Portrait of Omai - Sue Purkiss

In recent months, you may have read about a drive to keep in Britain a portrait by Sir Joshua Reynolds of a young Polynesian man called Omai, or Mai. The portrait, painted in 1776 or thereabouts, carries the massive price tag of fifty million pounds. The owner is unknown: the price, apparently, is in line with market values. It is at present at the National Portrait Gallery. The government blocked an export licence for the painting for some months on the grounds not just of its quality, but also of its historic significance. No British buyer, or consortium of buyers, was able to raise the full price: but it seems that a deal has been brokered with the J Paul Getty Museum in California, whereby the painting will alternate between that museum and the NPG. It's not ideal for a painting to be shipped across the ocean - but perhaps, in a way, it's fitting: because that's exactly what happened to its subject.

Joshua Reynolds' portrait of Omai.

So who was Omai, and why is he such a significant figure? Well, he was a young man in his early twenties, who came from a Polynesian island called Huahine, not far from Tahiti. His father had been killed during ongoing disputes with another island, Bora Bora, and he wanted revenge. We would have known nothing about him had it not been for the fact that in the 1770s, Captain James Cook, highly-skilled navigator and map-maker, was exploring the Pacific. Specifically, he had been tasked by the British Government with mapping the Transit of Venus, an important astronomical event. Observations of this occurence would be highly valuable for future calculations, and needed to be made from a number of sites all over the world - including in the south seas.

Captain James Cook an official portrait from 1777.

Now at this time, little was known about the vast Pacific Ocean or the lands which bordered on it. But Cook had just returned from a voyage to the area, and he and the gentleman botanist, Joseph Banks, who had accompanied him, were the talk of the town because of their thrilling and exotic discoveries. They had spent a good while on the island of Tahiti - or Otaheite, as it was first known to them. Banks in particular had thrown himself into the Tahitian lifestyle with great enthusiasm, taking full advantage of Tahitian society's very different approach to sexual mores in particular. Tahiti seemed to the British sailors like Paradise, with its balmy climate, its lush and beautiful vegetation and seas, and its friendly people. When Cook recived the commission to map the transit, and realised he needed to establish a base in the South Pacific to do so, he knew that Tahiti was the perfect place. And so a second voyage to the south seas was planned.

It was on this second voyage to Tahiti that Cook met Omai. (Omai was the name by which he became known in London: at home he was called Mai, or Mae.) Omai wanted to sail with the British when they set off for home, in the hope of acquiring weapons with which to subdue the Bora-Borans.

Cook himself was not very enthusiastic about the idea. On the first voyage, Cook had agreed to the request of another Tahitian to go with the Europeans when they left: this was Tupia, a skilled navigator and clever individual who knew the islands well and acted as a translator. But on this second voyage, he didn't see the point of taking Omai, who was a pleasant young man but had no particularly useful skills. And perhaps too he foresaw some of the problems that might arise from transplanting Omai from his home to the inconceivably different environment of London.

(Tragically, Tupia and his son had both died without ever reaching Britain: Cook was very careful of the health of his crew, and had taken various measures which successfully combatted the dreaded scourge of scurvy. But when his small fleet stopped at Batavia on the way home for essential repairs and to take on fresh food, they found it to be an unhealthy, disease-ridden place. Not a man had been lost to sickness before they arrived there, but now fever swept through the crew. Many died, including Tupai and his son, and most of the others, including Cook, were weakened by sickness.)

Cook eventually agreed that Omai could come on board. He didn't travel on Cook's ship, The Resolution, but on an accompanying ship, Adventure, commanded by Thomas Furneaux. When he arrived in London, he was taken up enthusiastically by Banks and introduced in society, and quickly became all the rage. London was thrilled by the expoits of Cook and Banks, and by all these exotic new discoveries: it was a thoroughly exciting time when science and art were blossoming, and Banks, young, wealthy and charismatic, (who had not been with Cook on his second voyage), was at the centre of it all. Omai was introduced to the King, George 111 - apparently taking his hand and declaring 'How do, King Tosh!' The King must have been charmed, because he gave Omai an allowance, which enabled him to buy clothes, furniture, a suit of armour and heaven knows what else. And of course, there were the portraits: not only the one by Reynolds, but others, including this one of Omai, Banks and Solander, a fellow botanist and great friend of Banks. Omai must have seemed to a sensation-hungry society like the physical embodiment of the new lands which were being 'discovered': and it couldn't have hurt that he was tall, handsome, and charming.

Omai, Banks and Solander - by William Parry

But he was very young, and not surprisingly, his head was turned by all this attention. The plan had always been for him to be returned home after a few years, and Cook did indeed drop him off back in Polynesia on his third and final voyage to the south seas. According to Vanessa Collingridge, in her informative and entertaining biography of Cook, all did not go well. Cook surmised that Omai would not fit easily back into island life, and so it proved. He showed off his treasures to the islanders, and boasted of his expoits; for their part, they laughed at him and mocked his pretensions, and once he'd given away his newly-acquired riches, they abandonned hime. He hugged Cook when they parted, distraught at having to part from his friends. Cook did his best, had a house built for him and left him with various animals, but it was all to no avail: Omai died two years later - I have not been able to find out in what circumstances.

So what light does this shine on the historic signicance of the portrait? It's not simple, as issues to do with colonialism and empire never are. In an article in The Guardian (7/3/23), Simon Sebag Montefiore writes: 'The figure of Omai... possesses an idealised majesty of the 18th century's "noble savage" combined with a Roman senator's adlocutio dignity amid an idealised Arcadian landscape. Yet Omai's defiant and proud gaze makes him fearlessly himself. In other words, the portrait combines the confidence of Britain on the eve of world power, the majestic dignity of an adventurous Polynesian, the masterpiece of a genius - and the singular thrill of this incandescent meeting of all three.'

