By the time the sun had set for the day, the Charming Nancy had completed its cargo and was fully wooded and watered. Cook was happy to have a full larder, the crew was unusually cheerful.
Now, they were just waiting for the captain to return. The captain and the wind.
Before leaving Rotterdam, the animal pens in the bow of the lower deck had been filled with passenger trunks, other than a small area for the pig and chickens. This afternoon, Bairn had told Felix to let the passengers know they would need to move their trunks to their sleeping berths so that more livestock could come aboard.
When Felix heard that more animals would be arriving, he darted above deck to his favorite hiding place on the bowsprit. From where he crouched in the shadows, he was able to peer over the railing and see the delivery boats sail toward the Charming Nancy from across Plymouth Sound, filled with animals in pens. Two more pigs, a goat and her kid, and cages of chickens. He was disappointed to see so many chickens. How many chickens did the New World need?
The delivery boats came alongside the Charming Nancy, the smaller animals were passed up, then the pigs were forced into a canvas sling and hoisted on board, where a rope was slung around their necks and they were hauled forward. Seamen sweated and the deck steamed with pig muck. Felix wondered if those pigs had any idea how special they were—sailing off to another land. Most pigs lived and died in the same farmer’s pen.
As Felix saw the chicken cages get passed up to the sailors, he could think of nothing else but a home-cooked chicken dinner by his mother. He remembered how his father would go out in the yard and grab a chicken by its neck, wring its neck off with his left hand while whistling a tune, pluck it, clean it, and take it to his mother to cook. He thought he might persuade Anna to ask Cook to make them a chicken dinner one night.
Better still, he might mention a chicken dinner to Maria. She complained bitterly about Cook’s food and she had a talent for badgering people to get what she wanted.
Felix licked his lips; he could practically taste that chicken. Food was seldom far from his thoughts.
The Charming Nancy had become familiar to Felix over this last week while the ship was anchored at Plymouth Sound. He knew his way from the lower deck to the ’tween deck to the fo’c’sle. He had poked through every cupboard in Cook’s galley and discovered where Bairn and Mr. Pocock messed and where they slept and where they charted the ship’s path. He had watched work being done to the hull and masts; he had seen large sheets of canvas get laid out on the dockside and later knotted to the masts and spars; he had seen cables and shrouds attached and tested as the ship was rigged. He had grown familiar with the feel of timbers beneath his bare feet and the hideous smell of the ship’s bilge. He knew what was meant by aft and forward and leeward, which was the mizzen mast and which the main, which was a halyard and which a sheet. He had come to know the Charming Nancy like he had known his father’s farm in Ixheim.
But Bairn had told him that sailing a ship in the open sea was different from a ship in port, and Felix couldn’t wait for the journey to begin. He glanced up to see a sailor slide down a backstay. He aimed to try it himself, the first chance he could finagle without being seen.
Felix Bauer was having the time of his life.
11
July 17th, 1737
It was a fine, clear day in Plymouth. A few cottony white clouds drifted across a pale blue sky, moved along by just enough of a breeze to keep things pleasantly cool. Because of tidal conditions, the ship would not set sail until after eight o’clock, just after sundown. Bairn knew that Captain Stedman would arrive soon, seeing as a fair wind had finally blown in, but it was also the Sabbath. Captain Steadman was a God-fearing Presbyterian, at least on Sundays. He would not put his crew to work on the Sabbath unless it couldn’t be avoided.
By midmorning, a steady flow of warm air from the south had ruffled the blue surface of the channel.
Restless, Bairn paced the deck until he heard a strange wailing sound, as if a dog was howling and in terrible pain. He drew close to the hatch in the stern of the ship to hear what was going on in the lower deck, and realized that the mournful sound was music. The Peculiars were singing. He glanced around the deck to make sure no seaman was nearby, then crouched down to peer through the lattice top of the hatch and saw the Peculiars gathered in the center of the lower deck, sitting on the deck floor, men on one side, women on the other.
