Chapter II: Part 2

This was England and London, this was the heart of the largest city in the world. America, the longed-for, with its great forests and its mighty hunters, lay far across the sea three thousand miles away. But through the London fog, surrounded by a great crowd above whom they towered, there came toward Conrad four giant creatures, with bronze-colored skins, with deer-hide shoes, with headdresses of waving feathers, and with scarlet blankets. Conrad rubbed his eyes; he looked again. They came nearer and nearer, they seemed more and more majestic and terrible.

Then, suddenly, they vanished, as though the earth had swallowed them. They could not have entered a house since there were no dwelling-houses here, and the shops were closed. Risking a rebuff as cruel as that from the lamp-post, Conrad grasped the arm of the man nearest him and poured out a dozen excited questions.

"These are Indians from the wilds of America," answered the stranger.

"Why are they here? What does it mean? Could I speak to them? Where did they go?"

The stranger's patience was soon exhausted. After he had explained that the savages had gone into the theater, he left Conrad to address his questions to the empty air.

For a moment Conrad stared at the spot from which the Indians had vanished. If he only had money to pay his way into the theater also! But he was penniless. The next best thing was to tell his father, as soon as possible, of this incredible experience. Running heavily, he crossed London Bridge and started out upon the Blackheath Road, saying over and over to himself, "The Indians are here! The Indians are here!"

So tired was he and so much confused by the strange sight which he had seen that it was many hours before he reached his father's tent. He imagined that the long journey had been made and that he was already in the forests of the new country. At last an acquaintance, meeting him at the edge of the camp, led him to John Conrad.

"Here is your boy. He was about to walk straight into a fire."

Fed and warmed, Conrad could only repeat over and over the magic words, "The Indians are here!" His father thought he was delirious; the children cried. For a long time after he had fallen into the heavy sleep of exhaustion, his sisters watched him.

At dawn, when he woke, he found himself stiff and sore and inexpressibly tired. But his head was clear, and slowly the events of the day before came back to him. The Indians were real; to-day he would find them. If they had come from America there would be a way to return. He would beg them on his knees to take him and his family with them. Perhaps they had come in their own ships.

Slipping from between his sleeping brothers, he lifted the flap of the tent and stepped out into the cold morning air. He could not wait for the family to rise; he would take his share of black bread and be gone.

Then, again, Conrad cried out. Last night he had beheld the strangers through the medium of a thickening mist and with eyes confused by his fall. Now he saw them clearly in the bright morning light, here upon Blackheath before his father's tent! The eagle feathers waved above their heads; their scarlet mantles wrapped them round; they stole quietly about on moccasined feet.

For a long moment the Indians looked at Conrad and Conrad looked back at them. It was as though they measured one another through an eternity, the tall savages from across three thousand miles of sea and the little lad from Gross Anspach. The lad's heart throbbed with awe and wonder. What the savages thought it was difficult to say. They made to one another strange guttural sounds which evidently served for speech. It seemed to Conrad that they were about to turn away. It was as though a heavenly visitor had descended only to depart. Conrad ran forward and grasped the hand of one of the mighty creatures.

"Oh, take us with you, father and Margareta and Magdalena and the others and me! Take us with you! We will work and we will learn to hunt. There is no home for us here. We suffer and die. We--"

There was a commotion at the tent door and Conrad looked round. In the doorway stood John Conrad, blinking, incredulous.

"I saw them last night, father. I have asked them to take us with them." Conrad began to make gestures. "Us, with you, far away to the west!" It was a request easy to make clear.

Again the savages uttered their strange guttural speech. They, in turn, made motions to John Conrad and his son, that they should come with them. Not for an instant did John Conrad hesitate. Upon this miraculous encounter important things might depend.

"Conrad," he began, "while I am gone--"

"Oh, father, take me with you! I beg, take me with you!"

"Run and find Albrecht then, my son, and ask him to look after the children."

Conrad was gone like the wind. Now the Weiser children and the neighbors were staring with terrified eyes at the red men. They gave a little scream when John Frederick toddled forward and fell over the foot of one of the Indians and then held their breaths while he was lifted high in the strong arms. John Conrad offered some of his small supply of black bread and his strange guests grunted their pleased acceptance. Then John Conrad and his son set out with the Indians to make the rounds of the camp.

What the savages thought of the assemblage of misery it was hard to say. They walked briskly so that the two Weisers could scarcely keep up with them; they pointed now to a sick child, now to some adult who showed more clearly than the others the effects of cold and anxiety and hunger. Often they motioned toward the west, a gesture which it seemed to Conrad had a heavenly significance.

When the circuit of the camp was complete, they made it plain to the Weisers that they expected them to follow to the city, and father and son, looking their vague hopes into one another's eyes, obeyed eagerly.

