The Sea Inside

of the unknown, carved by the bone of a whale. Both men are comet-like, almost extraterrestrial. Their miraculous appearances seem to foretell the future: in Queequeg’s case, the fate of the
Pequod
and her misguided crew; in Kupe’s case, the fate of his warring island nation. When he witnesses his crewmate’s heroic act, Ishmael is beyond admiration. ‘From that hour I clove to Queequeg like a barnacle; yes, till poor Queequeg took his last long dive.’ So too Kupe and Reynolds were bound to one another.
    Te Pehi Kupe was born at Kawhia on the North Island around 1795, making him about thirty years old when he met Captain Reynolds and Dr Traill. He had two wives, one son and five daughters. In 1821 he had joined his nephew, Te Rauparaha – destined to become New Zealand’s most famous chief – in raiding the fortified
pas
of rival
iwi
. They took Kapiti in a vicious battle, only after four of Kupe’s own children were killed. The island became their stronghold, its warriors armed with muskets acquired from the whalers who continued to arrive in their thousands to kill whales even as these bloody land wars were in progress. And it was in pursuit of that internecine conflict, and perhaps to steal a march on his nephew, that Kupe left Kapiti, for England.
    Arriving in Liverpool, with a M ā ori in tow, Reynolds found himself out of work, his employers having declared bankruptcy. No one would have blamed him if he’d given Kupe a few shillings and left him at Prince’s Dock to fend for himself; or if he’d done as precedent suggested and exhibited his friend for a fee, much as one might do with a stranded whale. That Reynolds did neither was a measure of the two men’s attachment – one which Dr Traill witnessed for himself. On his visits, the doctor observed that Kupe became upset if parted from Reynolds for more than an hour; his loyalty was absolute, and he even moved the captain’s luggage into his own room, ‘for fear his friend and protector should be carried away from him’.
    On examination, the patient was found to be ‘yet in the vigour of life … His face was intelligent and pleasing, though so much tattooed that scarcely any part of its original colour remained visible. Indeed, every part of his body was plentifully covered with these marks.’ Like Queequeg, whose skin resembled a quilted bedcover it was so patterned (‘Good heavens! what a sight! Such a face! It was of a dark, purplised, yellow color, here and there stuck over with large, blackish looking squares’), Kupe exuded a physical appeal in Traill’s admiring account: ‘His finely muscular arms, in particular, were furrowed by a great many single black lines; and these, he said, denoted the number of the wounds he had received in battle.’ And like Queequeg, too, Kupe’s usually equable temper could occasionally flare. When a sailor on
Urania
had insulted him, ‘he rushed upon the man, seized him by the neck and the waistband of the trowsers, and after holding him for some moments above his head, dashed him on the deck with great violence’. The scene recurs in
Moby-Dick
, when Queequeg catches a ‘young sapling’ mimicking him behind his back. He promptly tosses him in the air like a caber. Reprimanded by the captain for nearly killing the miscreant, the warrior prince replies, laconically, ‘Ah! him bery small-e fish-e; Queequeg no kill-e so small-e fish-e; Queequeg kill-e big whale!’
    Dr Traill and Kupe went riding together, a remarkable enough image. For his part, it was claimed that the first time he saw men on horseback, Kupe appeared astounded, like the Aztecs when they first encountered the conquistadors; although, aware of his place in the drama, perhaps the visitor was performing to his role, too. In many of his reported reactions to English manners and customs, it seems as if the M ā ori was trying to please his hosts with his ‘savage ways’. When he found himself surrounded by immense crowds in the streets, Kupe acknowledged them by touching his hat and shaking their hands. He had become a personality, and his likeness was recorded by an artist, John Sylvester. The process fascinated the sitter, who insisted that his tattoos should be accurately copied. His
moko
was his identity, especially the markings over the upper part of his nose, which represented his name (although, ironically, that name was Westernised as Tupai Cupai). Kupe drew the
mokos
of his brother and son, and pointed out the