Flowers In The Ocean
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The morning was clear and hot. The sea was a pale blue with white flecks of foam, but for the most part, it lay placid and inviting beneath the sun-bright sky. It did not seem to be moving anywhere at all—a calm before the storm? I hoped so.
We were sailing on a long reach in an attempt to catch up with our quarry, but as yet there had been nothing more than that brief encounter with the French ship; we had been unable to keep pace with her since then.
There had been no word from Captain Bligh either. I wondered what he thought about the current situation. He must know that if we could not find a way off this island, he would never get another chance to escape the fate his mutineers planned for him.
We had not been able to sail far yesterday, for although I was pleased that we were still able to move at all, I was worried about how we would fare when the winds picked up again; they were already beginning to build up now, though not enough to make us change course.
If it got too much we might be forced back towards Pitcairn Island and have to spend the day huddled under blankets on board, or worse, in one of the boats. I hoped I wouldn’t have to face that again. My stomach was queasy enough without throwing myself out of a boat.
I walked along the beach and sat on a boulder looking at the ocean and waiting for the signal to return to the ship. It didn’t come. As the hours passed and I grew increasingly anxious I began to wonder if it had been blown away. Then someone came down the hill and waved.
“Captain’s boat coming,” said the man who’d greeted me when I first arrived. “He wants you aboard.”
Relieved, I jumped to my feet. A wave of dizziness hit me as soon as I started walking across the sand. I put my hand out to steady myself against a tree trunk, feeling like a fool. It wasn’t just my legs that felt weak today; I’d lost weight recently, which had made me even more clumsy.
I’d tried not to eat very much, hoping I would eventually recover what I’d lost, but instead the hunger pains had intensified. And I didn’t want to think about how much more I was likely to lose if we were stuck here much longer.
When I reached the edge of the surf I climbed aboard the small boat. The sun was warm on my shoulder blades and the wind blew through my hair. It was good to feel the air blowing over my body after days spent indoors, and although the breeze was cool, it was pleasant.
I turned to look back at Pitcairn Island and smiled at the sight of the hills covered in lush greenery. Even from afar, I could see that the gardens looked beautiful with flowers everywhere. The island’s trees cast dark shadows on the beach as they leaned out over the water. This is paradise, I told myself. Just wait till you step ashore.
I watched the shoreline as the captain steered us towards it and felt a familiar stirring of excitement in my belly, followed by a sudden pang of anxiety. Would it be the same when I saw Tahiti? It wasn’t as if I expected to see the capital city with its magnificent palaces and elegant buildings.
All I wanted was some food and shelter for my baby—and a ship to take us back to England. But there might be other women living on the island—wives of men who’d settled there—and it wouldn’t do for me to go around asking to meet them. I was not going to be allowed to stay there. Not if Captain Bligh intended to keep his promise.
“There she is!” said the captain suddenly, pointing up to where we could see several sails on the horizon. They were not French, or British: those ships sailed under flags from countries farther east.
“How many?” I asked when we approached, but he shook his head. “Don’t know. Could be five or six, but they’re too far away for me to tell. Wait until we get closer.”
He took us around a few points and then we were close enough for me to see that all the ships had masts taller than ours, with square sails and no yards attached to their sides. We were not the only ones heading to Tahiti today.
“That’ll be our best bet,” said the captain. “Come on.”
He steered us towards one of the larger vessels and the crew rowed us alongside.
It was strange seeing another ship in the middle of nowhere. At night we could hear other boats out on the water, sometimes passing quite close to us, and once an enormous cargo vessel had appeared at dawn.
She seemed to be heading straight for us and I wondered if we should raise the alarm, but the captain said he had a better idea so we watched her pass us and continue westwards. By noon she was gone, but before long a second ship had joined us in the distance.
A short time later we were sailing alongside them, but I couldn’t see anyone except the sailors working the ropes and lines.
“They’re too far away to see,” the captain explained, “but they’ve seen us and they can’t risk getting too close.” He laughed quietly to himself. “The French are always trying to stop us from leaving and now they’re not even going to try.”
I looked at the other two ships and saw that both had large numbers of soldiers on board, but it seemed none of them were paying attention to the three vessels that were sailing in front of them. They must have been used to having the smaller British ships nearby.