Along the Blackheath Road they went, through Southwark and across London Bridge--how many times had Conrad traveled the road in despair! Presently, when, after they had crossed the Thames and were in the city, a man would have jostled Conrad from his place beside the leader, the Indian cried out fiercely, and the stranger dropped quickly back into the long queue of men and boys who had gathered. Now the Indians motioned to Conrad that he should walk behind the leader and his father behind him. Thus strangely escorted, the two Germans went through the streets. Conrad saw in the eyes of the boys whom they passed a look of envy. The course of fate had changed!

A few times John Conrad spoke to his son.

"Are you afraid?"

"Not I."

"Pray God that this strange way may lead to the new land."

"I will, father."

With heads erect the chiefs went on as though they trod the leafy paths of their own forests. Presently they came out upon the river-bank once more, traveled upon it for a short distance, then turned aside. The crowd about them had changed its character. Here were fine gentlemen and ladies on foot and in richly decked sedan chairs. A gentleman came forward with a sharp exclamation and pointed questioningly at the Weisers. One of the Indians answered by gestures and a few incomprehensible words, and the gentleman looked as though he were considering some strange thing. When the Indians walked on without waiting for his answer, Conrad began to be frightened.

"Where will they take us, father?"

John Conrad's voice trembled.

"They are taking us into the Queen's palace," said he.

IV

A ROYAL AUDIENCE

At the door of St. James's Palace all but a few of the throng which followed the Indian chiefs and the Weisers were denied entrance. The finely dressed gentleman who had spoken to the Indians, and who evidently knew their own language, was allowed to pass under the stone archway and into the court and thence into the palace itself. The Indians still led the way, traveling quietly along through intricate passages and tapestry-hung halls. Courtiers passed them with curious stares.

Still they kept the two Weisers behind the leader. Presently they halted in a room where there was a fire blazing on the hearth and where fine ladies laughed and talked. On the opposite side from the entrance a thick curtain hung over a doorway. The leading chief walked directly toward it and there paused, the procession behind him coming to a stop. A little lady sitting by the fire accepted a challenge from her companions to salute the strangers, and came across the floor, her high heels tapping as she walked.

"O great King of Rivers," said she to the foremost Indian, "who are these your companions?"

The Indian's answer was interpreted by the gayly dressed gentleman who understood his tongue.

"The King of Rivers says that these are his friends."

"Thank you, Colonel Schuyler. Tell the King of Rivers that his friends need a red blanket like his own and--"

What else they needed Conrad and his father were not to hear. The curtain before them was lifted, and from the other side a high, clear voice announced,--

"The chiefs of the Mohawk Nation!"

Moving as in a dream, their eyes dazzled and their hearts confused, the two Weisers went on. They found themselves now in a still more magnificent room. At its far end there was a group of gentlemen surrounding a lady who sat in a throne-like chair. She was grave of aspect and there was upon her face the indelible impression of grief. On her white hands and her neck were sparkling jewels. The gentlemen about her were wigged and powdered, and wore in their long sleeves white lace ruffles which almost hid their hands.

So astonished and confused was Conrad that his father had to command him twice to make obeisance.

"To your knees, boy! To your knees, Conrad! It is the Queen!"

The Indians did not bend, but stood with arms folded under their scarlet blankets, in their dark, shining eyes a look of friendly regard for the little lady who was a ruler like themselves. The Queen looked at the two Germans with curious but kindly astonishment. Neither John Conrad nor his son was in court array, though the needles of Margareta and Magdalena kept them fairly neat and whole.

"Good Peter," said Queen Anne, "who are these?"

The stranger who had interpreted for the Indians rose from his knees.

"They are Germans from the camp on Blackheath, dear madam. Your friends of the Mohawk Nation went early this morning to visit that great settlement and have brought with them from there these folk, father and son, to their appointment with the Queen. From this intention they could not be stayed, but insist that they have a communication of importance to make concerning these strangers."

The Queen looked smilingly at her Indian friends and then at the two Germans.

"The condition of those helpless people is on our minds. Let our friends of the Mohawk Nation speak."

Surely the audience room had never heard a stranger sound than that which now filled it! The tallest of the chiefs responded, speaking at length, with many sweeping gestures. Conrad strained his ears--oh, how longingly!--but could understand nothing. The chief seemed to be speaking of some spot far away and also of the two Germans. One word Conrad heard, he was certain, again and again, but he could not retain its strange sound.

When the Indian had finished, Colonel Schuyler began to translate his words, imitating also his motions toward the west and his pointing to the Weisers.

"Your friend the King of Rivers has this to say, O Queen. He and his companions of the Mohawk Nation have walked about to see the city where so many hundreds of people live in so small a space. Far to the south they have visited also the settlement of misery known as the German camp. The distress of these people is terrible to them. It is a dreadful thing to them that men should be so crowded together when there is so much space in the world, so much land for planting corn and so many wide forests for hunting. The King of Rivers recalls to you the object of his long and perilous journey across the ocean in an unsteady ship. He reminds you that he seeks for himself and his allied nations protection against the growing power of his enemies, both Indian and French.

