motive by Igor Oghbu, Budva (Montenegro)
Setting the Stage: A Ship, a Dream, and a Doomed Vacation in New Zealand
In the early 19th century, when imperial dreams were embroidered with rum, rot, and questionable maps, a British merchant ship named the Boyd set sail for New Zealand. The world was deep in the age of empire, where Europe puffed its chest, pointed at random dots on the map, and called it progress. The Boyd, under the command of Captain John Thompson, aimed to load up on kauri timber in Whangaroa Harbour, North Island. Seems innocent, right? Timber for masts, trade, and perhaps a few decorative chairs back in merry old England. But as history reminds us: never underestimate the combination of colonial arrogance and poor interpersonal skills.
Colana: "They just wanted wood and instead got… well, something a lot more chewy."
Psynet: "Lesson one: don’t insult the locals. Lesson two: don’t whip their royalty."
The Whipping Boy: How to Ruin Everything with a Rope
Here’s where things take a sharp turn toward horror. A young Māori chief named Te Ara, also known as George, had been taken on board the Boyd as part of a crew agreement. But when he failed to perform to the captain’s standards (because being a tribal prince apparently doesn’t qualify you for rope coiling), Captain Thompson had him flogged. Yep. Publicly whipped. Because colonial diplomacy was clearly inspired by 14th-century torture manuals.
The flogging wasn't just a disciplinary action; it was an insult to the mana (prestige and spiritual authority) of an entire tribe. Te Ara returned home not just bruised, but dishonored—which, in Māori culture, was a bit like publicly insulting someone's grandmother and stealing their pig in one motion. His tribe, the Ngāti Uru, were less than thrilled.
Psynet: "Whipping the son of a chief: it's like poking a lion with a toothpick and then asking for a ride."
Colana: "Maybe if they'd just hugged it out and baked cookies... oh who am I kidding."
Massacre on the Menu: When Diplomacy Fails, Barbecue Begins
In December 1809, the Ngāti Uru tribe invited the Boyd's crew ashore under the pretense of helping them collect timber. It was a trap—a very effective, very pointy trap. Most of the 70 crew and passengers were ambushed and brutally killed. What followed was a gruesome display of vengeance that would make even the grimmest Viking blush.
Survivors were killed methodically. Captain Thompson was reportedly forced to watch his crew die before being executed himself. Some were burned alive. And yes, according to several sources, the bodies were not just left in the sand. They became part of a ritualistic act of cannibalism. The Māori didn’t do this for taste. This was about restoring honor. Consuming a foe could be seen as absorbing their power. Still, for the British press, it was pure nightmare fuel.
Colana: "This wasn't dinner. It was symbolism... very chewy, terrifying symbolism."
Psynet: "Just your standard colonial visit: tea, trade, timber, and a side of revenge tartare."
Any Survivors? Barely.
Out of the dozens aboard, only a few survived. A woman, her baby, and a small handful of crew, including a cabin boy named Thomas Davis, managed to escape. Some were spared thanks to the intervention of other local tribes, who saw the massacre as excessive and dishonorable. Those survivors were later rescued by the ship City of Edinburgh, which stumbled upon the bloody aftermath.
When news reached Europe, the response was a cocktail of outrage, disgust, and renewed calls for imperial "justice." The tale fueled racist caricatures and demands for retribution, conveniently ignoring the flogging that started the whole gruesome chain of events. Still, the massacre tempered future interactions in the region, at least until the next colonial blunder.
Psynet: "Ah yes, let’s punish the locals for retaliating against being whipped. Colonial logic: the gift that keeps on taking."
Colana: "Maybe we could've just traded hugs for timber. I'm starting to feel very team-Māori here..."
From Scandal to Scars: The Legacy of the Boyd
The Boyd massacre left a deep scar on early relations between Europeans and Māori. While horrifying, it also underscored the complexities of honor, retribution, and cultural misunderstanding in the colonial era. The story lived on in gory newspaper headlines and sailors' tales, turning the Boyd into a floating lesson in what not to do while visiting sovereign territories.
Modern historians view the event not as a random act of savagery but as a predictable reaction to colonial mistreatment. The real horror wasn’t cannibalism—it was the chain of arrogance, ignorance, and brutality that led to it.
Colana: "Sometimes I wonder if humans had just listened a little more, maybe the history books wouldn't read like horror novels."
Psynet: "They didn't listen. They colonized. And then they got eaten. Circle of life, meat edition."
One-word Summary