Yes, indeed. But I can't help thinking of the young man at the heart of it all. I suppose his experience was rather like that of a modern-day rock-star or footballer, who has to learn how to handle a sudden influx of huge wealth, adulation and fame. Some cope, others don't. Omai didn't. 

And, although Cook respected the indigenous peoples he met - at least to start off with - and sought not to exploit them, he nevertheless left behind unwanted gifts - diseases, animals which he brought with the best of intentions but which had deleterious effects on the native flora and fauna - and so much else that the collision of two such different societies carried with it. Omai's fate can perhaps be seen as a symbol of all that, too: the meeting of indigenous peoples and Europeans has rarely ended well. As, indeed, it didn't for Cook himself: on his third voyage, tired, suffering from ill-health and far from the cool, thoughtful and respectful commander of his first two Pacific voyages, he lost control of a difficult situation and was killed.

Yes - there's a great deal behind the portrait of Omai.

I first became interested in Sir Joseph Banks and Captain Cook when I was researching my children's story about plant-hunting, Jack Fortune and the Search for the Hidden Valley. That period, at the end of the 18th century, is such an interesting one: and Banks was influential in so many ways.

James Cook: The Voyages: at the British Library - by Sue Purkiss

This August, it will be 250 years since James Cook's first voyage to the southern seas. As the introduction to this exhibition states: 'In 1768 the coasts and islands of the pacific, although inhabited for thousands of years, were largely unknown to Europeans. Cook made three voyages and when the third returned to Britain in 1780 most of the blank spaces on European maps had been filled in. Cook's voyages have been celebrated, but also sometimes condemned, ever since.'

Cook's chart of Botany Bay

This points to a difficulty. If you'd looked Cook up in an encyclopaedia when I was a child, it would have told you that he was a hero, a great explorer, who discovered hitherto unknown lands. (A couple of years ago, in a fit of manic decluttering, I got rid of just such a set of encylclopaedias. If I hadn't, I'd be able to quote the appropriate entry to you. There's a lesson there...)

Now, it doesn't look quite that simple.

Cook's first voyage, with the Endeavour, was purportedly to observe the Transit of Venus (now there's a title for a book!) across the face of the sun at Tahiti (or Otaheite, as he knew it), in June 1769. But he also had secret Admiralty orders to search for land in the south Pacific, including the Great Southern Continent, if it indeed existed. If he found land, he was 'to cultivate a Friendship and Alliance' with its inhabitants, to chart its coastline and to investigate its potential in terms of trade. Further, he was 'to take possession of Convenient Situations in the Country in the name of the King of Great Britain' - albeit with the consent of the inhabitants.

Cook and his ship

On that first voyage, he took with him as a naturalist the young Joseph Banks. I've written about Banks in various History Girl posts, and he features in my recent book for children about plant hunting, Jack Fortune and the Search for the Hidden Valley - he was a fascinating and very influential character. He was also tall, handsome, genial, and one of those charismatic people who gets on very well with everybody - whereas Cook was more dour and introverted: they made a good team. So when it came to getting the 'consent of the inhabitants', Banks was a great help. Certainly in Otaheite he threw himself into socialising with the (mostly) welcoming inhabitants with great gusto. He became good friends with Tupaia, the chief priest of the island - so much so that Tupaia asked to accompany the Endeavour when it was time for the visitors to continue their voyage, and did so as a translator and interpreter. Tupaia also drew and painted scenes from their travels, some of which are displayed at the exhibition, alonside many other contemporary images, artefacts, letters and journals. Sadly, both Tupaia and his young son, Tayeto, died when, on the way back to England, after various adventures in Australia and New Zealand, the ship docked at Batavia for repairs: unfortunately Batavia was rife with fever, and almost half of the company, including the two Tahitians, succumbed.

And the exhibition doesn't shy away from revealing that, although Cook was indeed a great explorer who achieved an enormous amount for his country, there was another side to what he did. The lives of the people he 'discovered' were not just touched by his arrival on their shores: they were to be changed forever, even when the intentions of the explorers were good. Tupaia and his son were one example. Another concerns a later voyage, when Cook, meaning to be helpful, presented the Maoris in New Zealand with domesticated animals - sheep, pigs etc. He thought it would make life easier for them if they didn't have to hunt for their food. But the animals had a huge effect on the indigenous flora and fauna, leading to the extinction of a number of native species.

And it was Banks who suggested that Australia would be a good place for a penal colony - which on the one hand led to the creation of modern Australia, but on the other to the near-destruction of the indigenous Aborigine culture.

Tupaia's drawing of Sir Joseph Banks trading with a Maori - a piece of cloth in exchange for a lobster.

It's such a difficult subject; it's so easy to look at events at that time through 21st century eyes. (I dread to think what inhabitants of the earth in the 24th century might think of some of the things that are going on around the world at the moment.) But I think that the British Library exhibition succeeds brilliantly at celebrating Cook's achievements, while at the same time re-evaluating them to take into account the effect of his 'discoveries' on the lives of those he 'discovered'. The objects on display are interspersed with video interviews with modern descendants of those peoples, and they make sobering listening. Yet the message in the end was, I felt, a nuanced one: that, to paraphrase, we are where we are: but we must take account of how we got there, and not pretend that exploitation didn't take place: we must respect not only the 'discoverers', but also the 'discovered'. The exhibition helps towards that - not least by giving us an insight into the lives and cultures of the peoples of the southern and other seas at the time that Cook first encountered them.

You can find out more about the exhibition on the British Library website, here.