When Meissner had finally run out of possible misdemeanours and their consequences, he pointed out the small kitchens, the barrels of drinking water, the water closet for the use of women and children in the main company and one for the single women in their own roped-off quarter. The small lamps, he instructed, were to be extinguished with utmost strictness at ten o’clock every night and during every instance of severe weather. Finally, sensing the growing irritation swelling from the crowd of passengers, he raised a rolled slip of paper and pointed it to the waiting bunks. ‘Berths have been assigned to each family.’
‘Finally,’ Matthias whispered. ‘I thought we’d reach the colony before he stopped.’
‘There shall be two persons to each bunk,’ continued the doctor. ‘If you have an infant –’
There was an outcry of disbelief. Surely it was a mistake. The bunks were narrow even for a single man.
‘Quiet!’ He stomped his foot upon the table. Everyone hushed, taken aback by the sudden display of temper. Meissner cleared his throat. ‘If you have an infant, a box will be provided for the end of the bunk. The carpenter will fix it in place.
‘All unaccompanied single men will be confined to the stern and single young women will be placed together in the bow with a chaperone.’ He pointed to the foremost area. ‘Families will be summoned by name and directed to their berths. Under no circumstances may you change berth without my prior permission. Once assigned, you may store belongings under the lower bunks. Hooks have been provided for those passengers with an upper berth.’
‘How will we fit all our things in that small space?’ shouted Gottfried Volkmann. He pointed to one of the berths. ‘How will I fit in such a small bed?’ He slapped his round stomach. ‘One big wave and my little wife will be squished. Yes, she will be a pancake.’ There was a burble of tense laughter. Eleonore Volkmann, taller than her husband, rolled her eyes.
‘You’d think they’d arrange the bunks fore to aft,’ whispered Matthias. ‘We shall all be rocked like babies in a cradle.’
‘I am not an unreasonable man,’ answered the doctor. ‘Some alterations may be required, as I have already stated. But let us stick to what has been arranged before we discern who is discontented.’
One by one he began to announce the names of all the families on board, allowing Samuel Radtke to direct them to the bunks. The bare sleeping quarters soon looked even more cramped and chaotic as women unpacked bedding, flapping sheets and hanging them between the berths in anxious attempts at privacy.
‘Eichenwald! Friedrich!’
My heart leaped at the name. I watched as Thea’s father raised his hand. The doctor didn’t look up from his documents but waved a hand in the air. ‘Friedrich and Anna Maria Eichenwald, lower berth fourteen. Your daughter . . .’ He glanced up, eyes catching sight of Thea. ‘Your daughter in the bow.’
I watched as Anna Maria frowned. The white of her headdress glowed in the gloom. ‘But she has her parents here,’ she said.
‘Excuse me, Herr –’
‘Dr Meissner.’
Friedrich cleared his throat. ‘Dr Meissner, we are here to accompany our daughter.’
The doctor shook his head. ‘You are an odd number. Husband and wife to berth fourteen. Dorothea Eichenwald to the bow.’ He glanced up at Thea then nodded towards the berths at the front of the ship, separated from the rest of the bunks by a curtain already half ripped off its cord.
Thea glanced at me before kissing her mother and picking her way through the crowd. I watched as she lifted the rope and moved along the empty berths, before sinking onto a lower bunk in the farthest corner. She shrugged at me. I returned her smile, but my heart was a fist.
The names were ceaseless. The air grew warmer. Word spread that there were nearly two hundred souls on board, but only eighty berths. We watched as they filled.
‘Nussbaum! Heinrich!’
My father stepped forwards, raising his hand.
The doctor gestured to his left. ‘Heinrich and Matthias Nussbaum, upper berth here. Wife, daughter and infant, lower berth. Pfeiffer, Daniel!’
Samuel Radtke indicated the two bunks allocated to my family. ‘Ask the carpenter to fit a box for Hermine,’ he said. He glanced at me and smiled apologetically. ‘Shame you are so tall, Hanne.’
‘Where is the carpenter?’ asked Mama.
‘On deck. Don’t worry, there are days yet before we set sail into rougher seas. There will be time.’