by Sarah Lark
Most merciful John Nicholas Beit,
I humbly wish to inquire about emigration to New Zealand. In my hand I hold a brochure that offers the sale of land near a town called Nelson, and many highly respected members of my parish are considering relocation. I, too, would be attracted to life in a new land. I am a good and efficient worker and could be useful anywhere your company would choose to send me, perhaps to build houses or plough fields. However, I have no money. I subsist as a day laborer in Raben Steinfeld. I work hard, but the earnings are barely enough to live on, and I can’t believe that this is really the life that God has ordained for me. So, after deep contemplation, I turn to your honorable self with the hope that you will forgive my brazenness. Is there also work for penniless settlers in New Zealand? Is it possible that the New Zealand Company could advance the cost of the voyage to me in exchange for the first months or years of my labor there? I am an honest man, and you may rest assured that I will do everything in my power to repay my debts to the last pfennig.
With hopes of your help, understanding, and forgiveness, and the help of God,
Karl Jensch
Below was the address of an estate in Mecklenburg. The squire’s scribe would probably forward any answer that arrived.
Jane tugged at her earlobe and took another praline while she thought about how to answer the letter. Her father’s instructions had been clear: requests from day laborers and have-nots were to be categorically denied. Later, shortly before the ship was boarded, that might change. If not enough paying settlers were found, the remaining places could be given to penniless settlers. That was acceptable to the New Zealand Company. In England, when not enough settlers had been found, they had been happy to take day laborers. But Beit was trying to avoid it. He had made a habit of repeating the words that the pastors and the squire had used to keep the ne’er-do-wells in their place: Accept what God has given you with humility, and do not make yourself guilty of the sin of pride by aspiring toward something greater.
But the supposed piousness concealed a financial motive, which Jane had recognized immediately. For every settler who got off the ship in Nelson in healthy condition, John Nicholas Beit received eighteen English pounds. With the paying customers, the money was pure profit. The three hundred pounds that the emigrant families had to come up with easily covered the costs of the voyage, and the small amount of money needed to secure the land in Nelson from the local Maori tribes wasn’t even worth mentioning. That meant a fat profit for the New Zealand Company, and also for Mr. De Chapeaurouge, who was providing the ship. However, if they brought day laborers instead, the cost of the voyage would come out of Beit’s earnings. Additionally, one ran the risk of importing slackers and bunglers to the new communities, like fleas on a dog. If any places on the ship did need to be filled by the penniless, then Beit would do extensive research, asking their pastors and previous employers about them.
Jane suspected that wouldn’t go well for Karl Jensch. The way he had formulated his letter spoke of a clever mind but a rebellious spirit. It sounded as though he’d been accused often enough of lacking humility and obedience. But Karl Jensch seemed strongly determined to get the better of God. He didn’t want to accept his wretched place in this world. And now, by a whim of fate, his future lay in the hands of Jane Beit.
Lost in thought, Jane popped a third praline into her mouth. She considered asking God for guidance, but she didn’t feel like praying. What good would it do? God couldn’t do any miracles here, but perhaps a plump girl whose fingers were itching to repay her father for a little of his unfairness could. Jane smiled and reached for paper, quill, and ink. It felt good to have some power.
A week later, with trembling fingers, Karl Jensch opened the fat envelope that the squire’s scribe had given to him. Of course, he hadn’t relinquished it without demanding another pfennig, even though the sender had clearly paid for its delivery. Karl tried not to destroy the heavy brown envelope; perhaps he would be able to use it again. But he was too excited. The paper tore under his fingers, and out of the envelope fell . . . a ticket for a passage by ship! Karl couldn’t believe it, but the ticket expressly allowed him to board the Sankt Pauli on December 26, 1842, in Hamburg, and guaranteed him a place in steerage. It also contained instructions about the permitted and recommended luggage and prices for the transport of further personal goods. What was more, it included a coupon that he could present at the Hanse lodging house, which would provide him accommodations before the ship was boarded, a request for a medical examination in the Hamburg harbor, and a letter of permission for him to ride in a wagon provided by De Chapeaurouge & Co., which would transport the emigrants from Mecklenburg to Hamburg. Another note contained instructions about how and where one could obtain the necessary passport. Karl would have to depend on the office of the principality of Mecklenburg and bring his work record book, as well as a copy of his page from the parish register.
