Anna's Crossing: An Amish Beginnings Novel (18 page)

August 13th, 1737

A day, then two, slipped by. Beneath the shadow of an overcast sky, the sea had turned a dark olive gray. A shout rang overhead. “Sail ho!” Heads turned on the
Charming
Nancy
and all those sailors not on watch raced to the larboard side. They had sighted their first vessel since leaving Plymouth.

Bairn sprinted for the side, caught hold of the shrouds, and
began to climb the ratlines. In seconds, he squeezed onto the crosstrees and snatched the spyglass from the lookout to peer through it. The ship’s topgallant sails grew visible over the horizon, along with her flag. A grin spread across his face. “’Tis the
St. Andrew
, Captain!”

Captain Stedman paused at the rail and cupped his mouth to give the order to furl the sails and drop anchor. There was great commotion as dozens of sailors crawled up the rigging to furl the sails and bring the
Charming Nancy
to a stop as the
St. Andrew
forged up alongside.

Bairn leaped to a backstay and slid to the deck, shouting an order before his feet hit the ground. “Johnny Reed! Go fetch the speaking trumpet for the captain.”

Before Johnny returned with the trumpet, a familiar voice rolled over from the ship. “Ahoy! I request an audience. I am coming in a boat.” Though low-pitched, John Stedman’s voice was unmistakable with its highland burr. Captain Charles Stedman, who rarely betrayed much glimmer of emotion, couldn’t contain a grin at the sight and sound of his older brother. Bairn handed him his speaking trumpet, which he caught up to shout, “Then make haste and come forth!”

The crew on the
St. Andrew
readied the longboat for the captain to scale down the rope ladder and drop into the ship. The oarsmen made quick work of rowing the longboat over to the
Charming Nancy
, despite a stiff crosswind and heavy chop, closing alongside the massive hull. Mr. Pocock secured the boat hook to the
Charming
Nancy
’s chains. Bairn dropped the rope ladder over the side and one of the oarsmen caught it.

“Welcome aboard, Captain,” Charles Stedman called down as his brother scaled up the rope ladder that hung along the
ship’s wooden side and hoisted himself onto the deck of the
Charming
Nancy
.

“Captain Stedman.” Captain John Stedman snapped from the waist into a bow, grayed hair flopping over his forehead. His brother did the same. Then John extended his hand, which Charles eagerly accepted, and they clapped each other on the back.

“How far out are you, John?”

“Twenty-one days from Cowes.”

“We left twenty-seven days ago. We ran into a storm that slowed us down.”

“You always were prone to run headfirst into trouble, brother.” Captain John, eyes dancing with amusement, turned to Mr. Pocock, who made a slight bow before him.

“Mr. Pocock, you look well.”

“Very well, sir.” He lifted his foot. “Other than a bit of gout that troubles—”

Captain Charles coughed to cut off Mr. Pocock before he could expand on his ailment. “Bairn brought some of your luck with him, brother.”

Captain John turned toward the carpenter. “Bairn. You look well. My brother is treating you reasonably well? ”

“Aye, sir. He is a fair and generous captain. Like his brother.”

“What is this luck you speak of?”

Bairn colored. “Somethin’ I learned from you. To let the ship lie ahull during a severe storm.”

Captain John looked pleased. “Aye. It goes against seafaring logic, and yet it works.” He clasped his hands together. “Charles, there’s a matter I must discuss with you.”

“Let’s go to the Great Cabin.”

“No time to tarry. I’ll tell you now and then I must return
at once. I’ve received information that you have a passenger aboard ship who is wanted for thievery, back in Germany. There’s a recruiter on my ship who is determined to come aboard and bring the individual to justice.”

“How does he expect to do that on the open seas?”

“The recruiter plans to return to Rotterdam with the criminal immediately.”

“A criminal? Among the Peculiars?” A scoff burst out of Charles Stedman. “You know these people better than I do, John.”

“Aye. And unlikely for one to be a thief.”

“Who is the recruiter? Do I know him?”

“Georg Schultz.”

“Schultz,” Captain Charles said flatly. “I should have known. That man will go to no lengths for gold.”

“He wishes permission to come aboard.”

“Why? To sniff out the thief?”

Captain John nodded. “He thought he might be on the
St. Andrew
, but I have only Mennonites. Yours is the ship with those followers of Jacob Amman. The thief, he is convinced, is a follower of that church.”

