The Fire Blossom

by Lark, Sarah

  But before he could, a very thin, moderately tall man in a captain’s uniform appeared on the gangplank. He held himself in a way that made him seem even bigger than the squarely built recruiter.

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” he boomed. “I would like to welcome you on board the Sankt Pauli. My name is Peter Schacht, and I am your captain. That means I am responsible for a good and safe voyage, of course with the help of God . . .” He nodded to the missionary, and the bald man gazed gravely back at him. “Don’t hesitate to come to me with any of your concerns. Your well-being is important to me. During the voyage, we will certainly be subject to discomforts and constraints due to the narrow quarters. Unfortunately, that can’t be changed, but I will do my best to keep everyone content. Rest assured that the tribulations of the voyage will be forgotten as soon as you see the beauty of your new home. So now, please board without haste. Families should stay together. In steerage, you will find crew members who will show you to your berths. But first, I would like to call the cabin passengers for the upper deck. Mr. Beit and family, and the pastors Mr. Wohlers and Mr. Heine . . .”

  There were seventeen passengers in all who answered this call. Beit’s oldest daughter argued briefly with her father. She would have liked to stay on the gangplank to complete her list, but her mother objected vehemently. Finally, Beit took the documents himself and waited by the entrance, checking off the names of those who boarded. Ida and her family had already been aboard for a long time when Karl finally walked up the gangplank. He wanted to explore, but a sailor immediately guided the emigrants through a small hatchway into the ship’s interior. He stopped Karl when he heard his name.

  “The single men go last,” he explained. “Your quarters are in the stern, so let the others go ahead of you. In the meantime, you can get to know one another.”

  He pointed Karl toward three other young men who were waiting behind him—two gawky blond boys he’d never seen before and, to Karl’s surprise, Ottfried Brandmann.

  “What are you doing here?” Ottfried said, staring at Karl in amazement. “Where did you get the money for the voyage?”

  “A good day to you, too, Ottfried,” Karl said with relish. Now that he was safely on board, it was great fun to let the cat out of the bag.

  “We didn’t need any money,” one of the awkward boys said, and then turned worriedly to the other. “That’s true, isn’t it, Hannes?”

  His companion nodded reassuringly. “By the grace of God, the New Zealand Company paid for our passage. They paid for yours, too, didn’t they?”

  Ottfried grunted. “Absolutely not!” he exclaimed. “Our family is among the future landowners of Nelson. The passage was included in the price of the land. I was only asked to share quarters with the other bachelors because the family accommodations are limited. But there was no talk of scum and ne’er-do-wells!” Ottfried turned to the crew member who was now showing the last passengers, two women traveling on their own, to their quarters. “Sailor! Is there no difference being made between paying and nonpaying passengers? My father will be outraged if I have less comfortable accommodations than my family.”

  The sailor shrugged. “The captain gets the same amount for every person he delivers to Nelson in good health. Besides, all the accommodations are the same. Maybe yours is a little smaller, but you don’t have to change any diapers there either. If you ask me, you should be glad you can hole up with the bachelors. Crying, seasick children are hell!”

  Other raised voices came from the ship’s interior. “This is unacceptable!” Jakob Lange declared. “I want to speak to Mr. Beit immediately!”

  The sailor rolled his eyes. “Sounds like someone else isn’t satisfied,” he said. “It would be better just to go and claim your berths. They’re just to the left when you reach the bottom of the ladder.”

  He pointed the way, and the two blonds climbed down without hesitation. Karl followed. He wasn’t surprised by the sight of steerage. After all, during the last few days, he’d been unloading numerous ships that had arrived from America. The sailing ships brought settlers to the colonies and brought trade goods back. The trunks and provisions were stored in the hold in the bottom of the ship, and the steerage, or “tween deck,” was built between the hold and the upper deck. The quarters consisted of a dim space made of rough wooden beams, with primitive berths along the sides for sleeping. The bachelors’ quarters were particularly limited. The two bunk beds filled the tiny space almost entirely. Karl ungrudgingly took one of the top berths. He had nothing to store but his bundle and his two books, and Ottfried would surely insist on taking one of the more comfortable-looking lower berths. But the young man left to complain to the captain.