"Now he would offer for these poor Germans his country of Schoharie"--there was the word which Conrad had heard again and again!--"where there are fine streams for fishing and much land for planting and hunting. There, when there is no war, men and women are happiest of all the places on the earth. His people are faithful people, keeping their word, and aiding and protecting unto death those in whom they can trust. If you will send these afflicted people to Schoharie, then together the Indians and the Germans can keep the peace with the western Indians, and the French will not dare to attack them."

The Indians nodded their heads solemnly as Colonel Schuyler finished. They had entire confidence in him and trusted him to repeat their words exactly.

The Queen looked at the two humble figures before her. Their blue eyes met hers with a great longing.

"Speak!" said she.

John Conrad took a step forward. His English was broken, but none the less eloquent.

"Oh, Madam, all they say of our misery is true. We are indeed desolate and afflicted. We have been harried by the sword; we have perished by cold and starvation. Your enemies the French are our enemies. At the hands of our own princes we have perished for conscience' sake. We are of your faith, O Queen!--those of us that are left. The good God in heaven does not send his creatures into the world to be thus destroyed. We seek not idleness and repose for our bodies, but labor for our bodies and repose for our souls. We long as the hart pants after water brooks for this new country. You have brought us thus far out of our wilderness; send us now into this new land where there is peace! We have nothing, nothing. We cannot pay except by our labor in a new country. We ask bounty as we ask the bounty of Heaven, because we are helpless. You have already marvelously befriended us. But for you we should not be living at this day."

The Queen turned to the gentleman who sat nearest to her.

"He speaks well, my lord."

"He speaks from the soul, Madam."

Now the Queen conversed rapidly and in a low tone with Peter Schuyler--too rapidly for the Weisers to understand. She mentioned one Hunter of whom they knew nothing, and they waited uneasily, afraid that their audience was at an end and that nothing had been accomplished. When the doorkeeper came forward and led them away, leaving their Indian friends behind, their hearts sank. They made obeisance to the Queen and went slowly toward the door, not daring to speak. Then they saw that Colonel Schuyler followed them.

"This day one week at this hour the Queen will see you again. Can you find your way thither?"

"Oh, yes, my lord!" answered John Conrad.

Outside the two met again curious glances, heard again amused comment. But they regarded neither, scarcely indeed saw the smiles or heard the laughter. Hope had once more taken up an abode in their weary hearts.

Daily in the week which followed, Conrad made his way from Blackheath to St. James's Palace, where he gazed at the stone archway and then wandered farther hoping to see again the Indians. To the other Germans the Weisers said nothing of their hopes. The Indians had led them into the city and had there held conversation with them through an interpreter,--beyond that fact they did not go. Their fellow countrymen had been too often cruelly disappointed; until the blessed possibilities of which the Weisers dreamed had become certainties, they would say nothing.

Yet hope in their own hearts rose higher and higher. Once more Conrad read his little book, finding in his new acquaintances proof of all that was said in praise of the Indian and contradiction of all that was said in his disparagement. The word "Schoharie" he wrote down and said over and over in his waking hours and in his dreams at night.

He had formed a friendship with a lad of his own age, Peter Zenger by name, who, with his ailing father, had suffered as the Weisers had suffered and who had a similar longing for the new land. From Peter during this week he held aloof, determined to tell his secret to no one.

Conrad thought a great deal of his father and of the attentive way in which the Queen and her court had listened to him. His father was poor and he had miserable clothes, yet he had not trembled. Of all the Germans no one, not even the magistrate of Oberdorf, who was so certain of his own powers, could have done so well.

On the morning of the appointment John Conrad and his son waited for an hour outside the palace gateway. The unkindly feeling of the populace toward the Germans had increased rather than diminished, and as they walked up and down many persons spoke roughly to them. But again, wrapped in their own anxious thoughts, they heard with indifference.

Again the Queen sat in the throne-like chair with her gentlemen about her, the same gentlemen so far as Conrad could see, except one who now sat nearest to the Queen and to whom she was speaking when they entered. They looked in vain for their friends of the Mohawk Nation.

The Queen bade the Weisers sit side by side on a cushioned bench before her while she continued her conversation with the newcomer whom she called Hunter. Then she bade John Conrad tell again the story of his misfortunes and she listened attentively, her eyes fastened upon him.

John Conrad spoke eloquently, though brokenly, once more, and omitted nothing. When in the midst of his account of persecution and misery, one of the fine gentlemen would have stopped him, the Queen bade the story go on.

"It is good for us to hear these things. And your wife,--you say nothing of her."

Nor did John Conrad say anything. He tried, stammered, halted, tried again, and failed once more. In a second one of the fine gentlemen, Lord Marlborough, began to speak in his easy way. The Queen's face was white, her lips twitched, and she smoothed nervously the black stuff of which her dress was made. Lord Marlborough talked on and on until the Queen herself interrupted him.

