Devotion(37)

‘Our country has abandoned us. We are Lutherans.’

‘Ah, but there is no Lutheran Church. There is the Union Church –’

‘That is heresy,’ ventured Mama.

The man smiled and tucked his handkerchief back into his pocket. ‘Well, good day to you. And good riddance. Bigots.’

We watched him continue up the wharf, shaking his head.

Mama stared after the man, jaw tense. She turned and looked up at Papa, who had returned, flipping his hat in his hands.

‘Good news! The ship is anchored in Altona. It will soon be ready for us.’ He sighed happily.

‘But we are in Hamburg.’

‘Ja.’

‘Not Altona.’

Papa shrugged. Pulled at his beard. ‘It is not far. The barges will remain here and we can sleep on them until the ship –’

I did not wait to hear his news. There, amongst the movement of people upon the docks, was Thea. She was walking towards me, luminous amidst the drab browns of waiting barrels and dry goods, the dark clothing of everyone else I did not care about. I forgot myself. I pushed past Hans and ran, face torn wide by a smile I could not suppress. My heart was leaping out of my body, was beating so hard I knew she could feel it as she wrapped her arms about me, pulled me into her chest, hard, violently, before releasing me just as quickly, as though I had scalded her, as though I was flame.

We did not say anything. We were breathless from running. We were unsure and happy and I remember I raised my hand to my chest to slow my pulse, and in response she placed her palm upon hers. Hands on hearts. Swearing oaths. Affirming something we did not yet understand.


We remained in Hamburg, suffering a wearying refrain of abuse from some and visited by others who wished to hear the novelty of our singing, until, finally, news came that our ship was almost ready for embarkation.

The barges carried us the final stretch of the Elbe to Altona and left us on the docks with our trunks. A sympathetic shipping agent let us sleep in an empty warehouse a few streets back from the harbour, and in the morning, after prayer, we were informed that the Kristi was nearly stocked with a half-year’s provisions and that we would soon be permitted to come on board. It was decided that Elder Pasche would meet the captain as spokesperson, to ensure all was ready. We watched a sailor row him out, their small boat soon dwarfed by the ship that would be our home for the next six months.

Mama shivered next to me, bouncing Hermine in her arms. All the women from Kay stood together, arms crossed over their stomachs, eyes wide at the sight.

‘It’s so black,’ Elize muttered.

Magdalena Radtke glanced at her, and then cast her worried gaze at my mother. ‘It looks like a coffin, Johanne.’

Mama raised her eyebrows. ‘As long as it floats.’

‘If God is not merciful to us, we shall be buried in the water.’

Eleonore Volkmann lifted a hand to her forehead and squinted against the light. ‘Look, they’re bringing more supplies out to it now. I wonder what’s in those barrels?’

Elize shrugged. ‘Pork. Flour. Water. Herrings, someone said.’

‘Herrings? I’ve never eaten a herring in my life,’ said Magdalena.

‘Ah well. We may eat stranger things yet.’ Eleonore sighed. ‘Best start with herrings.’

It seemed impossible that we might need so many hundreds of barrels, that such a great hulking ship would not sink under their weight.

‘What if we run out of things to eat before we get there?’ Rosina asked.

A familiar voice murmured into my ear, ‘We can cook the children.’

I turned and saw Hans standing next to me, brown eyes smiling.

‘Stop it, Hans,’ muttered Rosina.

‘Good,’ I whispered, turning back to the ship. ‘They can start with Hermine.’

‘I heard that,’ my mother said.


We were rowed out to the ship in handfuls, assisted onto the top deck by courteous sailors who shouldered our belongings with ease. A tall, clean-shaven man stood watching us as we boarded, hands folded behind his back.

‘That is the captain,’ whispered Matthias.

We stared at him, a little awed. This was the man who would take us over the great seas in nothing but a pile of timber. I wondered at how he knew to do such a thing. ‘He looks clever,’ I said. Matthias nodded. We bowed our heads as we passed him.

When all of us stood upon the deck, hushed and nervous at the height of the masts, the great symphony of ropes and rolled sail above us, the captain cleared his throat and opened his arms wide in greeting.

‘Welcome.’ His voice was a foghorn against the resonance of water and wood, the shouts of the sailors bringing further provisions on board. ‘I am Captain Olsen and it will be my pleasure to bring you to your new home in Adelaide.’

There was a sudden burst of clapping. The captain smiled, bowing his head. He told us a little of what we might expect from the crew, who numbered less than twenty, and then gestured to a man who stood behind him, deep-set eyes shadowed by thick eyebrows. He did not smile, but stepped forwards and looked down over us, Adam’s apple bobbing over his neckcloth.

‘This is Dr Meissner,’ the captain continued. ‘He has been appointed your medical officer and will accompany you on this voyage. As the doctor has been charged with your welfare, he will assign you into messes for meals and cleaning. Dr Meissner is also to be regarded as the authority in all things immediately relevant to your personal conduct, health and wellbeing, and will advise you on what you have been rationed, where you may sleep and all other daily administrations that will ensure an orderly and peaceable voyage. Unless anyone has any immediate concerns they wish to bring to my attention on behalf of the passengers, Dr Meissner will show you to your quarters below deck.’