  Ida was embarrassed that her father had raised his voice as soon as he was aboard the ship, but she could understand his indignation. The climb down the ladder and the sight of their meager accommodations had demoralized her too. The Langes were expected to share a small area with four narrow berths, and to make things worse, the beds were built one over the other.

  “This will do just fine for you,” said the unworried sailor who had shown them to their places. “Three adults,” he pointed to Jakob, Anton, and Ida, “and the two children can share one. That’s how it was planned. No one has more space than that.”

  “No one?” Lange thundered. “What about the missionaries? And the Beits? They even seem to have space for their servants!”

  The sailor shrugged. “Then you should have booked first class, sir,” he explained politely. “But that’s expensive. One first-class voyage costs more than passage in steerage does for an entire family. If you have that kind of money, then speak to the captain.” Then he left to guide other, no less indignant passengers to their quarters.

  “I’m not sharing a bed with Franz!” Elsbeth said determinedly. She had finally stopped crying about their accommodations and had decided to fight instead.

  Ida sighed. The way it looked, she would have to share a bed with her little brother. Elsbeth was twelve, a difficult age—and she was stubborn and knew how to get her way. What was more, she was her father’s favorite. He often smiled at outbursts and escapades that would have gotten Ida a switching at Elsbeth’s age.

  “It’s improper for a girl and a boy to sleep in one bed!” Elsbeth complained.

  She would probably try to use that argument with her father to get her way, and it would likely work. He would put Franz with Anton, which would only cause more trouble.

  “But I need a bed!” Franz was close to tears. He seemed to be afraid that he might be left behind.

  “You can come to me!” Ida said comfortingly. “We’ll huddle together, and we’ll be warm when the others are shivering.”

  Franz was immediately consoled. “Elsbeth has to shiver, Elsbeth has to shiver,” he sang, while Ida arranged their berth. They had been given straw pallets with a few rough blankets.

  In the aisle between the berths, there was now an altercation going on between Jakob Lange, Peter Brandmann, and John Nicholas Beit, and Ottfried was also mixing in. Ida’s betrothed was complaining about his accommodations, too, which didn’t surprise her. But her ears pricked up when she heard the name Karl Jensch.

  “Yes, that’s what I’m trying to tell you!” Ottfried said triumphantly, turning to his father and Jakob Lange. “I’m sharing my quarters with Jensch—a day laborer, a ne’er-do-well who didn’t pay a single pfennig for this voyage. And he’s occupying a berth like every other passenger—”

  “You’ve given places to have-nots, Beit?” Brandmann cried. “And you’ve put a family of six in a dark hole with four berths?”

  The Brandmanns’ younger children, some of whom were over thirteen years old, also had to share two beds between them.

  “You will not speak to me in that tone!” John Nicholas Beit’s voice sounded sharp and so imposing that the cacophony of complaints in all the nearby compartments went silent. “You knew that you booked a passage in steerage. What were you expecting, canopy beds
? And of course we’ve provided places for the emigrants whose passage is being financed by the New Zealand Company. Each has his own berth, by necessity. Or should I have put them in bed with your daughters?” Jakob Lange and Peter Brandmann gasped. “Now go to your places and stop holding things up. The captain wants to cast off—”

  “I want to speak to the captain!” Brandmann demanded.

  “Peter, why?” Frau Brandmann said, trying to defuse the situation. “The captain knows where our accommodations are. It’s always this way—”

  “It’s unacceptable for a day laborer to get better treatment than my children!” Lange insisted. “Give his berth to my son, and make the lad sleep on the floor!”

