Massacres: The Boyd 1809

 By Jennifer Linforth

The second mate was killed and eaten even after he survived the attack of the Boyd. As for the four others who were rescued, their nightmare would long be remembered.

It began in 1809 with the journey of the Boyd, a brigantine convict ship sailing on through Whangaroa on the coast of New Zealand. Under the command of Captain John Thompson, she carried 70 people one of which was Te Ara, son of a Maori chief working his passage on the ship.

Details are unclear as to what Te Ara did or didn’t do to work his way on the ship. What is clear is that Te Ara was flogged. One report says he was punished for refusing to work at all once underway citing his noble birth prevented him from doing so, another says he was falsely accused of theft. Upon reaching Whangaroa and his tribe, Te Ara reported his punishment. The Maori, strict in their customs, planned revenge.

The clash of cultures would have devastated effects. Under British law the Captain’s word is law upon the seas. Flogging was a common practice for all crimes at the time and he was justified in his rulings against Te Ara. But under Maori rule, a chief’s son is above any law and the physical punishment caused the Maori chief to suffer a brutal loss of “mana,” or face, in their culture. Revenge would be swift and violent.

Louis John Steele's The Blowing Up
of the Boyd (1889) - Source: Wikipedia

Their plot involved inviting Captain Thompson, his chief officer and three others on a scouting mission up the Kaeo River. The Maori attacked and killed all five. They stripped them of their clothing donning them as a disguise while other members of the tribe carried the bodies to the village to be eaten. The disguised Maori, backed by other tribe members in in canoes, boarded the Boyd at nightfall stealthily killing the entire crew. Only five survived, but were pursued by the Maori in the end.

When news reached European settlements the City of Edinburgh under the command of Captain Alexander Berry, undertook the rescue mission. The four remaining survivors found and taking on board. They also found piles of human bones on the shoreline, many evincing cannibalism.

News of the Boyd Massacre spread across Australia and Europe. A notice was printed for all missionaries and circulated Europe advising against visiting New Zealand at the risk of being eaten by cannibals.

Shipping and trade to New Zealand diminished over the years after that… 

Jennifer Linforth expands the classics by continuing The Phantom of the Opera. and her books are available now. Look for future books based on the classics, in addition to her unique historical romances. "Ms. Linforth's prose is phenomenally beautiful and hauntingly breathtaking." ~ Coffee Time Romance 

Massacres: Roncevaux 778, Part II - A Medieval Massacre That Became Crusades Propaganda

By Kim Rendfeld

The Cross and the Dragon provides another interpretation, this one inspired by a German legend in which Hruodland survives the attack but his wife is told he died. In my story, Hruodland is left comatose by the ambush. Believing death is imminent, the scouting party leaves him at an abbey hospital to await Christian burial and tells everyone that he perished. They want to spare his family some grief and prevent his wife, Alda, from making a dangerous journey to see him. Instead, that well-intentioned lie sends her into peril as Hruodland fights his way back to health.

As a novelist, I could not resist having my Hruodland comment on “The Song of Roland.” Here, he is letting the world think he’s dead while he travels back home under an assumed name with two nuns who cared for him at the hospital, Sisters Elisabeth and Illuna, and are staying with Elisabeth’s brother, the archbishop of Bordeaux:

A few notes on the harp stirred Hruodland from his thoughts.

“This song is about a hero in our time, a man you spoke of a little while ago,” the singer began. “I speak of Hruodland, prefect of the March of Brittany and nephew of the king. His story is the ultimate tale of loyalty, courage, and sacrifice.”

Hruodland stared into the flames. He was not sure if he wanted to hear this about himself. He took a gulp of wine from a cup and passed it to Illuna, who patted his hand.

The man sang about the Saracens massing on the field, breaking their promise of peace with the Franks. Hruodland and other nobles in the rear guard stayed behind. Then the singer described how Hruodland sliced ribs off his enemies’ bodies and burst their eyeballs. Although defeat was imminent, Hruodland was proud and refused to blow on his horn, until almost everyone around him was dead and needed a Christian burial.

Hruodland walked away from the fire for a moment. He still had no memory of Roncevaux, except that he and the other soldiers were marching through densely wooded, narrow mountain passes, but a gut feeling told him the battle did not happen like this. For one thing, if he were facing thousands of Saracens—or any other foe—on the battlefield as the song described, sounding the horn would be the first thing he would have done to summon help and perhaps scare the enemy.

From what the nuns told him about the ambush by the Gascons, there had been no glory, not the way the singer was portraying it. Hruodland mourned for Alfihar and the others all over again. Anger burned in his belly. His friends and kinsmen had been slaughtered, and here was this fool who had obviously never seen battle making it into a song.

When Hruodland turned toward the fire, Elisabeth was staring at him, and Illuna was wringing her hands.

“Were you there?” Hruodland asked the singer. He made no effort to disguise his ire.

“I would be dead if I was. I first heard about what happened at Roncevaux when the king was here, and the song just came to me.”

“I doubt the prefect of the March of Brittany would be that stupid,” Hruodland growled.