"We have heard this sad tale before, but never so well told. It is our intention to do all for these poor Germans that we can. In our colony of New York we have already settled the first of those who have come to us. There they dwell in happiness along the banks of Hudson's River and have made for themselves comfortable villages. It is our intention to establish others there in a similar way.

"In return we ask certain labors. Our enemies are many. It is necessary that we maintain for ourselves a large fleet upon the sea. Tar and pitch we must buy in great quantities from Sweden and Russia--an enormous and unnecessary expense. In our colony of New York, so says its Governor Hunter, are thousands of acres of pine trees from which we could distill, if we had the workmen, our own supplies. Do you think the Germans could make tar?"

"What others can do, we can do," answered John Conrad. "We are not below the rest of the world in intelligence, though we are in possessions. We have among us men of many crafts--husbandmen and vine-dressers, masons and bakers and carpenters, herdsmen and blacksmiths and tanners and millers and weavers. Oh, dear lady, if we were but there!"

"The grapes of the new land are said to be finer than the grapes of France," said Lord Marlborough. "It would not be amiss if we could draw from our own stores."

Governor Hunter leaned forward eagerly.

"It will be time to think of wine when Her Majesty's ships are well caulked," said he impatiently. "The trees must be properly barked two years before they are cut and burned. There will be no time for vine-dressing. The project is as sure of success as the rising of the sun. It cannot fail. Meanwhile, there will be work in other crafts also as in all new settlements. It is understood that the Germans have here an opportunity to repay some of the great expense to which we have been put on their account."

"We would not have it otherwise," cried John Conrad. "We are not beggars, except as we beg for a chance to earn our bread. Would that we might begin to-day to pay our great debt!"

The Queen smiled.

"We must have ships, and they are not easy to find in a sufficient number at present to transport this host. But tell your friends to hold themselves in readiness."

Now Conrad breathed a long sigh.

"The lad looks at me with a question in his eyes," said the Queen. "What is it, boy?"

"Will our new home be near these kind Indians?" asked Conrad, trembling.

"Governor Hunter, what of this?"

"There are Indians everywhere in plenty," said he.

Colonel Schuyler rose, and John Conrad, feeling himself dismissed, rose also.

The Queen stopped them with a lifted hand.

"About these same Indians, good Weiser. Our possessions lie along the east coast of this great and unexplored country. To the north and to the west, along the course of a vast river and the shores of large inland bodies of water, the French have by guile got possession of the land. Between live tribes of savages, upon whose friendship depends enormous issues. Give thought to this, you and your friends. These Indians who are here represent a great nation or confederation of nations, skilled in the warfare of the forest. It is important that they continue to be our friends. I am told that they do not regard lightly deceit of any sort, and that their revenge upon the treacherous is hideous beyond all describing. Now, fare you well."

Again John Conrad tried to speak his gratitude, but could say no word. He dropped to his knees once more, then rose and followed Colonel Schuyler to the door. There Colonel Schuyler put a gold piece into his hand.

"For you and Magdalena and Margareta and John Frederick and the others," said he. "The Queen's bounty."

By noon of the next day, the German settlement was ready to take ship. John Conrad, as he carried his remarkable announcement from tent to tent and from fire to fire, gave warning that sailing might still be delayed, that the ships were not yet in the harbor, that only a few hundreds could be carried on each vessel, and that these hundreds would be selected according to a method of which they knew nothing.

But the Germans would not hear. They packed their belongings once more into bundles, and depression gave place to good cheer, solemnity to hilarity. Some let the fires before their tents go out and all spent their small remaining sums of money for provisions to take on shipboard.

Alas, bundles were unpacked, fires were relighted, and the food purchased for the sea eaten on land long before the ships were in harbor and the Germans on board. Some of the bundles were then packed once more by other hands. Before the hour for sailing hundreds of pilgrims, among them the disappointed magistrate of Oberdorf, had come to the end of their journey. The Blackheath camp had become a camp of death.

In the weeks which now followed, John Conrad was summoned twice to the palace, not to see the Queen or to meet his Indian benefactors, but to have explained to him, as the chief representative of the Germans, their duties in the new world. Once more the need of the English navy for tar was made clear and the method for extracting it from the pine trees carefully explained. Governor Hunter, who talked to John Conrad at length, was quick of speech and temper, a man who brooked no opposition and listened to few questions.

To John Conrad was presented a contract for his signature and that of other Germans, by which they were to promise to perform that which the Queen required. With happy hearts they promised; with overflowing gratitude they heard that they were to receive, after their debt to the Government was paid, twenty-five dollars and forty acres of land.

Finally, as Christmas Day drew near, good news came to Blackheath. Ships would be provided for all, the first sailing on Christmas Day. Assigned to the first ship were the Weisers and Conrad's friend Peter Zenger and his father. The rabble of London gathered at the camp to see the Germans start, but now their taunts fell on deaf ears. The new country was just across the sea; peace and plenty were at hand. They thought with sad regret of those who had started with them, but who were no longer here to continue the journey.