The young man searched desperately for the letter with the positive answer to his request. Finally, he discovered it, written on fine stationary.
Dear Mr. Jensch,
In the name of the New Zealand Company, I thank you kindly for your readiness to settle in Nelson, New Zealand. The creation of this new community will require much effort and a large workforce. Therefore, young, healthy settlers are also welcome even if their immigration is not directly linked to land acquisition. The only requirements are courage, diligence, and honesty. These are all qualities that your letter displays in abundance.
For that reason, I am delighted to send you the required travel documents. Please read everything carefully and arrive punctually with the correct paperwork at the therein mentioned locations.
Sincerely,
J. Beit
J. Beit. So the representative of the New Zealand Company had personally handled his request. Karl didn’t know if he should laugh or cry. He couldn’t believe what he held in his hands, but then he pulled himself together, fell to his knees on the dusty floor of his hut, and thanked God for granting him a new life.
Chapter 7
Karl’s first impulse after receiving the letter was to tell Ida. He didn’t know if it was she who had slipped the brochure under his door, but he assumed so. And if it wasn’t, then at least he hoped that she would be happy if he followed her to her new home. Of course, it wouldn’t change her betrothal to Ottfried Brandmann.
In the meantime, the Brandmanns had decided to take part in the emigration. In total, eleven families from Raben Steinfeld, mostly cottagers but also a few farmers, would heed the call to New Zealand. They were all dignitaries of the village, which wouldn’t be the same after they left. However, it was unlikely that the squire would regret anything other than the loss of Lange, as a smith and horse expert. Craftsmen’s families were large and spread throughout the region, and although almost all cottagers’ sons learned their fathers’ crafts, only the eldest could inherit the smallholding. The others searched for work as journeymen, which meant that Jakob Lange, Peter Brandmann, and the others had no trouble selling off their leaseholds and workshops. The squire had loaned the funds to their successors. The craftsmen would be indebted to him for years—as new bondsmen for the lord of the castle.
While Karl read and reread his papers, he daydreamed about talking to Ida and imagined how she would react to his triumph. It wouldn’t be easy to arrange a “coincidental” meeting. The village was still buried in snow. And the emigrants, the women in particular, were busy indoors sorting and packing their families’ possessions. Should he just walk to the Langes’ house and find Ida, and tell her? The temptation was huge, because it no longer mattered if he brought her father’s wrath down on his head. In the new country, he would no longer be dependent on work from the citizens of Raben Steinfeld. There would certainly be enough other settlers.
But something made Karl hesitate. At least in Raben Steinfeld, Karl was the only have-not whom Beit had offered to take to New Zealand. The emigrants would certainly begrudge
the fact that they had to pay for their passage, while Karl was supported by the company. If they found out, they would probably think of some reason to spoil things for him, rally the squire against him, or somehow hinder the pastor from making a copy from the parish register for him, in order to delay the issuing of his passport.
After careful consideration, Karl came to the conclusion that it would be better to err on the side of caution and wait until the others were already aboard the ship before they discovered that he was joining them. All of them, including Ida. If someone saw him talking to her and her father interrogated her about it, she would tell the truth. Ida might sometimes keep things to herself, but her lying was unthinkable.
So, Karl kept his joy to himself and also lied to the town’s clergyman about his reason for getting the passport. “In winter I have no way to make a living here, Pastor,” he said, folding his hands suppliantly. “I don’t want to be a beggar. But if I go to Brandenburg or Holstein for a few weeks, perhaps I can find some work.”
