I dreamed of water. I dreamed I divined rivers running beneath the ship’s boards. I crouched on the floor, one hand outspread and the other gripping a knife. I plunged the blade downwards and the wood of the boards broke apart. Water bubbled up like a wellspring. Fresh, clean water. It sang of snow melt and rock and silent places. I watched it creep along the floor, rising until it lapped against the blankets of the lower berths. I reached out and placed my palm against the surface, and when I looked up, I saw Thea drinking, scooping handfuls to her mouth so that water dripped down her chin and clothes.
‘Water of life,’ she said, and she reached for me.
And then I fell out of my bed and woke.
It took a few moments for me to understand what was happening. The bow was black-dark and I could hear voices and cries. There was water everywhere, as in my dream, but as the ship tipped and I started to slide across the floor, colliding with something hard, I understood that it was not fresh water, but salt.
I wanted to cry out but the words caught at the back of my throat. I was strangled with fear. I reached out as the ship rolled again, and my hand found an ankle. I heard Christiana shriek.
‘Christiana?’
‘Hanne?’
Hands found me and helped me up, pulling me into a bed. The mattress was soaked.
‘Christiana, is that you? Why is it dark?’
‘The safety light has gone out.’
I could hear sea water sluicing the floor. It sounded like the tween deck was flooded and, as the ship fell in another sickening plunge, I heard the water rushing around us, heard the clattering of knives and plates, heard boxes breaking their fastenings, and all of it tipping from berths and nooks and keeping places and sliding across the floor.
‘Our Father who art in Heaven . . .’ The words were throttled by Christiana’s rapid breathing. Children were screaming. I was aware, at the periphery of my fear, of Mutter Scheck calling for calm. Of my own father’s voice deep in steerage calling for someone to ‘light the damn lamp’。 I was aware of my body shaking, of my eyes blindly searching the darkness, looking for something by which I might anchor myself. Where was my bunk? Where was Thea?
Christiana gripped my arm. ‘Thy kingdom come . . .’
‘Thea!’ My voice broke over her name. I tried again, but my throat was barbed and I could not call out. Christiana’s nails dug into the crook of my elbow.
A dim light entered the bow. The curtain had been pulled from its rope, and I could see into steerage, where Samuel Radtke gripped the trestle table, one hand closing the safety lamp, its flame rekindled. Water washed about his legs.
‘Papa!’
My father was gripping the stairs of the hatchway, beard and hair wet through from the water falling from the upper deck, calling to someone above. Samuel Radtke made his way to him, falling as the ship plunged, then pulling himself back to his feet. Together they were shouting, but I could not hear what they were saying above the roar of the ocean outside and the crashing of water and loose articles upon the floor.
There was a loud crack from without and Christiana screamed and scrabbled at me like the drowning. ‘We are being wrecked!’
‘I think it was thunder.’
Turning, I saw Anna Maria lying next to Thea, one arm holding her daughter, the other braced against the post of the berth. They were both silent.
Christiana shook me. ‘What are they doing?’
I turned and saw that our fathers were standing on the stairs, helping to haul something over the hatchway, assisting the sailors as they nailed down the battens.
Soon the water falling into the tween deck was reduced to a steady dripping, and while the ship was still rolling at terrifying angles, people stopped screaming as they had done when the deck had been in total darkness. The safety lamp was a comfort, even if it showed just how acute the keel of the waves.
Papa approached the bow and nodded to Mutter Scheck, who remained in her berth, quite white, gripping the planks above her head.
‘Are you all right?’ he called to me, steadying himself as the ship coursed down another wave.
I nodded. My voice had gone.
‘It’s a squall,’ he shouted. ‘Just a bad squall. It has taken everyone by surprise, that’s all. The scuppers are not draining the ship of all the water.’
It was such a relief to see him after so many weeks of separation, I could not help the tears that sprang to my eyes. I needed to be close to him. When the ship eased upwards, I threw off Christiana and staggered to where he stood. He caught me with his free arm.
‘Do you have faith in our mighty God above?’ he asked, holding me firm around the shoulders.