Bairn sat down, one knee bent, one leg straightened out, and listened to the hymn singing, which went on and on and on. The same tuneless, sorrowful hymn, a sound that resonated. An old song, but where would they hear new ones? They were a fusty people.
He spotted Anna sitting among the women and noted the unmistakable joy on her face. She leaned her head to one side, pondering something. Her face was so lovely, so delicately structured, that it gave him a stomachache. What made a man feel that stomach-churning agony for one woman and not another?
When the singing was finally over, Christian Müller rose to his feet and began to preach from the Bible. Bairn had thought Christian to be a mild-mannered man, henpecked by his domineering wife, but as he spoke, he grew more and more animated. Bairn strained to listen, forging words and sentences together to grasp Christian’s meaning.
“Each one of us will face a watershed moment that will define all others in a life. The moment that puts our humanity to a test. When that moment arrives, we each need to ask ourselves, which path will it be? Will we follow God’s ways or will we choose man’s ways?”
And what, Bairn wondered, would be the difference? If there was a God—and he wasn’t convinced of that, though he wasn’t entirely convinced there wasn’t—wouldn’t they want the same things? Would God not want man to work hard and prosper? That was Bairn’s holy endeavor. That was the only thing that mattered to him—growing rich. Was that so wrong? Anna seemed to think so.
He didn’t have time to ponder the theological puzzle for long because Cook came out of the galley with a bucket of slop to toss overboard. Bairn jumped to his feet.
“And why do you look like a boy caught with his hand in the biscuit tin?”
Bairn shrugged. “Just bored. There is naught to do but watch weather and water.”
Cook’s eyes traveled to the hatch. He was no fool. “It’s that girl. She’s got you cowed.”
Bairn brushed off his pants. “I don’t know what yer talkin’ about.”
“I’ve seen the way you watch her when you think no one’s looking.”
Bairn took another tack. “She’s a sight better lookin’ than watchin’ ye.”
Cook laughed, then coughed, nearly spitting out his pipe. “Ain’t that the truth.” He dumped the potato peelings over the side of the ship and seagulls immediately flew in for the pickings. “I can’t wait to get under way. Sick of this waitin’.”
“Aye.”
Cook looked down at the hatch. “As soon as we get them Peculiars dumped off in Philadelphia and head back to England, the better. I’d much rather have a hold filled with goods to trade than a load of holy rollers.”
“You sound like Decker. What do y’have against them?”
“Can’t understand their jabbering in that gutteral tongue,” Cook shrugged. “And they don’t appreciate me cooking.”
Nor did Bairn. “After spendin’ weeks down in that vile-smellin’ lower deck, don’t you think you’d be complainin’ about anythin’ and everythin’?”
Cook laughed. “They don’t know what they’re in for. These last few weeks have been a tea party compared to what’s comin’.” He gazed up at the sky, noticing the halo around the sun—a sign of rain to come. The wind was picking up, and a few gray clouds had appeared in the sky. “We’re in for a humdinger, or I miss my guess.”
“They’ll find out soon enough. If Captain Stedman is like his brother, we’ll be sailin’ tonight on the outgoin’ tide. The wind shall soon be blowin’ a gale.” Bairn could feel its breath. The air smelled storm-damp.
They both knew the weather from years of watching it. The sea rolled in a long, low swell, lifting the Charming Nancy, then carefully easing her down again. A gust of wind whipped Bairn’s queue, lifting it off his neck.
Wind. Glorious, glorious wind.
Bairn strode toward the fo’c’sle just as the deck lurched beneath his feet. He climbed up the ratlines to inspect the gathering clouds. He swung onto the forestay and slid to the deck in seconds to begin his inspection of the deck, checking every cleat and line and mast and yard and spar. No one needed a loose spar in a high wind. And he suspected a high wind by the way the surface of the water was whipping up.
As the tide would turn and Plymouth Sound would begin to gradually drain, he knew the time had come. Tonight, the Charming Nancy would sail out under topsails into the Atlantic.