After several more hours of watching the ships, it became apparent that they were not going to change their course. The sun was starting to set and we could still see the first ship in front of us, but we were far enough away now that our lights didn’t seem to bother him. It made sense really, as we had nothing worth stealing or smuggling.
“Let’s make for Tahiti tomorrow,” the captain decided. “We’ve already waited long enough.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” I replied. “But what about the other two ships? What are they doing?”
“They’ve been ordered to keep a distance from us,” he said. “So they won’t come any closer until we’ve reached land. But once we’re ashore and safe they will follow us into port.”
***
We sailed along the coast for the next three days. I could see Tahiti now—or at least a part of it; the rest remained hidden behind thick clouds. The sea was choppy and rough and the ship rolled heavily from side to side. I had never been on such a rocking boat before and I felt like vomiting each time I tried to eat.
We stopped twice a day to empty our buckets onto the sand below, which meant I could spend a little less time in my cabin and a little more time outside. My husband did not want me to get sick again so he let me stay on deck with him as much as possible, but I felt uncomfortable being so near to the sailors as they ate or drank or argued and joked amongst themselves.
I knew they would talk about us, wondering why a woman had come here with her small child and why she had left the ship. Some might call us savages, but I hoped they would understand that we just didn’t know how the world worked and that we were innocent of any wrongdoing.
On the morning of our third day at sea, we saw another ship, this one larger than the other two and painted red and gold. It was heading in the same direction as us, but I could tell there were fewer people on board and it seemed to carry a lot more cargo.
My husband told me they were Portuguese traders and he said it was good news because we wouldn’t be alone anymore.
When we neared Tahiti the weather started to clear and we could see that it was surrounded by white-capped mountains that rose dramatically from the green valleys below. The captain steered the boat up close to the rocks that protected the entrance to the harbor.
I was surprised at how well he managed to control us through the narrow opening—the waves must have been crashing against the sides of the cliffs. As soon as we rounded the last point it was obvious why the captain had chosen this spot. There was hardly any current or wind and the water was calm and shallow, so there was no chance we could be swept away by a storm.
There were dozens of fishing boats tied up to the rocks at the mouth of the harbor and I saw that some of them were full of passengers, probably heading in to sell their fish and gather supplies before leaving again.
We sailed past them all and came to a stop at a floating jetty that stretched between two large boulders. A small boat was tied up on the end, and when the captain untied us the men jumped on board and rowed back to the jetty.
“Now we need to find where the others are staying,” he explained. “You’ll need to stay with me until then, but you don’t have to worry about anything. Just relax and take care of your baby.”
He went off with one of the other crew members and I stood on deck with my baby son in my arms. He slept most of the time, only waking when I fed him, and then he would fall asleep again immediately. I had worried that he would not settle in such a strange place, but I soon discovered that babies are adaptable creatures and mine adapted quickly to his new surroundings.
As we sat there waiting, a crowd gathered on the jetty above us and began to shout out questions to us. Their voices were loud and angry and they seemed determined to make us leave. One man shouted at me so aggressively that I thought he wanted to hit me, but fortunately, my husband intervened and spoke calmly to him in Portuguese.
It seemed they understood his explanation that we were just passing through on our way to another island and we intended to return to Portugal as soon as possible. They calmed down after that, but there were still plenty of suspicious stares directed at us and I wondered whether our presence in Tahiti would cause us trouble later.
The captain returned a short time later and told me we were to follow the man who had rowed over to meet us.
“I hope we can find somewhere to sleep,” I said. “It looks like the entire village is full of people.”
“Don’t worry. I think it’s safe for you and the baby,” he assured me. Then he took my hand in his and walked across the sand to where a young man was standing beside a group of women who looked as if they had just stepped off their own ships.
I followed them as best I could, carrying my sleeping baby. As I approached the group I noticed there was something wrong with them: they were dressed differently from the other locals, they looked unkempt and dirty, and none of them wore shoes.
In fact, they all seemed to have bare feet—not quite the look you expect to see on a Polynesian woman. The man introduced himself and then turned to the rest of the women and spoke to them in what sounded like French. My husband translated.
“They want to know if you plan to spend any time in the village.”
“Yes, I’m sure we will,” I replied.
The man nodded his head in a friendly manner, then he smiled at my baby and pointed at him.