“And then what? We are bound for Port Philadelphia. As are you.”

“He hopes there will be opportunity to speak a ship with a returning vessel. But frankly, I ken not and I care not. I’d like to hand this to you, Charles. My ship is overcrowded as it is . . .”

“As is mine.”

“Still. He won’t leave it alone. You know Schultz as well as I do. He’s practically foaming at the mouth for the reward. I’ll be glad to be rid of him.” He glanced at Bairn. “And I did let you take my best carpenter from me.”

Captain Charles blew air out of his cheeks. “You will throw that in my face at every opportunity, won’t you, brother?”

Captain John grinned. “I will.”

“What exactly did the thief take?”

“A pocket watch. Pure gold.”

“John, this has already been a taxing voyage. Two storms, a cracked structural beam. And now this.”

Captain John’s wooly eyebrows lifted in concern. “A cracked beam? Should you not be turning back to England?”

“We think we have it repaired. Temporarily at least.”

Captain John rose and patted his brother on the back. “Well done. ’Twas no accident to have Bairn aboard your ship, no doot. The Almighty was looking out for you.”

“Aye, that, and the passengers had the right tool. A screw jack, Bairn called it.”

“I’m not surprised. Those Germans are a resourceful people.” He picked up the speaking trumpet and shouted through the mouthpiece. “Send Georg Schultz over.”

Over on the
St. 
Andrew
, Bairn saw Schultz find a spot for his foot on the first rung of the rope ladder before continuing with his descent.

“Will you stay for tea? Or something a wee bit stronger? A dram, mayhap?”

“Nay. I must leave immediately while the westerly gales are with us.”

Captain Charles looked disappointed. “Then I’ll see you next in Philadelphia.”

The brothers shook hands again, thumping each other on the back, a Scottish version of a hug.

Below, the longboat bobbed and rolled on the waves splashing against the
Charming Nancy
’s side. Three pairs of seamen
sat at the oars, patiently remaining in the longboat as it rolled with the choppy waves, fidgeting in their seats, adjusting their grips on the oar handles, waiting for the captain to return.

Captain John Stedman descended to the longboat and stood at the bow, a captain at heart whether it was a mighty ship or a humble longboat. The oars were lowered and they shoved off, all six crewman putting their backs into rowing across a foamy, choppy sea.

They passed the other longboat containing Georg Schultz. When it reached the
Charming Nancy
, Schultz struggled to scale the rope ladder. He was huffing and puffing, his face a purplish red, as Bairn hoisted him over the weather-smoothed railing.

“Thank you, Bairn. Where is Captain Stedman?”

“I’m here, Schultz.” The captain climbed down the ladder of the fo’c’sle deck to meet the portly recruiter.

“Captain Stedman, did Captain Stedman—” Schultz frowned and shook his head— “did your brother inform you of my duty as a German citizen?”

Wind buffeted the captain’s face, forcing his eyes to narrow. “He mentioned something about it. You’re convinced there’s a thief on board.”

“I am. Without a doubt. Word was all over Cowes about the very generous reward.”

Captain Stedman waved a hand dismissively. “A pocket watch is hardly a reason to upend a life. It can be replaced.”

“This one holds great value. It is a family heirloom.” He leaned forward to whisper to the captain. “It belongs to a baron. Terribly influential.”

“To you and your purse, Schultz.”

Schultz only laughed at the insult. He pulled his waistcoat
over his large belly. “I would like to look over the passenger list.”

“And what will happen to the thief?”

“He will be brought to justice.”

“And?”

“The watch will be returned to the baron and the thief will be punished.” Schultz shrugged. “What does it matter?”

“As long as you receive your reward.”

Schultz gave him a smug smile. “After you and your brother, both, have overcrowded vessels with these sheep, you dare to accuse me of greed?”

A streak of red started up Captain Stedman’s cheeks, then his entire face went as red as an autumn apple. He turned to his first mate. “Mr. Pocock, weather us a course southwest by south and fetch me those sails. Carry her as close to the wind as she’ll bear, full and by.”

Mr. Pocock relayed the order in his slow, exacting way and several of the crew went clambering up the ratlines.

