"But, my good people," cried M. Von Schwanthal, jumping quickly upon his feet—the rest of his address was unheard, a roar of laughter drowned his words, and mortified, and swearing inwardly, M. Von Schwanthal regained the deck.
However, he had attained his object—peace was restored for the moment at all events, for the people now only laughed at the mishaps of their committee-man. But new squabbles arose daily, and the ill feeling extended towards the committee-men whom they had themselves elected, and who, it was suggested behind their backs, might have taken their passage in the steerage like the rest, "for in America all men are equal."
Some Alsatian peasants were particularly warm in support of these opinions. Their words sounded like thunder. They swore that they would no longer be ridden over roughshod by the gentry, as they had been, but intended to give them a bit of their mind at the earliest opportunity.
On the other hand, a little troop of Oldenburghers, consisting of twelve stout young fellows, lived contentedly enough; they troubled themselves about nothing, came upon deck regularly three times a day to receive their meat and drink, and laid themselves quietly down again on their mattresses in their berths to rest themselves, as they called it.
The whole of these worthies wore large wooden shoes, to the great vexation of their fellow passengers; and when they lay in bed, as they did during the greater portion of the day, they placed these shoes in front of their berths, so that people had often tumbled over them in the narrow dark passage through which they had to wind their way. The Oldenburghers, notwithstanding the threats and remonstrances of the others, would not remedy the grievance, contending that they were as good as the rest, that in America all people were equal, and that nobody had any right to forbid them from placing their wooden shoes where they thought proper.
Some of the women felt their position amidst these constant bickerings and squabbles to be a very unpleasant one, and amongst others, the wife and daughters of the Pastor Hehrmann, who, surrounded in the steerage by clamour, scarcely liked to leave the deck, when evening closed over them, to venture down again into the dark hold.
The Captain, it is true, several times good naturedly offered them the cabin for their abode, but Pastor Hehrmann would not accept it, dreading, not without cause, lest he should thereby excite more discontent amongst his restless countrymen, already ill enough disposed towards their "genteel" committee-men.
Pastor Hehrmann's daughters were respectively seventeen and nineteen years of age, and two more tender and amiable creatures never traversed the Atlantic to accompany their parents in search of a home beyond it.
They were slim and well grown, and in their almost black hair and dark glowing eyes one could scarcely recognise daughters of the North. They tended their delicate mother, who had suffered seriously from sea sickness, with care and love, and did all in their power to smoothe her disagreeable position.
The Hoffnung had in this manner left about a hundred German miles (nearly five hundred English miles) behind her, when one morning the wind suddenly ceased, the sea became as smooth as glass, the ship stood immovable, and the sun shone down clearly and cheerfully from the pure unclouded sky.