“What does that mean?” I asked my husband.
“That they’re curious about you and they’d like to hold him for a while. Don’t worry, though—they won’t hurt him. It’s just a custom they have here that they don’t do anywhere else.”
I handed my son to one of the women who took him into her arms and held him close to her chest. She stroked his hair gently as she cooed softly in his ear, and as she did this he opened his eyes and stared straight into hers as if he was listening to what she was telling him.
I found myself smiling as I watched them together and felt a great deal of love for my little boy—as if he were now part of a whole different culture entirely.
As he lay there cradled in the arms of the local women, the sun beat down on him and made him squirm around in their arms. The mother holding him looked over at me and laughed.
“I suppose it’s too hot for him today,” she said.
Then one of the other mothers put her arm around her shoulders and led her away towards the water to cool her off. As the other women left them alone, I noticed something strange about my son. His skin had changed color; instead of the usual white or yellow, it was now a dark, almost black brown.
There was no mistaking it now: he had inherited the darker-skinned Polynesian race that inhabited these islands, and I realized that this was probably why I hadn’t been able to find anyone in the village before. These women must not have known I was pregnant when I first arrived.
Now, looking at my child lying in the arms of one of them, I saw him differently than ever before. He had inherited the same features as the rest of this strange, exotic tribe. And yet, despite the fact that he wasn’t a perfect match for these women, they all loved him without question.
“You should have seen this place when I was a kid,” a voice suddenly announced. Startled, I turned and found myself facing a tall, dark man whose face bore more resemblance to an American Indian than a local Tahitian.
“Where’s your mother, then?” he continued.
“She died when I was very little,” I said.
He shook his head sadly.
“I’m sorry. Is she buried here, with her family?”
“No, not exactly.”
As soon as I mentioned my father, he began to tell me stories of how he, too, had come from a different place than this village: from a faraway land called America. I listened with interest as he explained to me how he and his brothers and sisters had grown up speaking English but had also learned the language of their adopted country, which was French.
They had gone to school in the city of Bordeaux until they came of age, then they traveled to New Zealand with their parents to work. But they had never lost sight of their heritage, so much so that each year they took time off to return home and visit their ancestral lands.
They would even make annual trips back to France and England to see old friends and relatives, and to share their story of life in the Pacific Islands with everyone they knew.
“We still keep up with our family members from back home. We have a network of cousins living in the States who send us pictures and letters and postcards whenever they can. I have a cousin named Jean who writes to me all the time, but he doesn’t live here anymore—he’s moved to Los Angeles.”
I glanced around the village, then pointed to the small group of people gathered near the edge of the water.
“Are those your friends?”
The man nodded. “That’s Jean and his wife, Martine. They have a daughter who’s only two years younger than me—she and I are close. My oldest brother is married to their sister, so that makes us second cousins by marriage.”
He grinned as he told me this. Then his expression suddenly darkened and he looked over at me.
“You look a lot like my mother. It’s nice that you’re here—my family misses her very much, you know, and I’ve really missed them myself since we’ve lived here for so many years.”
“Is it hard to adjust? You don’t seem to have an accent, so it must be easier for you than for most people who move here. Do you miss America sometimes?”
“Of course,” he said. “But I wouldn’t trade my life here for anything. I guess maybe I’m just lucky that I grew up speaking both languages; I’m always able to communicate easily with people from both places. But even though I’m fluent in both French and English, I still think of myself as being Polynesian. That’s who I am.”
“So do you speak French and English?” I asked, pointing to his lips.
“Oh no! That would make me sound like some kind of foreigner!” he said, laughing. “It would take forever to learn a new way of talking. And I’d lose my cultural identity if I started to speak a different language. So I stick with my own.
Besides, that’s how everyone speaks to each other, right? No one cares what language you use as long as you understand what they say. It’s a good thing I didn’t try to start using French or English here—I might not have fit in.”
For a moment, I felt a pang of guilt about having brought my son into this world knowing that I would have to give him up after birth. I couldn’t help wondering why God had chosen me—a young, single woman from a foreign land—to carry a child through such pain.
But I quickly pushed those thoughts away; I had no business questioning God or asking Him for answers. Instead, I thanked the man for taking the time to talk to me and went on my way.
The End