Anna woke in the night from a deep sleep, startled by the sound of footfalls racing above her, by orders getting shouted out.
“Winch that cutter aboard, then up anchor.”
It was the captain’s voice, directing the men on watch. “Mr. Pocock, set course for the Atlantic. This storm is going to get worse, and we need to be out of the channel before daybreak or we’ll be here ’til kingdom come.”
She blinked, disoriented, trying to collect her thoughts and remember where she was. She put her head back on the hammock, listening to the sounds above her. She heard the flapping sound of sails as they unfurled. She heard the creak of a chain being lifted. And then, movement. Her eyes flew open. The boat was setting sail and she hadn’t spoken to the captain yet. Her plan! She had to tell the captain that she wanted to be put off the ship so she could return to Rotterdam from Plymouth with Lizzie.
She jumped from her hammock and hurried to the companionway. When she reached the top, she pushed the hatch up and slipped onto the deck, shivering as needlelike rain pelted her. She shielded her eyes and watched the activity going on above decks. Sailors were running, climbing up ratlines, their feet instinctively knowing where to find footing. Everywhere seamen moved about the ship. Those who did not have their feet planted firmly on deck hung from a confusion of rigging and sails.
She saw the blurry lights of Plymouth receding. The sea swelled like a living thing about them, rocking the boat and dampening her face with spray. The captain saw her first and pointed. Bairn strode to meet her in three long steps. The rain pounded on the deck, creating a curtain between them. “Anna, stay below. You could get hurt up here.”
She shielded her face from the rain with her hands. “I need to talk to the captain.”
“Why?”
“He needs to turn the boat around and sail back to Plymouth.”
A short laugh burst out of Bairn. “That’s nae goin’ to happen. The sails have caught the wind and bellied out.” He took a step closer, annoyed. “And ’tis a ship. Not a boat. Do ye ne’er listen to me, woman?”
“But someone on board is having a baby.”
Even with rain streaming down his face, she saw his eyebrows shoot up in alarm. “Now?”
“No. Not right now. But she is only two months from her time, she tells me.”
“Well, see then, there’s naught to fash about. Surely we’ll be in Port Philadelphia by then.” A gust of wind nearly took her prayer covering right off and he gave her a wry grin. “With wind like this, mayhap we will arrive by morn.”
“Then, you won’t ask the captain to turn the boat around?” Anna said quietly, a cold realization dawning.
“’Twill be fine. Anna, you need to get below decks.”
A great swell raised the stern under their feet. It sent the bow plunging into a towering crest, and as the huge wave continued to roll beneath the Charming Nancy, it sent the ship listing to larboard. The stern settled with a roaring splash, plunging it into a blanket of spray that doused Anna and Bairn. She lost her bearings and stumbled. He reached out and held her steady, righting her. She felt him balance with the roll of the deck. One leg braced, the other knee bent, he leaned into the ship’s heel, then straightened, keeping himself steady in order that she might lean against him.
Holding tight to his forearms, she had a clear view of the storm. Below, the ocean rolled white with foam. “Wouldn’t the b—” she stopped herself just in time—“ship be safer in the harbor?”
“Nay. Safer out to sea than in the channel.”
“Bairn!” Captain Stedman shouted above the wind. “Set all plain sail. Pilot us out of the channel, and then set the topsails and jib sheets on a course southwest by west.”
“Aye, Captain!” Bairn turned to Anna. “You must go below. Tell everyone below to mind their lights.”
“To do what?”
“Douse their lantern flames. Dinnae light them again until the sea is quiet. Secure everythin’ that is movable. ’Tis a mighty gale comin’ upon us. We have a long stretch ahead.” He put his hands on her shoulders to direct her. “Yer already soaked. You dinnae want to get a chill.”
“But so are you.”
“I’ll have time for that later, after we ride out the gale. A seaman gets used to workin’ in wet clothin’.”
“Bairn, are you frightened?”
