Devotion(53)

The elders approached the captain after services, hoping to convince him to heed Dr Meissner’s rumoured petition and put in to the next port. We all stood in silence as they spoke to him, watching Olsen listen and nod. He seemed sympathetic. The morning sky was dark grey, the sea capped white by a blustery wind. I felt nervous, as though something was going to happen that I had little power to stop. A freak wave. Mutiny. The ocean was everywhere, restless, unquiet, sounding like a woman in anger.

‘What is he saying?’ Thea asked me, voice low.

‘I can’t hear,’ I replied. ‘It’s too windy.’

Mutter Scheck shushed us.

A few minutes later the captain broke away from the elders and addressed us as a group. ‘I understand that many of you desire to call at Port de Praia so that the ship might be cleaned of disease and the ill allowed to recover away from its regrettable discomforts.’

There was a general murmuring of agreement.

Olsen assumed a look of deep regret. ‘Unfortunately, I cannot assent to lie at anchor for as long as it will take the sick amongst you to recover. The delay would prove expensive. We do not have enough foreign currency on board to pay for the cleaning of the ship.’ He said something else, but the wind snatched the words from his mouth.

‘What?’ Daniel Pfeiffer cried. ‘Say again!’

The captain renewed his efforts. ‘We have no source of credit on the Cape Verde islands!’

People muttered in dismay. I had not thought of this either.

‘I understand that you are disappointed.’ Captain Olsen extended his hands in a gesture of apology. ‘I understand that many of you are afraid. And so, I would like to console you with the prospect of Brazil. Should the need become greater than it is now, or should my crew become unwell, I will consider Bahia.

‘You have my great sympathy,’ he continued. ‘And I would like to make a gift . . .’ Again, his voice was drowned out by the wind, a snapping sail. ‘I hope it might lift your spirits.’

‘What did he say?’ Mutter turned to me, frowning.

‘What is lifting our spirits?’ called Christian Pasche.

‘Louder, please, Captain!’

Captain Olsen gripped the balustrade and roared. ‘A pig! I’m giving you the pig!’


None of us had any livestock on the boat, although there were some chickens to provide eggs and fresh meat for the captain, as well as the pig, which we’d been told Olsen kept as a sort of pet, and a goat that bleated piteously every time waves emptied over the deck. Two days later, as soon as the weather had calmed and the pig had been fasted, Mutter Scheck insisted the girls in her charge come up on deck to take part in the occasion of its slaughter.

‘A nice pig,’ she said to herself as she climbed the hatchway. ‘We won’t know ourselves.’

The day was hot, with little wind, and in the rare stillness the sounds of people laughing and making as much of the event as possible were earnest and abrasive. Amalie, Christiana, Thea and I stood with three other women on deck, looking on as the young men squabbled in a good-natured way about who ought to be butcher, their fathers and the sailors goading them on.

Papa placed a rope around the pig’s neck, holding it still as Hans and Matthias wrenched the nails from its crate and brought one side free.

‘He’s very strong, isn’t he?’ Christiana murmured to no one in particular.

‘The pig?’ I asked.

‘I meant Hans,’ Christiana answered, rolling her eyes.

Mutter Scheck twitched in disapproval. ‘Halt’s Maul, so fliegt dir keine Mücke hinein. Close your mouth, so no mosquitoes will fly in, Christiana.’

The pig was led out of the crate. Everyone cheered and the animal, startled by the sudden noise, immediately lurched starboard, taking Papa by surprise so that he stumbled and was dragged on his knees. People laughed. Papa joined in, letting out a roar as he got back on his feet. He gave the animal a few slaps on its rear. It squealed and the passengers laughed again.

‘I feel sick.’

Thea had been very quiet all morning. I saw that she had turned away from the deck and was looking out to sea.

‘Really?’

‘I want to go below.’

‘Thea, Daniel Pfeiffer will do it. They’re not going to let the boys fumble it.’

‘Please, Hanne.’

I noticed that she was trembling.

‘I can’t watch.’

Mutter Scheck was enjoying the mirth. I waited until she had stopped guffawing and tapped her on the shoulder.

‘What is it, Hanne?’ she asked, still smiling.

‘Thea is not well.’

Mutter’s smile vanished, eyes flitting to Thea, who waited for me, pale-faced, at the hatch entrance. ‘Fever?’

‘Just a little tired, I think.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Yes, I’m sure that’s it. I am too. We’ve slept so little these past days.’

‘Go on, then,’ she said, her attention already turning back to the pig and its capture. ‘Don’t leave the bow.’

The pig’s frantic squealing quietened as we returned below deck, but Thea was almost crying by the time we crawled back into bed. She clamped her hands over her ears. ‘I hate it,’ she said. ‘I hate it. I can’t understand why everyone wants to watch such a thing. Hanne, talk to me. Sing to me. Tell me something.’