“He was a gifted warrior,” the singer said, “but he was proud.”

“Not to the point of idiocy!”

Elisabeth coughed to disguise a laugh, and he knew what she was thinking. He had left the safety of the abbey with only a knife, a dog, and the clothes on his back. He had neither horse nor food nor even a wineskin.

“Not to the point of needlessly endangering others,” Hruodland added, looking directly at Elisabeth.

“Did you know Hruodland?” the singer asked.

Elisabeth and Illuna nervously glanced at each other.

“My father is from the March of Brittany,” Hruodland answered. “Hruodland was a good warrior and proud of his scars, but he was not so proud that he would allow the slaughter of his fellows without calling for aid. And the people who attacked the rear guard were the Gascons, not the Saracens.”

“I don’t care who it was. The Saracens are infidels and followers of Muhammad, and our king was there because they threatened the Church.”

“We were there…” Hruodland stopped himself, partly because he did not want to reveal himself, partly he could not make sense of the war against the ruler of Cordova.

Kim Rendfeld is the author of The Cross and the Dragon, to be published by Fireship Press. For more about Kim and her fiction, visit www.kimrendfeld.com, read her blog at www.kimrendfeld.wordpress.com, like her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/authorkimrendfeld, or follow her on Twitter at @kimrendfeld.

Massacres: Roncevaux 778, Part I - A Medieval Massacre That Became Crusades Propaganda

By Kim Rendfeld

What happened at the Pass of Roncevaux in 778 was so traumatic no one wrote about it for decades, not while Emperor Charlemagne was alive. Yet a heavily altered version of the event became the basis of a poem to inspire Crusaders.

First, a little backstory: Three Saracen emirs from Hispania (Spain) visited King Charles, as he was known at the time, during his assembly in 777 at Paderborn to ask for his aid is overthrowing the Muslim ruler of Cordova. Perhaps the emirs told Charles Christian cities would welcome a Christian king. Perhaps they said the emir of Cordova would encroach on Frankish territory, as evidenced by a letter from Pope Hadrian referring to Charles’s fear of invasion. Saracens had invaded Francia in the past.

The original Royal Frankish Annals, Charles’s official record, say everything was hunky-dory. Charles marched into Hispania with a vast army, got hostages at Zaragoza, destroyed Pamplona (a Basque Christian city), subjugated the Basques (also called the Gascons), and returned home.

No mention at all of the Pass of Roncevaux in the Pyrenees.

What was so awful that Charles wanted it omitted? The earliest account of the battle, written in the Revised Royal Frankish Annals between 814 (the year Charles died) and 817, provides clues. The Reviser writes about the Basque ambushing the rear guard from the heights of the Pyrenees. Many high-ranking court officials died, the baggage train was plundered, and the enemy scattered in all directions. “To have suffered this wound shadowed the king’s view of his success in Spain,” the Reviser writes.

However, Einhard, writing a biography of Charles about 830-33, more than 50 years after the event, gives the most detailed description of the attack, which takes place as the sky is darkening: “In a densely wooded area well suited for ambush, the Basques had prepared to attack the army from the highest mountain. As the [Frankish] troops were proceeding in a long column through the narrow mountain passes, the Basques descended on the baggage train and the protecting rear guard and forced them into the valley. In the ensuing battle, the Basques slaughtered them to a man.”

Einhard also provides three names: Anselm, the count of the palace, Eggihard, the seneschal, and Hruodland (Roland), prefect of the March of Brittany. Einhard’s work is the only historical reference to Hruodland, the hero of my forthcoming novel, The Cross and the Dragon.

Fast forward to the 11th century, and you get a different take in “The Song of Roland.” A very different take. The poem says a lot about courage in the face of overwhelming odds and betrayal. But don’t look to it for historical accuracy. The most notable change is the enemy, Muslim Saracens, just like the Crusaders were fighting. The poem makes no mention of the Basques or of the Franks destroying a Christian city.

It was propaganda before the term existed.

Learn more about The Song of Roland in Kim's novel The Cross and the Dragon in Masscares: Roncevaux 778, Part II - Wed. May 23

Sources:

Einhard’s The Life of Charlemagne translated by Evelyn Scherabon Firchow and Edwin H. Zeydel

Carolingian Chronicles, which includes the Royal Frankish Annals and Nithard’s Histories, translated by Bernard Walter Scholz with Barbara Rogers

“The Song of Roland,” translated by John O'Hagan, www.fordham.edu/halsall/basis/roland-ohag.asp

Caption info:

The Emperor Charlemagne Finds Roland's Corpse after the Battle of Roncevaux, c.1460, Jean Fouquet

Roland at Roncesvalles, c.1869, Odilon Redon

Illustration to The Song of Roland, 1903, Heorhiy Narbut

Kim Rendfeld is the author of The Cross and the Dragon, to be published by Fireship Press. For more about Kim and her fiction, visit www.kimrendfeld.com, read her blog at www.kimrendfeld.wordpress.com, like her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/authorkimrendfeld, or follow her on Twitter at @kimrendfeld.