “Good, we have lots of family in Samoa that we can go to.” As the girls were walking ashore, the two others said to me, “Say hello to the boy in Samoan.” So I spoke out, “Greetings sir!” No—he did not respond. As for the girls, who had not yet reached shore, they just stood there in the sea. The two others told me, “ Shout loudly because he does not hear you.” Again I called out, “Greetings sir!” Nothing at all. Lale broke in at once, Lale now Englished. Lale spoke out to the boy, “Do you know the English language?” Again there was no reply. Now I remarked, “ I doubt that this is Samoa?” This was not Samoa. The two others said to me, “ Try some Tokelau words. Tell him that we are Tokelau boys.” I then said those words—“We are Tokelau boys,” and then the boy walked right towards us. Leaving his canoe and walking over to us, he said, “Samoa?” I responded, “ No, Tokelau.” “Tokelau boys?” he said to me. I replied, “Yes, Tokelau  boys.” The boy shouted out—shouting to the girls, “Tokelau boys.” Then we looked inland where the land rose up. As we looked over, it was crowded with people. Many people lived here. The boy shouted to the girls, “Tokelau boys.” Then the girls shouted to the people standing here, “Tokelau boys.” The people suddenly rushed up, running up to our canoe, saying to us, “Samoa?” We replied, “No, Tokelau.” “Tokelau?” “Yes.” That is the only thing we understood. “Tokelau”, they said. Well, the only thing we replied, “Yes, Tokelau.” Most of their words we could not understand. Well, right at that moment, we stood down from the canoe. As we stood up, we were unable to walk. While we had walked upon our canoe and not a thing was wrong with our legs. But when we stood upon the earth we were unable to walk. I said to the others that probably it is because all the time the canoe is moving. In my opinion, one always moves with the canoe, but when one stands upon something that does not move, it is as if one walks silly—that’s my reasoning. Women walked over to us and told us to raise our arms. We raised our arms over their shoulders and they led us inland. As for us we were walking completely silly. When we took a step forward, our legs were loose and limp. Well, we went inland.
 
The story continues, telling of how they were well received by their hosts, their experiences in Uvea as guests of King Lavelua, their efforts to avoid deportation to New Caledonia, their time in New Caledonia and their return via Fiji and Samoa to Tokelau—all in considerable detail.  I have abridged all this, and used my own words instead of translating the Tokelau text.

 

Initial Reception

They were taken to a house to eat and quickly became aware of cultural/language differences. A Catholic grace was said. There was no coconut offered to accompany the fish and chicken. They were told to fano misa—in Tokelauan ‘go fight’ but in Uvean ‘attend Mass’. But their hosts were generous, providing them with fresh clothing, bedding and a massage from head to foot.

King Lavelua’s Village

During the night they were visited by Frenchman, who spoke and understood some English, who inquired on behalf of the Governor how they had come to be there. They lied that they had been fishing and their canoe cast away and fortunately came to land here. He escorted them to the village where King Lavelua resided. They travelled in the Tokelau canoe, which was large enough to transport the 30 or so people accompanying them.
The wharf of the village was massive to Tokelau eyes; a vessel could tie up right at its side. The wharf was swarming with people and an opening had to be made for them to walk through. Mihele, the pālagi, inquired how long they had been without food or drink. They figured they had not eaten for 12 days and had nothing to drink for six days. They were cautioned to eat only thin, watery food, and brought bread and a little tin of chicken. They were again dressed and prepared to go to the King’s place, accompanied by the party that came with them. Upon their arrival they all danced. When the three boys danced, they lurching this way and that, as if drunken. The King, who had been upstairs in his two-storied house, appeared halfway down the stairs and the people outside scattered. He talked and talked and then went upstairs again. They had not the slightest idea what the king was saying. Mihele explained that the king was angry because obviously they were exhausted and had been brought to dance rather than brought to sleep. Beds were readied for them at the King’s house and as soon as they lay down they were fast asleep. They did not awake themselves but were awakened late the following morning. The King arranged for a person named Kāni to accompany and stay with them, to talk and help them understand the language because they could not understand him and he could not understand them.