Traveling between principalities required identification, and the clergyman provided the copies without further questions.
Karl also decided not to make use of the offer of transportation on De Chapeaurouge’s wagon. Aside from a bundle he could easily carry, he had no luggage. He was sure it would be possible to somehow make the eighty-mile journey to the city of Hamburg. In the worst case, he would walk.
By the time Karl finally had his passport in his hands, everything was arranged and decided. If only he didn’t have so many questions still burning in his mind! He had considered writing another letter to John Nicholas Beit, but he didn’t want to bother such an important man with his doubts and thirst for knowledge. Just a month ago, he had remembered someone whom he would have liked to tell—and who certainly would not reveal his plans. Karl didn’t even know himself why he trusted Master Brakel so completely. Since he’d had to leave school, he’d barely exchanged a single word of greeting with the man. But he still had the sense that the man was a friend. Perhaps it was because the teacher hadn’t treated the children of the cottagers and farmers any differently than those of the day laborers. For Brakel, only diligence and cleverness counted, and Karl had never disappointed him in that way.
He decided to leave the village a week before the other settlers. One day before his departure, he knocked on the schoolmaster’s door. Brakel opened it immediately. It was snowing again, and during that kind of weather, everyone was at home.
Karl had removed his cap out of politeness, and now he twisted it nervously in his hands. Hopefully Master Brakel wouldn’t think of his visit as a nuisance! He let out his breath in relief when the teacher’s amazement was replaced by a smile.
“Karl Jensch! How nice that you’ve come to visit me! I really didn’t expect this. Come in, you’re all wet and frozen. Take off your jacket, it’s warm here. We’ll put it by the fire to dry.”
Shyly, Karl followed the schoolmaster into his small, comfortably warm home. A flickering fire was burning in the hearth. The students’ parents supplied the teacher generously with firewood, and when the farmers slaughtered or brewed, Brakel usually received something from them. The teacher had been sitting by the fire, reading. His furniture looked simple but functional. Next to a cozy wing chair stood a tankard of warm beer.
“Have a seat!”
Brakel pulled another chair toward the hearth while Karl self-consciously shifted from one foot to the other. He didn’t know how to behave during a visit. The Jensches had never been invited anywhere, nor had they ever received visitors.
“Would you like some beer? Oh, of course you’d like some, to warm you up . . .” The teacher busily filled a pitcher from a kettle that was hanging over the fire. Aromatic steam rose from it. Brakel took another tankard out of a cupboard. He seemed to be very comfortable doing all this; he’d run his household alone for years. His wife had died shortly after he’d arrived in Raben Steinfeld.
“What brings you here, Karl?” Master Brakel asked happily as Karl took a seat on the edge of the chair and timidly sipped his beer.
“This,” Karl said, and fished the letter from John Beit out of his belt pouch. He’d fashioned it himself from an old pair of work trousers, specifically for the purpose of carrying his few valuables close to his body, and to keep the papers dry.
As Brakel read, his round, friendly face broke into a radiant smile. “Oh, I’m so happy for you, Karl!” he said kindly. “It has always bothered me to see you suffering. You’re so clever, and you deserve more than working here to your death for a few pfennigs!”
“Really, sir?” Karl looked up in surprise and immediately felt a little better. “You don’t condemn me? You don’t think that I’m being arrogant, that I should accept the place the Lord gave me?”
Brakel waved a hand in dismissal. “Who knows God’s will, anyway, boy, or understands the paths he leads us to? Would it not also be arrogant to think he couldn’t change his plans for you? No, Karl, you shouldn’t worry about that. Nothing happens against the will of the Almighty. If he has seen fit to allow you to choose your own path, then reach for the stars!”
Karl smiled. “Thank you, sir!”
“No thanks are necessary. But was that what brought you to me? With a question like that, I would have turned to the pastor.”
He would have given me a completely different answer, Karl thought disrespectfully. Then he shook his head. “No, sir. There are other things on my mind. I have questions about—this new country.”