Though it was winter, the Germans thought little of the storms which they would meet at sea. They were landsmen who knew nothing of the fierce power of the ocean. If they remembered the roughness of the Channel crossing, it was with the consoling reflection that the ocean was there confined to narrow bounds, like the Rhine where its rapids were so swift. It was true that Conrad's little book advised various precautions against illness and misery. But they refused to think of illness or misery. With their long journey so nearly ended, they could endure both.

Conrad brought out from its hiding-place George Reimer's flute and discovered to his delight that Peter Zenger had a drum. Perhaps there would be other instruments upon the ship and a band could be formed.

To the eyes of Conrad and Peter the ship Lyon looked enormous as it lay in the harbor, its mighty sails furled. From its sides there projected four cannon, regarded by the two boys with terror and delight. A sailor standing on the quay explained that they were to deal with the French and with pirates.

"Pirates!" repeated Conrad. "What are they?"

"They are freebooters," explained Peter. "I have heard of them. They attack any one whom they please and kill and rob."

"Are we _sure_ to meet them?" asked Conrad.

"They come out from the shore like wolves," answered the sailor. "But with these cross dogs we can scare them off."

But whether there were pirates or not, whether there were storms to meet, or whether they were to sail in a continued calm, the Germans must now get aboard. On Christmas morning the first four hundred embarked upon the ship Lyon for another stage of the long journey.

V

ACROSS THE SEA

So welcome had been the sight of the ship, so blessed the prospect of being able to set out once more, that the Weisers and their friends had no fault to find with the meager provision which had been made for them. They trooped joyfully aboard, disposing themselves and their goods as well as they could. It was true that what seemed to be a large space shrank amazingly as the passengers found places for the bundles and boxes which remained in their possession in spite of all their misfortunes, but of lack of space they made light. Thus crowded together they would not suffer so dreadfully from the cold as they had in the open tents of Blackheath. Besides, the journey would soon be over. Those who had misgivings as the shores of England dropped out of sight, smiled to see Conrad and Peter gazing longingly from the boat's prow toward the west.

In comparison with the journey down the Rhine the journey across the Atlantic is dull to most travelers. There are no interesting waitings at landings, there are no towering castles, there are no flowery meadows. But to the children on the ship Lyon there was no moment without its entertainment. There was, to begin with, the never-ending motion of the sea; there was, for the first few days, the almost hourly sight of a distant sail. Presently they began to watch for the spouting of whales and for the dipping and soaring of creatures which were half bird, half fish.

The voyage began in a long and unusual calm, so that the older folk could sit comfortably on the deck in the sunshine and the children could scamper about at their games. The captain and the crew were kind and patient, as they needed to be to answer the numberless questions about the ship and her rudder and her white sails and the wide sea upon which she traveled. The mate had crossed the Atlantic Ocean four times and had been many times to Marseilles: to the shivering girls and the delighted boys he told a hundred tales of storms, of waves covering the ship, of rigging locked in ice, of flights from pirates and of battles with the French.

"Shall we meet storms like that?" they asked, terrified, yet eager.

"I've crossed when the sea was like a raging lion," answered the mate, to please the boys; "and when she was like a smooth pond," he added, to please the girls.

Presently the mate rigged up a fishing-line with which the boys took turns. Peter Zenger added an edible dolphin to the ship's food--that was the first catch. Then, Conrad, feeling a powerful tug at his line, was convinced that he had caught a whale, and screamed for help.

"It will pull me over," he called. "Come quickly!"

The sailor who came to his aid laughed.

"You could have let go!"

When they hauled in the catch it proved to be a shark, at whose enormous mouth and hideous teeth the girls screamed. Thereafter they scarcely looked over the side of the ship.

Among themselves the older folk reviewed again and again their persecutions, their griefs, and their hopes. To the younger men and women John Conrad talked long and earnestly.

"If all that we hear is true, children, this new land will be the finest land in the world. There are fertile fields; there are great forests and rivers, such as we know nothing of; there are rich ores. Above all, there are young, eager hearts. I believe that there will also be new governments, which will, please God, be different from the old. In this new country every man should have a fair chance. I am growing old, I shall not have much to do with the affairs of the new country, but my children may. Let them remember their own history and be always on the side of the oppressed. You may be divided from one another. Our new friends may forsake us. You will have griefs and sorrows like the rest of mankind. You must learn to find companionship in yourselves and help from above. You must learn to be independent of others, even of those who love you and whom you love."

Daily Conrad and Peter practiced on their flute and drum. There were, as they had hoped, other instruments on the ship and a band was organized which played many lively tunes. Sometimes the boys were allowed to help with the furling of a sail or the giving out of the supply of food and water. They were shown by the friendly mate the ship's store of arms and ammunition, a store which seemed to their inexperienced eyes sufficient to meet a whole fleet of pirates.

"If they would but come!" sighed Conrad and Peter to themselves.