Re-building the Catholic Church

After nearly two weeks, the King said to them that they should join the work party enlarging the Church. Their part would be to enliven and entertain the men working, as the women and girls were doing. So they went to entertain the workers with dance. When they arrived the kava was prepared, the cup of the King was first, their cups were next and thereafter the chiefs and spokesmen of the village. The king announced that the dancing would begin. As the boys began to sing, even before they stood to dance, a line of women and girls walked towards them, bring us all kinds things purchased at the store. Their dance began at the 8 in the morning and they did not rest until noon. By then there was a great pile of clothes and all kinds of other things—mirrors and strings of beads—presented to them as they danced. They danced again from 1 until 4. This routine continued until the work was completed.

The Tokelau Canoe Incident

The boy’s canoe was beached right in front of the king’s house. Suddenly a lorry full of pālagi appeared, came right up to the canoe, began to picked it up, put it on the lorry and drive away. The King went over and stopped the lorry, asking why they were taking away the canoe and saying no right to the canoe, because the boys had given it to him. A soldier replied that the Governor told them to come and take away the canoe. The King told them to leave without the canoe. The lorry went away, but shortly returned with the soldiers in battle dress and a machine gun. When the King enquired what they intended, they responded that they had come to fight. Immediately the conch trumpet of Uvea called Foafoa sounded—the conch rarely sounded and only in a crisis. Uvea had many guns—six-shooters and rifles from America—along with Uvean fighting weapons—daggers and spears and knives, and the Uveans numbered in the 1000s. King Lavelua telephoned the Governor, threatening to start fighting and the Governor, Hionepoe, immediately apologised for his unthinking and rash actions. He quickly came over in his car. Lavelua said that he was satisfied and they were mutually satisfied. They agreed that the canoe would remain with Lavelua as it had been given to him by the Tokelau boys.
Actually, the canoe was only used one day when there was a sailing regatta. It came first even though it was much smaller than the Uvean canoes. It was never used again.

Meetings with Governor Hionepoe

They continued living in the King’s house. One day a Tongan girl who worked at the Governor’s office arrived with the message that the Governor wished them to pay a call. They told the King and he said they should go and return. They said they were afraid because of the incident of the canoe, but the King said that was all resolved. So they went and chatted with then Governor for awhile and then returned.
Another day the Governor requested their presence. When they arrived he read them a cable forwarded by the British Consul in New Caledonia. The cable was from the Atafu Faipule Iohia and read, “I appeal to you concerning three of my boys. When the ship stops there, send back my three boys on it.” Hionepoe said that they must prepare to leave as soon as the ship arrived. The boys did not want to leave, claiming that they were now Frenchmen rather than Englishmen. (They did not say they each had a girl-friend.) Hionepoe dismissed this argument.

In Holding and in Hiding

They decided among themselves that they would not leave, that when the ship arrived they would run away. By this time, the three of them had jobs. Konelio and Lale were working one place and Mativa at another. [Mativa disappears from the story at this point, because he was separated from the two others from this point on.]
One day the lorry that was carrying Konelio and Lale to a job was stopped near Governor Hionepoe’s office by the girl who worked for him. She said that Hionepoe wanted to see them. Shortly after they entered the office, a door opened and in walked a French officer with a revolver who told them to raise their hands. They realised they could not do anything else since soldiers with rifles stood in back of the officer, who pocketed his revolver and took out handcuffs. They were handcuffed, taken away and locked in a room where fuel was stored. They were furious. However, they were well looked after and well fed, spending the day from 8 am in the fuel store and after 5 pm locked in the Governor’s office. The fifth day they plotted to escape from the fuel store. They escaped by climbing to the top of the wall on a ladder and then simultaneously jumping outside and taking off. They were immediately pursued as they ran along the path to the river. Konelio told Lale to follow behind him, but Lale did not. Konelio came to a damp place and confused his footprints by walking backwards and all about to fool his pursuers. Then he dug a hole and lay down in the mud with only his nose exposed. After quite a while his pursuers disappeared. As he was going to bathe in the river, he heard girls speaking about Lale and they told him that the soldiers had captured Lale. It seems that Mativa had also gone missing and the Governor had decreed that the ship would not sail unless all the boys were on board. Konelio realised that Lale was now detained, and probably Mativa too, and decided that he would show himself. So he went towards the barracks, all muddy as he was. He found Lale there sobbing because he had been captured and both Konelio and Mativa had not, so he would be taken away and the two others would stay. Lale explained how he had been betrayed and captured. Konelio mildly abused him and then said that really they should return to their parents and families.
At this point a wealthy Englishman living in Uvea named Patelise intervened. After conversing with the French officer, Patelise took them to his very large house under construction. Where the floor of the house had not yet been laid there was a large hole dug. The officer had said they were to go down in the hole, which would be covered over with roofing iron and weighted with boulders. Patelise disagreed with these instructions. He told them go into the hole for two minutes and then climb out—satisfying the officer’s instructions. This they did and when they emerged Patelise, citing their common British nationality, admonished them, telling them they should comply with his instructions and go home. As if testing them, he told them to go, bathe, shave and return. When they did return he was both surprised and grateful. He then provided them with clothing etc., and told them they he could not disobey the officer but would make them comfortable in the hole. He particularly gave them cigarettes and matches, which they secreted in various places. When the officer came to inspect he found them smoking and snatched away the cigarettes, found some cigarettes they had hidden—but not all, broke them up and threw them aside. Words in French were exchanged between the officer and Patelise, who winked at them and said he would deal with the officer.