“New Zealand?” Brakel smiled. “Well, you’re not the only one. My students speak of nothing but the emigration. And of course, I’ve never been there. I can’t tell you if my answers are entirely correct, but we can start. You want to know where it is, am I right?”
Karl shook his head, and this time he seemed almost offended. “I’ve known that for a long time! I read about it.”
“In that book about Captain Cook, the only thing our well-behaved Ida ever lost in her life?” The teacher grinned broadly. “I wondered about that when the book disappeared. Did you filch it, or did she give it to you?”
Karl’s forehead creased. “I don’t steal, sir!” he said proudly.
“Of course.” Brakel held up his hands apologetically and then took the kettle from the fire again to refill their cups. “It was just a question. You were thirteen years old and so eager to read the story. So, if you know the book, you probably already know more about your new home than I do. In any case, more than your travel companions do. Anne Bensemann thinks New Zealand is on the other side of Brandenburg.”
He seemed to be relieved when Karl smiled again.
“But some things aren’t written in books,” Karl remarked. “At least not in that one. For example, I’ve heard that they speak another language.”
The teacher nodded. “Yes. New Zealand is a British colony. Most of the settlers are from England, Ireland, or Scotland. They must speak English.”
“Anton Lange says we don’t have to learn it—” Karl had eavesdropped on the emigrants’ sons as inconspicuously as possible. “That we’ll all stay together.”
Brakel frowned. “I imagine Anton just doesn’t want to learn it. He never enjoyed spending much time with books.”
“And Hans Bensemann says it’s easy, and you can learn it yourself. Small children learn to speak by themselves too. Is it easy, sir? I can’t help it: a foreign language—that scares me.”
Brakel reflected. He himself had never heard a word of English. In teacher training, he had learned only a few fragments of Greek and Latin. He recalled endless vocabulary and grammar lessons.
“No, Karl. You’ll never be able to learn the language alone. When you’re an adult, that doesn’t work anymore. And it certainly isn’t easy. I can imagine that many will have a hard time with it, especially the older emigrants. But you, Karl, are young and clever. You will soon be speaking English almost as fluently as German. And you speak German very well.” Many of the students didn’
t make the effort to speak proper High German, the way the teacher expected them to at school. After lessons, they spoke only the Low German dialect, called Plattdeutsch. “It would be best to buy an English dictionary as soon as you reach Hamburg. You can study it on the ship; it will be a long journey.”
Karl nodded and felt a little better. The dictionary was a good idea. He would be glad to spend one of his hard-earned pfennigs for it.
“What else is on your mind?” the teacher asked.
Karl bit his lip. “It’s actually none of my business,” he murmured, “because I can’t even buy any land . . .”
“Ask anyway,” the teacher said, encouraging him.
“I’m just a little worried . . .”
His worry was for Ida, but he wouldn’t broach that subject with the teacher. Karl shifted his tankard from one hand to the other.
“Now, tell me what’s upsetting you,” Brakel said with a smile. “Maybe you’ll make some money there and will have to plan to purchase some land. Although I don’t know very much about that, as I have no land of my own either.” The schoolhouse had been provided by the village.
Karl gathered his courage. “Master Brakel, this land that is being made available in New Zealand—there’s a lot of it, twenty acres for each family, and more settlers will be coming. Can it possibly be true that it belongs to no one? Does that exist? Hundreds of acres of land that have no owner? I mean, of course it might be jungle, but here in Mecklenburg we have thick forests too. One could cut them down and build houses. But we aren’t allowed to do that, because they belong to the prince. Or someone else. I mean, in America—”
Karl didn’t complete his thought. After all, it was possible that the teacher would rebuke him for it. If what he’d heard about the colonization of America was right, then someone had also sold those settlers supposedly unoccupied land. Until the Indians came and started scalping people. There had been misunderstandings or perhaps even deceit.