For a split second, his eyes softened. “Nay, lassie. ’Tis just a storm. Dinnae fash yerself. Trust me, I won’t let anythin’ happen to you.” His hands as gentle as his voice now, he grasped her shoulders and guided her to the companionway, lifting the hatch to let her climb down. Off in the horizon flashes of white-hot light appeared, illuminating the ship, followed rapidly by a deafening boom. Anna startled and grabbed the top ledge of the companionway to steady herself. When the lightning struck again, that was when she noticed that Bairn was barefoot, pant legs rolled midway up his calves. His ankles were covered in thick red scars.
Bairn had once been shackled.
Chains rattled. Yards creaked and groaned. Wind shrieked through the rigging. Felix flashed open his eyes, waking to a clamor of activity above deck. Feet pounded around him, above him.
The ship had sprung to life, and he heard hurry in the movements of the crew and their shouts. A searing flash of light shone through the cannon portals, lighting the lower deck with a moment of glaring brightness to reveal his mother’s slumbering form beside him. Felix was glad she was sleeping deeply because this storm would terrify her. He scudded over to peer out the cannon portal at the storm and gasped in awe. A greenish-gray sea lashed violently. Rising, rising, rising, then curling into a foaming, towering crest that crashed down in an explosion. It was a frightening, terrifying sight, and Felix loved it.
Not long ago, he had seen Anna slip up the companionway and leave the hatch slightly ajar, so he hurried behind her, waited until a big wave hit the ship and everyone went topsy-turvy, then he crawled behind the capstan. As soon as the captain’s back was turned, he made a mad dash to the bowsprit, his favorite spot, where he could stay for a while, unnoticed. He saw the guns of the Grand Battery on Lord Mount Edgecumbe’s estate slide past and he leaned over the railing, watching England pass by, trying to absorb everything, to remember everything, so he could tell his father all about it when he saw him.
He stayed put as the ship made her way through the narrows and then progressed through the lower bay and out finally into the Atlantic, where she began to roll slightly as she made a sweeping turn to port. And then he was so soaked and chilled that even he couldn’t stand it any longer, so he carefully wormed his way back to the lower deck. As the Charming Nancy sailed into the stormy darkness that enveloped her, venturing out into the churning open waters of the Atlantic Ocean, Felix was sure life couldn’t get any more exciting.
A couple of hours out from Plymouth Sound, the Charming Nancy cleared Penlee Point and headed west toward the open waters of the Atlantic. Leaving and entering port were the busiest times for Bairn, for the entire crew: between those two moments of frenetic activity, as long as nothing untoward happened, life on board a well-run ship sailing at the right season was fairly uneventful and full of typical, mundane chores—
trimming the sails, cleaning, disinfecting, cooking, mending sails and nets.
Bairn wondered if, down below, the passengers were frightened. The first moments of a ship’s voyage, from when she leaves port until her course and sails are set, could be terrifying to those who weren’t familiar with the sound of each activity. Sails flapped deafeningly until the wind began to fill them, ropes cracked, urgent commands were shouted incomprehensibly, seamen ran from one side of the ship to the other. When the sails were set and the ship was in good order, her motion settled and shouts on deck became fewer.
But this wasn’t a time when things were in good order and passengers had the luxury of getting accustomed to a ship at sea. There was a drenching pelt of rain, and a cold, stiff wind whipped against them. The ocean was a heaving mass of rollers, the water dark and oily. These were exactly the kinds of conditions that seamen dreaded most, not because of the pounding rain, but because of the peculiar sideways motion of the water when wind-driven waves interacted with a tidal current. Wind driven, Bairn suspected, by a severe storm they were heading into.
The passengers, who had just barely gotten over seasickness and found some pattern to life on a ship, would be back to square one, trying to gain their sea legs.
He wondered how Anna would fare in this storm, if she was anxious. He didn’t know what had possessed him to promise he would keep her safe. Ever since he’d met her, he’d been saying and doing and feeling things against his better judgment. Certainly, he had the desire to keep her safe, to keep all the passengers safe. It was the means he lacked.
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