The captain appraised the remaining sailors, standing at the railing, watching the
St. Andrew
. “Bairn, the crewmen are idle. See everyone returns to his duties. Let us be quick about it. The
St. Andrew
is nearly off the horizon.” He narrowed his eyes to a slit. “And then you may show Mr. Schultz the passenger list.”

As Bairn spun around to get to work, a flash of red hair caught the corner of his eye. Felix.

The boy disappeared down the companionway as though the devil himself were hot on his heels.

When Felix had heard that a ship had been sighted, he dashed up the companionway to the main deck and crouched
low in the bowsprit, his favorite hiding place, to listen to the captain talk to Bairn about speaking the ship. He had learned from Cook that to “speak a ship” meant both vessels would approach each other at a distance of about two hundred yards, drop their sails, and send officers back and forth in small boats.

He found it amusing to watch the two captains talk to each other. The brothers enjoyed each other, that was obvious. They made a show of bowing to each other, then clapped each other on the back. And their laughs! Nearly identical, though they didn’t look at all alike. John Stedman, the older one, was taller and oozed self-confidence. Charles Stedman sounded as if he was trying to impress his brother. Felix felt a tug of sympathy. He knew what it was like to try to seek attention from your older brother. Johann always liked to sound as if he had enormous experience in life, though his knowledge only came through books. Books that didn’t even belong to him.

On the heels of that thought came a wave of sadness, followed by guilt for thinking badly of Johann. Felix no longer had a brother to complain about, or play tricks on, or to wrestle with, or chase lambs down the hillside. Johann was gone.

Felix’s interest in the captains’ conversation quickly waned when he heard of Georg Schultz’s return and saw for himself that the stout little man had returned to the
Charming Nancy
. He disliked Georg Schultz, though he knew his mother would scold him for thinking such a thought. But he knew his mother would feel the same way if she understood English and realized the kinds of remarks he made about Anna when he watched her with those eyes of his, eyes that looked wrong.
Felix asked Cook what a few of Schultz’s words meant and Cook practically boxed his ears. The sailors watched Anna too, but with a look of adoration on their faces. Schultz stared at Anna as if he hadn’t eaten a meal in quite some time and was very hungry.

Felix liked the way Bairn looked at Anna. As if she was made of delicate china.

And then he heard Georg Schultz tell the captain that he was looking for a thief who stole the baron’s watch, and his heart thumped hard.

August 16th, 1737

The days passed by, one after another. The only variety was the wind. At times it went with them. Other times it went against them and they lost hard-won miles.

Anna thought her patience might snap if one more person pressed her to ask the ship’s officers “How much longer?” She had yet to ask Bairn that question; she dreaded the answer. Finally, Christian requested that she try to find out their distance to America. They had been relaxed about drinking water, using what they needed when they needed it. During rain squalls, they were able to refill barrels to have fresh water on board, but there had been little rain to collect since the first big storm, three weeks prior, and Christian wondered if they should be more judicious about its use.

Bairn told her that they were not even halfway across the ocean.

When Christian heard that report, he decided to ration the water, which caused ripples of grumbling, mostly by his wife Maria. “We have plenty of fresh water,” Christian reassured
everyone. “I just want to make sure we stay that way until we reach Port Philadelphia.”

As irritating as Maria’s petulance could be, Anna understood what drove her complaints. They were all growing weary, tired of salted meat and hardtack, missing home and frightened of what lay ahead. Anna alternated between abhorring this endless sea journey and blaming herself for failing to have the strength to tolerate it. She sorely missed home and its comforts—her grandparents, the farm, sleeping in a soft clean bed, drinking milk, baking bread, eating fresh cheese—and the longer she was gone, the more intense her yearnings became. Those few times when she was above deck after dark to gaze at the night sky, it seemed impossible that her grandparents saw the same stars she did. She felt too far away to share the same heavens.

Felix was catching on to English with remarkable ability, far ahead of Catrina. Today, when she went above deck to ask Bairn how far along they were in the ocean, she overheard Felix speaking to Bairn in a charming mix of German dialect and English, as the carpenter gently corrected him.

As Anna listened, she realized that Felix didn’t translate. He listened, watched, repeated, and put the pieces of the puzzle together. No wonder he was catching on so quickly—language, for Felix, was about communication, not about perfect grammar.

Anna might have perfect grammar, a large vocabulary, and conjugated verb tenses, but she was constantly translating in her mind from one language to another and back again. Actually, three languages—now that Georg Schultz was back. He spoke only German and English, disdaining their dialect as a peasant’s tongue. By the end of each day, her brain hurt.