Presently John Conrad's watchful eyes saw a new expression in the eyes of his oldest daughter. She sat often by herself, and when she joined the general company one of the young men, Baer by name, was certain to put himself as soon as possible by her side. John Conrad sighed, scolded his son Conrad and Peter Zenger for their constant punning on the young man's name, and then took his own medicine.

"They must leave me one by one," said he to himself. "Magdalena will doubtless soon be showing the same signs. Thank God, they can start together in a land of peace and plenty!"

Through January all went well with the pilgrims. Then Peter Zenger's father succumbed to the disease with which he had been afflicted. The end was sudden to no one but Peter, who would not be comforted. To him John Conrad talked when the solemn burial was completed.

"You believe in God and Heaven, dear child. Your father was worn and weary and he is at rest until the last day. You are young with life before you. You have your new country; to it you must devote yourself, heart and soul. The good God closes all gates sometimes so that we may see the more plainly the one through which He means we should go."

With the death of Zenger the character of the journey changed. As the calm of the early part of January had been extraordinary, so now were the storms. There appeared one morning along the western horizon a low bank of clouds which the children took at first, in wild enthusiasm, for land. As the clouds rose higher and higher, the color of the sea changed to a strange oily gray, and suddenly the ship began to rock as though the waves were rising like the clouds. Now a great wind whistled in the rigging with a sound different from any which the passengers had heard.

"What is it, father?" cried Sabina. "I am afraid."

The Germans looked at one another ominously.

For many days there was no sitting about the deck. No passenger was allowed, indeed, to leave the hold of the ship. The vessel, which had come to seem as solid as the earth, was tossed about like a cork. Again and again waves covered it, again and again with sails closely furled it fought for its life. The coverings of the hatchways were burst open and the sea rushed in. Giving themselves up many times for lost, the passengers tried to be as brave as they could. Those who could keep on their feet did all that lay in their power for their companions, and through the intolerable hours they prayed. When, once or twice during the storm, the captain visited them, they took courage from him.

"Conrad shall still catch a whale," said he in a voice which was cheerful through all its weary hoarseness. "And Peter shall play his drum, and the young maidens shall smile upon the young men."

Finally the long storm died away. The passengers were startled to realize that the Lyon shook and quivered no longer, that silence had succeeded the dreadful creaking in the timbers and the fearful whistling in the rigging, and that as the storm abated they had each one fallen asleep.

Now followed many days of cold, bright weather. Again the travelers sought the deck and the sunshine. Peter Zenger was able to remind Conrad one day, with a weak little smile, of the advice given by the book of directions.

"It would have taken a pretty lively swing to prepare us for such a shaking," said he.

In a day or two Peter lifted his drum and the band returned to its practicing. At first they played solemn tunes; then, with returning color to their cheeks, came fresh cheerfulness and courage. Even the older folk joined cheerfully in "Susy, dear Susy." The sailors mended the sails, the girls took out their knitting, and the children played about on the deck.

But the whole-hearted gayety of the early journey did not return. The great storm had taken fearful toll, and there were already twenty passengers less than there had been at the beginning. The crowding of the ship had become a serious menace to health. There were a few sick persons at whom the captain looked more anxiously than he had looked at the angry clouds or the tempestuous sea. Not the least of the dangers of the long journey were various diseases, contagious and deadly, which, once started, could scarcely be checked.

Now another terrible peril threatened the ship Lyon. The supply of food brought by the passengers was entirely exhausted, and that furnished by the ship was small in quantity and hardly edible. The drinking-water had become foul, and through a leak in one of the wooden casks a large quantity had been lost. Passengers and crew watched the sky for a cloud.

When at last the cloud appeared, it was accompanied again by the terrible wind and the heaving sea of the great storm. Again the passengers spent a week in the hold while the ship battled with a tempest which broke the rudder. Their respect for the captain and the stanch vessel which carried them grew to admiration and then to awe.

"It is no wonder they call the ship 'she,'" said Conrad feebly. "One would think it was alive. It is well named 'Lyon,' for it fights for us like a lion."

Again the passengers returned to the deck, more weak and miserable than before. The supply of water gathered in the storm sank lower and lower in the cask, the rations of salt pork and sea biscuit became daily smaller. Finally a day dawned when the supply of water was gone and the supply of food so low that starvation and death were imminent. John Conrad went about from group to group telling of the glories of the heavenly country to which their passage seemed now but the matter of a short time.

Then came help. A faint speck appeared upon the horizon. The children, when they saw it, flew to the captain, who, they discovered, had been watching it for an hour. It grew larger and larger, not into the shape of a rain cloud, but into the shape of a vessel. Young Conrad guessed the nature of the hope in the captain's eager eyes.

"Might they have food and water for us?" The captain shook his head.

"We cannot tell. They may be as badly off as we are."

The ship came closer and closer, flying, they saw joyfully, the pennant of England. The passengers grew silent and eyes burned and hearts almost ceased to beat. Presently they were able to hear a shout across the smooth sea. It was surely a friendly hail, and still the ship came nearer and nearer. Then the travelers heard, almost unbelieving, the blessed words:--

"We have potatoes and ground beans and dried venison from Her Majesty's colony. Do you wish to buy?"