Departure

What transpired was that they were taken aboard the ship and confined there. In the ship was a huge steel room where prisoners were confined and they were initially confined there, but after three hours they were taken to the captain’s room. The captain abused them for their behaviour, saying that if he had his way they would really suffer. He was really angry it seemed. He would read his book for awhile and then look at them and say “Ha, Ha!”, mocking them and making them just sit there. During their time below they thought they would expire from the heat and lack of air, and now they sat still in the captain’s quarters still wet and being threatened. But suddenly the captain changed. He gave them fresh clothing and sent for some food for them. He gave them cigarettes and told them to tell him when they were tired. When they were, he summoned a policeman who took them to a large storeroom at the stern where they found places to sleep. The policeman opened the windows, but locked the door and checked on them regularly. The next morning they were again taken to the captain who decreed that they would henceforth remain in the wheel-room, in his quarters. When it came time for the ship to depart, the captain told them to farewell their friends ashore from on board. They wept at leaving their girl friends who they had not seen since they were locked up.

New Caledonia

The ship called at Futuna, Male, Lifu and New Hebrides before arriving at New Caledonia. Ashore they were the last passengers, wondering where they should go, when a consular officer arrived late. From a list of instructions he took them shopping for clothes and suitcases. Then he took them to a hotel, showed them to their room and explained about laundry and room service and bathing. He also showed them where they were to eat—a place full of pālagi and not a single black or Polynesian. [There follows a long description of their experience in the hotel dining room.]
After three or four days they decided to look for work in order to make some money. They encountered a Uvean man as they set out who took them to an employment office. The officer there asked them what kind of work they wanted and they said they wanted work that paid a lot of money. After pondering for awhile, he said that they could make a lot of money working in the gold mines, but that the work was very hard and dangerous. They agreed nonetheless and the man prepared their papers for which they had to make thumb and big-toe prints, and name their parents, pastor, village authority, etc. After this was all done he instructed them to pack their bags and ready themselves, and that they would be picked up the following morning at 6 to go to work. But just as they were finishing packing up, the telephone rang. It was the Consul informing them that they would be leaving New Caledonia for Fiji at 8 the following morning. They discussed what they were going to do. If they stayed in New Caledonia they would make a lot of money—but they recalled the man’s words about dying. They concurred that they would not take up the jobs but return to their parents, who after all had been anxious about them for so long.

