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.