"Yes," shouted the captain: "all you have."

"We have water, also. Do you need any?"

To this replied a hurrah from every throat on the ship Lyon.

"Thank God! Thank God!" cried the poor Germans.

In a short time the water casks were aboard and with them bags of vegetables and meat. For several hours the ship stood near and the sailors coming aboard the Lyon showed the Germans how to roast the potatoes in an open fire on the deck. Never had food tasted so good and water so delicious. It was a happy promise from the new country.

But the ship which brought this welcome freight brought also bad news. The freebooters along the coast were unusually active. The captain of the Lyon must look well to his guns. Everywhere in the ports of the new country one heard of ships boarded, of treasure taken, and of crew and passengers murdered The more closely the vessel approached the shores of America, the greater was the danger.

The Germans looked at one another with despair.

"We have suffered as much as we can bear!" cried some one.

"We have no treasures," said John Conrad to the captain. "Why should any one molest people so poor as we are?"

"My ship would be a treasure for them," answered the captain. "For that they would murder every soul on board."

Daily the passengers were assembled and drilled. The crew was only sufficient to sail the ship; for its defense the passengers would have to be depended upon. They were instructed in the firing of the cannon and informed about the methods of pirates in attacking a vessel.

"I have stood them off before," said the captain, uneasily, to John Conrad. "But I have always had more powder than I have now and a few trained gunners. If they are once aboard, we shall have to fight like tigers for our lives. They give no quarter."

Now sabers and pistols were laid ready so that there might be no confusion when the pirate ship was sighted. The women and children eyed the weapons fearfully; the men tried to laugh at their alarm. No one but the very youngest of the children slept the night through.

But no pirate ship appeared. The air grew softer and warmer; all began to breathe more freely and to look ahead, not for the ship of the dread enemy, but for the land. Eyes of passengers and crew were weary of the sea.

"They are afraid of our cross dogs," said Conrad, half wishing, as the danger faded, for a battle.

"Perhaps some brave captain has swept them from the sea," said Peter. "That would be a work I should like. I should board their ships as they have boarded others and then I should give no quarter."

At last, after the captain had declared the danger past, and had jokingly bidden the boys keep constant eyes upon the west for the promised land, the sailor on watch gave a loud cry:--

"Ship, ahoy!"

At once the passengers crowded to the prow of the boat. The approaching ship was a tiny speck, visible only to the sharpest eyes. For a long time it seemed to remain stationary; then they realized that it was steadily approaching. Children began to cry and mothers to hold them closer and closer.

"It is coming very fast, is it not?" said Conrad to the captain.

"Pretty fast."

"It is not necessarily a pirate ship," said John Conrad. "It may be a friendly ship."

"I believe it brings us good water and more food," said Sabina.

"I am sure that I can see the English flag," said George Frederick.

But the passengers were not allowed to linger long at the prow speculating about the strange vessel. Suddenly hopes were dashed and all speculations and prophecies interrupted by a sharp order from the captain. Women and children were to go below and each man was to take his place at once at the post assigned him. The ammunition--a perilously small store--was divided. Conrad and Peter Zenger were the youngest passengers who were allowed to stay on deck. They had been included in the drills, but for them there was now neither gun nor powder. They were given orders to keep out of the way of the crew and the older men. If any of the defenders fell, they might take their places. The two boys crouched down close to the mast, not venturing to go below to put away the drum and flute upon which they had been playing when the alarm was given.

Nearer and nearer came the strange ship. It was not so large as the Lyon, and it responded far more quickly to its helm. In the quickening breeze from the west it advanced with great speed. It floated no pennant--the wish of the Germans had been father to the thought.

Now a sailor in the masthead of the Lyon sent out a friendly hail. There was no answer. Again the sailor shouted. Still there was no reply. The crew of the Lyon could see now plainly armed men upon the deck of the stranger. The captain spoke in a whisper to the mate.

"We have powder for two rounds. Not enough to keep them off for five minutes. We--"

The stranger seemed actually to leap ahead, and the captain's eyes flashed. He raised his hands before his mouth like a trumpet.

"Fire!"

The two cannon which pointed toward the strange ship spit out a long streak of flame, and the Lyon trembled with a terrific detonation.

When the smoke cleared away, it was plainly to be seen that the pirates were not frightened by the warning shots. The balls had fallen short, and the pirate ship sailed on, as though to take quick advantage of the time required to reload the cannon. It was now so near that the evil faces could be clearly discerned upon its deck.

VI

THE PIRATE SHIP

It was small wonder that the passengers on the Lyon were almost paralyzed with terror. They were not soldiers, nor accustomed to taking the part of soldiers, and they were not fighting upon a battlefield, distant from their loved ones, but close to them where the danger threatened alike themselves and all they held dear. The fact made them at once more courageous and more terrified.