To Fiji and Samoa

In any case the work vehicle did not arrive, and the car arrived from the Consul at 7 the following morning. They arrived at the wharf and there caught a powerboat that took them to the flying boat that flew them to Fiji. Again on their arrival they did not know where to go until they were recognised by a man in a jacket and tie who was a LMS pastor named Aketi who had been asked by the Governor to look after them. In Fiji they visited Suva and rural villages for about 10 days. On the Saturday they were summoned to the Governor’s office where they were again given clothing—specifically matching clothing to wear when they flew to Samoa. On Sunday at midnight they went to Nadi by car accompanied by Dr Iona ,arriving at 8 in the morning. They were the only passengers on the plane.
At Samoa they were first met by policemen. The captain asked them if they were Fijian or Samoan and they pretended that they were Uvean—speaking Uvean. He was rather annoyed and was filling out their travel documents when Poutoa, a Samoan with responsibility for Tokelau, appeared. They identified themselves to him. When he said to come with him, the policeman asked which prison he was taking them to. Poutoa asked on whose instructions they were to go to prison. The policeman said that they had been instructed to await prisoners at the airport. Poutoa said that this was none of their business, that only he had authority in this matter. They argued back and forth, and Poutoa won. So they departed in a taxi with Poutoa. Konelio was taken straight to the hospital because he had come down with pneumonia in Fiji. He stayed there for a month recovering and was regularly visited by Poutoa and Lale.

Return to Atafu

They waited three months in Samoa for the boat to Tokelau.
“Upon our arrival we were walking on the reef-flat (the reef passage had not yet been made) where they encounter Viliamu and Faō. They told us, “We all will go and you two will apologise to Enosa.” (This was because the canoe they took belonged to Enosa’s family.) “You two will go and apologise to him about the canoe because you took it and the canoe is no more.”
We approached, we went and kneeled in front of  Enosa. Suddenly, Muna [Enosa’s brother] was furious. He said to us, “Why do you to come here kneeling like that? It is as if you two are prisoners, coming and kneeling like that. That’s just how it is. Just how it is. If the canoe of our family was taken by you all. That’s just how it is. What can be done about it? Is it as if you can return the canoe?  That’s the way it is, the canoe is gone. Now I am not pleased because the two of you have come and bowed like that before us. As for the two of you, long ago—indeed the very day that you left, you had been forgiven for that thing that you did. Let us thank God, because we have again met.”
After that meeting, we went at once to our parents. Our parent wept at our arrival, and the village and the families rejoiced. The only thing that made this joy of the village and families incomplete was that one person was still away. [Mativa returned a month later after having spent time in Niue.]
 

remarks

This tale of voyaging and adventure has a happy ending—return and forgiveness. Many such planned or accidental adventures at sea have no stories to tell—the voyagers simply disappear. Two things make survival at sea more likely: a supply of green drinking coconuts and a Tokelau canoe, preferably with a sail. People who have been castaway or motored away in aluminium runabouts do not long survive the day’s heat and the night’s cold in these vessels that when not under power are quite unstable.
To purposely sail away is called tāgavaka. The motivation of those who do so is usually to escape an untenable situation, most often involving sexual acts or desires, and only occasionally to seek adventure elsewhere, as in Konelio’s story above. To be blown off course or castaway is called lēlea. Tokelau history records several such incidents of canoes voyaging between the atolls and being cast away after encountering contrary winds and currents. Colonial authorities prohibited inter-atoll voyaging in the 20th century. I know of no stories of fishing canoes being cast away. They do not go out of sight of land, and are aware of their location when squalls do come up suddenly and the atoll is not in sight.
In mid-1971, a canoe was fishing off the southern end of Atafu when a squall suddenly arose. The fishermen were probably less vigilant than they might have otherwise been because they had just captured two mating turtles and landed them on the canoe’s outrigger, but they reacted immediately the squall struck. They dropped into the sea and clung to the canoe, their bodies acting as sea-anchors. When the squall passed, they were out of sight of land, but they knew that they had been swept in a northerly direction parallel to the atoll’s reef and a westerly direction away from land. They boarded their canoe and paddled easterly. On shore, there was concern and a runner was sent along the western margin of the reef to see if they had come ashore, canoes were launched to search the sea to the west and young men climbed the taller coconut palms to look out. The searching canoes and the fishing canoe soon encountered one another, the lookouts announced their approach and they came ashore, the two turtles on their backs still roped to the canoe’s outrigger and a good catch of fish in its hull. People were prepared and knew what to do, both at sea and on shore.
Since motor-driven aluminium runabouts have become ubiquitous in Tokelau, losses of fishermen at sea have become a concern. Incautious young men have gone fishing without paddles, have enthusiastically chased school of fish out of sight of land, have run out of petrol or had engine failures. Search planes have found some; others have tragically disappeared.