  Ida felt sorry for Karl. It was good that he didn’t have to hear this.

  “He can’t sleep on the floor,” Beit grunted. “There are rules. Later, you’ll see for yourself why that doesn’t work when the seas get rough and water gets in.”

  “Water gets in here? On top of everything else, we have to expect floods?”

  Brandmann promptly forgot about the laborers and began to lament about the bad craftsmanship of the ship.

  Ida stopped listening. She also fought back her sense of shame that her family was about to cause a mutiny. Now that she knew Karl Jensch was on board, she suddenly didn’t care anymore what the other emigrants thought of the Langes and the Brandmanns. Ida’s heart beat faster. What a blessing for Karl to be able to start a new life in New Zealand! She didn’t know how it would be there, but she’d heard that, in America, anyone could prosper, even the lower classes.

  She wasn’t worried about herself. She would be fine. Plenty of other people had survived such voyages. Unexpectedly, Ida felt a burst of joy. Then she actively forbade herself to dwell on the comforting thought that she was no longer alone.

  The steerage passengers were not allowed to go on deck to catch a last glimpse of their homeland while the Sankt Pauli cast off. The captain had said that the ship was simply too small and that the sailors needed the deck clear to set the sails. More than a hundred passengers standing around weeping and waving would be in the way. But there were few complaints about it. Few of the emigrants came from Hamburg, and they weren’t interested in a last glimpse of it, nor did they have loved ones who had accompanied them to the pier. There were very few tears as the Sankt Pauli set sail.

  Jakob Lange gathered the members of his group in the corridor between the berths and led them in a short prayer, which other emigrants also joined, to his pleasure.

  They were all Lutherans, which immediately created a sense of community, and they too were traveling in groups. Only two families from the Güstrow area were emigrating independently from their communities. By the time they arrived in the new country, they would all be joined together as a new group. Only the single men and women were exceptions, and were regarded with mistrust. Hannes and Jost, Karl’s cabinmates, were the only ones from Hamburg. Karl didn’t discover immediately if they were Lutherans or Reformists, but they seemed to be exceptionally religious, and prayed fervently along with the others. Hannes told him that Beit had recruited them in a Christian sailors’ mission where they were stranded, for reasons they didn’t explain. Beit had taken the initiative. According to Hannes’s long-winded description, he had appeared in the shelter “like a living angel” and had offered to take them to New Zealand.

  Karl was surprised. Was he really the only day laborer and have-not from Mecklenburg who had asked Beit about the voyage? Had there been no young farmers or cottagers’ sons from any of the surrounding villages who perhaps would have been able to undertake the voyage with the blessings of their communities? Karl thought it would have been much easier for Beit to accept a few of those than to recruit from homeless shelters.

  The first night was relatively quiet, but the Sankt Pauli was still sailing through the estuary of the Elbe. They would only reach the open sea the next day. Beit made use of the calm weather to familiarize the passengers with the daily course of events on board. It was clear that he intended to run a tight ship. The very first morning, he gathered all the men on deck and assigned them jobs. Lange and Brandmann were put in charge of weighing out the rations, and others were asked to serve the meals. Still others were chosen for positions of supervision and discipline.

  “You must ensure that the ship’s rules are strictly enforced!” Beit said.

  In his authoritative voice, he read an entire list of rules and the fines that would be imposed if they were disobeyed. Among other things, it was forbidden for the passengers from steerage to spend time on deck. They were allowed to come out for fresh air only one hour per day, and for Sunday worship.

  “It’s like a prison!” Ottfried cried indignantly. But then he was consoled by being entrusted with the very important job of guarding the provisions.

  Like all the other jobs, many emigrants had offered to fill the position. Every one of the appointees took their tasks extremely seriously and were proud of their authority. When Karl went to the galley to collect the rations for the bachelors’ quarters that evening, he was inspected three times on his way there. The next morning, Hannes was even rebuked for dressing inappropriately. He was sent back to his quarters when he went to relieve himself without a shirt on.

