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.