It was known by all that powder was short and that the accuracy of the next shot would probably decide their fate. Their hands grew more and more awkward, their cheeks whiter. Conrad and Peter sprang to their feet, seeing plainly the panic on the faces of the gunners who were trying to reload the cannon, and upon the faces of the others who stood, saber or pistol in hand, waiting for what seemed to be certain destruction. One frightened soul fired his pistol prematurely, another waved his saber wildly in the air. If the freebooters saw, they must have anticipated an easy victory.

"If we only had pistols!" cried Peter shrilly.

The captain shouted fierce orders, and still the gunners fumbled at their task.

Now Conrad ran to the captain's side. A wild plan had suddenly occurred to him.

"We could play," cried he breathlessly, "Peter and I. There was a trumpeter on a castle wall who played and played till--"

"Play, then!"

With trembling lips and hands the two boys began. The flute gave forth a sharp piping, the drum tried to roar as fiercely as the cannon. There was at first no tune, there was at first, indeed, only a mad discord. And still the pirate ship came on.

"Louder! Louder! Louder!" The boys did not know whether they had heard or had imagined the command. They were playing "Susy, dear Susy," and playing it like a jig. As though its sprightliness steadied them, arms grew stronger, breath more even. The gunners heard, the infantry heard, the women and children shivering in the hold heard, and best of all the evil men on the pirate ship heard. The hands of the gunners trembled a little less, the hands which held the pistols and sabers grasped them more firmly, the women and children looked with a tiny bit of hope into one another's eyes, and the pirates looked at one another with astonishment.

It may have been that the captain of the pirate ship did not care to try conclusions with a force which could spare men to play the drum and flute; it may have been that he could observe that the firing of the second shot was the matter of only a second or two; or it may have been that merely the lively defiance of "Susy, dear Susy," discouraged him. At any rate, he altered the course of his vessel. When the second shot sailed after him, he had darted out of range.

At first the passengers of the Lyon stared as though a spell had been put upon them. A moment ago they had been in danger of their lives; now they were safe while the enemy sailed away. Some laughed aloud, others wiped their eyes, and a sailor flung open the hatchway and shouted the good news to the anxious hearts below.

Though the distance between the Lyon and her enemy grew wider and wider until presently the stranger had vanished over the horizon's edge, the sailors kept watch until nightfall.

But the passengers gave no thought now to an enemy. They saw, late in the afternoon, a sailor lowering the sounding-line over the ship's side. They had watched this process many times. But the earnestness of the sailor and the eager watching of his companions gave it a new significance. Into the group at the ship's edge young Conrad forced his way.

"How much?" said he.

The sailors paid no attention and Conrad concluded to wait. Presently the line was drawn in and the sailor announced to the captain in a loud voice,--

"Thirty-five fathoms, sir."

"That is shallow," said Conrad. "Is there any danger?"

The sailors laughed.

"There is danger of seeing land to-morrow," said one.

To this no one made any reply for a long moment. Then another shout arose like the one which had greeted the arrival of water and food. In one moment the news had spread: in another, though the captain laughed, the women were descending to pack boxes and to tie up the bundles in the hold.

But no one stayed long below the deck. Margareta and Magdalena with one bundle packed climbed back to look toward the west. John Conrad's expectation was being realized; there was now a young man by the side of Magdalena also. The captain laughed at them for watching for land as he laughed at them for packing.

"To-morrow, my children, not to-day. You may look your eyes out to-day and you will see nothing, and there will be plenty of time after we see land for you to pack your clothes."

Nevertheless, the Germans looked and looked, though, as the captain prophesied, they saw nothing. But they would not leave their place in the bow. Sitting together, they reviewed the journey and the more distant past. They spoke of the Fatherland, of those left behind who might some day follow them, like George Reimer, of those, like the magistrate of Oberdorf, whom they should never see again, and of those already on the way in other ships. They spoke also in quiet voices of those who slept, like the mother of the Weisers, in quiet graveyards. They spoke of bondage and liberty and of war and peace and of a strange new freedom, of which there was in the hearts of a few a dim conception, like the tiny seed of a mighty tree. They spoke with gratitude of the good Queen and offered a prayer for her, and for other friends, like the good helmsman on the river boat. They spoke of the strange red people, and Conrad must find his little book and read once more of their skill as hunters, of their devotion in friendship and of their ferocity in war and in revenge. Longest of all they talked of the King of Rivers and his companions.

"It is my object to find them first of all," said Conrad. "I am sure they are looking for us to come to the country which they gave us."

Once again must Conrad and Peter and the rest of the band play their old tunes, grave and gay, mournful and lively; once again must all join in song. Twilight came and then the starry, summer night, and still the pilgrims sat gazing toward the west. All night a few kept vigil.

At daylight every one was on deck. The morning dawned in splendor, but no one turned to watch the rising sun. At last, when the bright rays illuminated the whole of earth and heaven, they saw through tears the low shores of the promised land.