  Karl himself hadn’t volunteered for any jobs, and probably wouldn’t have gotten any if he had. The citizens of Raben Steinfeld weren’t speaking to him. In their eyes, he’d somehow tricked his way onto the ship, and they begrudged it to him. Even Beit was rather unfriendly. Perhaps he already regretted having given in to the day laborer’s plea. After all, there had already been trouble with Brandmann. Karl had heard about the altercation in the corridor. So, for now, he was lying low and spending time with his books. He made short work of the booklet about New Zealand, and then studied the English dictionary intently. He only left the bachelors’ quarters for the hour on deck. There he hoped to finally meet Ida and perhaps even exchange a few words with her.

  In the first few days, that turned out to be impossible. The young woman was surrounded by her family as they stared in amazement at the wide, gray sea stretched out in front of them. Since there was little wind, there were no whitecaps, and there weren’t any icebergs drifting on the salt water either. It was just a gently moving steel-gray surface that melted into the gray sky in the distance. Karl didn’t find the sight as exhilarating as he had imagined it after reading the book about Captain Cook, but rather monotonous and depressing.

  But on the third day of the voyage, when they were surrounded by the Atlantic Ocean as far as the eye could see, a powerful wind arose. All at once the waves had foaming crests, which broke against the ship’s hull and sprayed the settlers who dared to get too close to the rail. It rained for the first time too. Ice-cold drizzle whipped against the passengers’ cheeks, and the sailors herded the people back to their quarters before their hour was up.

  “There’s a storm coming,” one of the seamen told Karl, who wasn’t complaining like the others but had asked politely about the reason. “We’ve got to batten down the hatches.”

  Karl watched worriedly from below as the hatchways were closed. The air would get even stuffier, and the people protested as it became dark. The increased motion of the vessel was also alarming to them, and the first travelers were already complaining of nausea. The few latrines that were available below deck, actually just large barrels behind privacy screens, were constantly occupied. But that was just the beginning. Soon, the ship was being thrown violently back and forth by the storm, and steerage transformed into a hell of noise, flying objects, and praying, shouting, and vomiting people.

  Karl, who remained in his berth at first, heard the steward shouting orders and the women crying. He would have preferred to listen to the sounds above deck: the calls of the sailors, the sound of wind in the sails . . . or were the sails lowered in such weather? Perhaps it was possible to avoid most of the danger of the storm that way. He took comfort in the fact that Hannes and Jos
t, who had both previously been to sea, didn’t seem particularly worried. It looked like they were just trying to get some sleep. But at some point, Karl could no longer stand the enforced idleness. He fought his way across the dangerously swaying floor in the direction he suspected Ida’s quarters were in. Maybe he wouldn’t see her, but he had a need to be near her and perhaps even to share a few comforting words with her.

  And then, he actually met her in the corridor. Looking exhausted and fearful, she was carrying a bucket of vomit toward the latrines.

  “Ida! Are you well?” Karl attempted to take the bucket from her, but she held on tightly.

  “Well?” she asked weakly. “The ship is sinking, and you’re asking me if I’m well?”

  Karl shook his head. “The ship isn’t sinking. It’s always stormy on the Atlantic—Captain Cook wrote about that too. And I’ve been told that the Sankt Pauli is a very robust vessel. It’ll only be a few hours before the rocking stops and everything is calm again.”

  There was a long line of people waiting in front of the latrines. The stewards were trying to keep them under control, but they kept pushing their way to the front, and every now and then someone didn’t make it and vomited on the floor.

  “There aren’t enough.” Karl sighed and attempted to clear the way for Ida. “Three privies for more than a hundred and fifty passengers . . .”

  Ida pushed a few escaped locks of hair back under her bonnet. She looked disheveled, as did the other normally tidy women. But during this storm, they obviously had better things to do than iron their aprons.