Georg Schultz pored over the passenger list and still hadn’t found his thief. He was frustrated and convinced the passengers were protecting someone, so tonight he called for a meeting with the men in the middle of the lower deck, right after supper. He stood on top of a trunk to get their attention. “It will do you no good to protect the thief who stole the baron’s gold watch. He must be found out. I will find him. Where is he? Who is the man named Bauer?”

Before Anna finished translating, Christian and Josef exchanged a glance. Christian formed his words carefully. “There is no man named Bauer on this ship.”

Josef stepped forward. “Perhaps the name is in error. Bauer, Byler, Beiler—there are many similar-sounding names among our people.”

Georg frowned. “I’m sure I heard the name Bauer.” He scratched his greasy hair. “He’s here. I know he’s among you.” He stared at each man. “Now who is he?”

No one responded. Even the Mennonites were silent. They stared at Georg Schultz with blank looks on their faces, until he grew so exasperated that he jumped off the trunk and stomped away. “I will find him! Mark my words.”

The story of the stolen watch plagued Anna all night. A memory tickled at the edges of her mind. Right after Johann’s funeral, as they were hurrying to depart for the boat to Rotterdam, Felix had disappeared. When he reappeared, Anna asked where he had gone and he said there was something he had to do for Johann. She assumed he had gone to his gravesite for one more goodbye.

But something occurred to her tonight as she lay on her hammock. His proper birth name, the name stated on his records at Ixheim, was Hans Felix Bauer. As was their custom,
he had been named for the brother who had died before him. Not Johann, but Hans, the brother who had gone with Jacob to the New World. She looked below her hammock to the basket. The one who had given her that rose.

It also occurred to her that Captain Stedman only wanted the names of male heads of families on the passenger list. Dorothea and Felix’s names, Anna’s, too, were folded into Christian’s family. There was no Bauer on the passenger list.

The next morning, she asked Felix, point-blank, if he knew anything about the baron’s watch—anything at all. He looked her straight in the eye and said no, but she also knew him to be a skillful liar.

And then Georg Schultz came strutting down the lower deck and the boy vanished, something he seemed to do whenever the Neulander was in proximity. Felix seemed to be everywhere and nowhere at once.

August 18th, 1737

The sea was glassy. When wind was scarce, there was more work for the men among the sails than when it was blowing strongly. Sailing through a windless stretch meant trimming sails every few minutes to catch the latest cat’s-paw of wind, each blowing in a different direction from the last.

The men at the sheets came off watch tired and demoralized by the log readings—a mile an hour, even less. Captain Stedman recorded fretfully one evening that they had gone ten miles back again from where they were yesterday.

Bairn ran a discerning eye over the ship, inspecting her three towering masts, her lines, and the rigging and unfurling of the square sails. In his mind, there was only one option to
make way when the air was becalmed and none—to water the sails to make the canvas heavy, allowing them to hold more wind. Bairn was on his way to the Great Cabin to speak to the captain about watering the sails, thinking of how to word the suggestion carefully so as to make it seem like the captain thought of it himself, when he stopped abruptly. A foul odor wafted in and over the
Charming Nancy
.

Cook came out of his galley, sniffing the air. “Is it a dead whale?”

“Nay. Worse.” Bairn had smelled this particular stench before. A knot of dread formed in his middle.

Soon, a lookout gave the cry, “Sail to windward!”

Sailors climbed onto the rails, pushing for a view.

The captain hurried out of his cabin and up to the fo’c’sle. “Lookout, what’s the status of the ship?”

“Approaching larboard, sir,” came the faint response.

The captain took out his spyglass. “’Tis a slaver,” he said to Mr. Pocock and Bairn as he peered through the spyglass. “Mr. Pocock, furl the sails and slow the ship in the event that the captain of the slaver requires assistance. But if not, I do not desire a speak-to. I’ll be in my cabin.” He handed the spyglass to Bairn and strode back to his cabin.

Mr. Pocock glanced uncomfortably at Bairn. “My gout’s been acting up. If you don’t mind . . .” He handed the speaking trumpet to Bairn and hobbled away to the officers’ quarters. Bairn was left to act on behalf of the officers with the slave ship.

Seamen gathered to the larboard side to watch the approaching ship. Even the most hardened sailors were silent, mouths covered with their kerchiefs. The stench from the slave ship sucked the air from Bairn’s lungs and he wished
for a cloth to mask the odor, but dared not. He felt he must look the part of the officer. When the sails were furled and the ship slowed, he steadied the powerful spyglass on the edge of the foretop to take a closer look at the slave ship. He felt a tug at his elbow and turned to see Felix.

“Have I nae told you to ne’er come up on the fo’c’sle deck without permission?”

“I vant to see.”

Bairn’s gaze swept the deck to make sure the captain and first mate were nowhere in sight. “Have you ever seen a slave ship?”

“No.”

Anna appeared at the bottom of the ladder, scrunching her nose. “Felix!”

“He’s here, Anna, looking through the spyglass. Come on up. You can rest assured that the captain won’t be comin’ out of his cabin until we’ve long passed the slave ship.”

“A slave ship?” Tentatively, Anna climbed the ladder and joined them. “Is that what the smell is?”

Bairn nodded. “Aye, and ’tis windward, so we’re gettin’ a full dose with what wind we have.” Though cold, there was a stifling absence of air. “It’s not so unusual to see them in the summer months. They come from the south, from the western coast of Africa.”

Anna stood at the railing. “Where is it going?”

“Possibly t’the Caribbean islands. But this one is west and quite far north, so mayhap ’tis headin’ to the southern colonies.”

“Can I see slaves?” Felix asked.

Anna gave him a sharp look.

Bairn adjusted the spyglass for the boy to peer through. “’Tis not a pleasant sight, laddie. Hell has taken up residence on earth. This one is ridin’ low in the water. My guess is it
must have five or six hundred Africans on board.” Then he went silent.

Fascinated, Felix peered through the scope. “Vhat are they throwing in the vater?”

Bairn didn’t bother to look. “Dead Africans,” he said stiffly. “They throw over the day’s dead.”

“But . . . some are still moving.”

Bairn kept his eyes averted. “And those who are near dead.”

The closer the ship got, the stronger the smell, the more horrific the sight. Soon the ship was close enough that they could see the faces of the slaves—gaunt, hopeless. Most were naked. The slaver’s crew poured buckets of salt water over them.

Felix lowered the spyglass and looked at Bairn with troubled eyes. “Vhy do dey not get up?”

“Because they are in chains.”

He caught the pitiful wince in Anna’s eyes as they flickered straight down to the jagged raised scars on his ankles, bared from his boots after climbing the ratlines this morning to fasten a mooring to a spar. He hadn’t thought to put them back on. He knew what was running through that quick mind of hers: Was he once someone’s slave?

“I did not know that human beings could do such a thing to each other,” Anna whispered, tears running down her face. “How do they bear it?”

He lifted his gaze back to her face. “Where is your just and loving God now, Anna?”

She spun on him, eyes flashing sparks at him. “God? You think this is God’s handiwork? You blame God for this tragedy? This is not God’s doing. This is the Devil’s deed!”

The slave ship was approaching, drifting westward. The
captain of the slave ship shouted out, “Ahoy! We are low on water. Have you any to spare?”

Bairn sent Johnny Reed to the Great Cabin to ask the captain for permission to release some barrels of casked water to the slaver. Back came a prompt and terse reply: “Nay.”

Bairn’s eyes closed, then he picked up the speaking trumpet. “We have no water to spare.” Silently, he added,
May God forgive me.
He kept his head down.

Anna stood right next to him. “But what will they do without water?”

“Most likely, they will reduce their cargo.”

“What does that mean?”

“They will start winnowin’ the cargo.”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

He turned to face her, angry for what she was making him say. “They will chain a group of Africans together and shove them overboard, one by one.” He pointed to the slave ship. “As they are doin’ now.”

She gripped her elbows, hugging herself as if she felt a sudden chill. “To die.”

“Of course! ’Tis a more merciful death for the cargo than dehydration.” He had heard recently of a slaver that started with six hundred Africans and reached port with only two hundred.

“They’re not cargo.” Anna’s voice trembled as she spoke. “They’re human beings.”

Bairn stiffened. “Slavery ’tis the backbone of the British empire.” And a lucrative trade for the captain and investors. He defended it, but in truth the practice sickened him, especially conditions on a ship like this one.