Chapter 6
The only certainty is uncertainty; the only constant is change.
Jons Jonsson tapped the wharf with the end of his cane to draw the attention of the masses huddled together waiting to board the freighter.
“Please, everyone, listen up. We will be starting shortly. The purser will be stepping out and if you will, please line up in a single line and have your fare ready as you approach to board.
Your captain’s name is Knut Haukelid, a Norwegian, and the best seaman you could find. You are very lucky to have him at the helm.”
The purser stepped out by the gang plank leading from the dock to the ship along with two other sailors or persons of authority. When Gunard, Corinne and Esben approached they were interrogated roughly by the purser:
“Your name?”
“Gunard Hjerstedt. This is my wife Corinne and son Esben.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty eight.”
“Your wife and son?”
“Corinne is twenty four and Esben is six.”
“What’s your city?”
“Starn.”
“Where are you going?”
“America.”
What do you work at?”
“I am a lumberjack and a farmer.”
After answering the questions, the Hjerstedts found themselves being pushed along by one of the stewards. When they stepped on board they were lined up with the other passengers in front of an open hatch with two ladders leading to some unknown place below. One man after another pushed forward and flung his boxes and trunks on board. The Hjerstedts were shoved and half thrown down one of the ladders. The steps were nearly perpendicular and very difficult to reach the bottom without stumbling and falling.
They were now in the steerage area of the ship, approximately sixteen feet below deck. The enormous cables that connected the rudder to the steering wheel ran overhead. Corinne glanced around and was filled with dismay and disgust. The ship showed no regard for the comfort of the passengers. This was no more than a wooden cell about sixty feet in length and twelve feet wide at the front end but narrowing to no more than five feet wide at the forecastle. There was no ceiling just the open area with the steerage cables. There was a hatchway where the two dirty ladders were placed almost perpendicularly that formed a staircase.
Along the sides, running the length of the steerage, a wooden partition had been constructed of bare boards, reaching to within a foot of the top. Spaced approximately four feet apart, were eight doors that were numbered; behind them were the sleeping quarters, each containing sleeping berths, each two feet wide. The boards that made up the doors at one time must have been painted, but now the paint was faded and chipped. On either side of the room two strips of canvas were stretched leaving a narrow alley, in which a single person could move but in which two people could not pass each other. On the floor the crew had strewn sawdust to absorb the dirt and spills during their voyage. In the center of the floor was an open wooden grating which was the entry to the steward’s storeroom. It was packed with salt and cured fish among other items and vented directly into the steerage area. This dirty space was the dining and living area for the steerage passengers. It was certified to accommodate sixty passengers.
At the narrower end of the wooden cell stood seven beer barrels standing on end; three of these barrels contained broken bottles and a fourth decomposing and rotting food. The stench, combined with the heat, made staying below deck almost intolerable.
Corinne and Mrs. Andresen departed to use the women’s lavatory, which was in the forecastle, the part of the vessel forward of the foremast; the place where the crew eats and sleeps, making the women pass through the ranks of the sailors and stokers, who was employed to tend the steam boiler and supply it with fuel, which was coal. As they passed, a man stepped in their pathway causing them to stop. He was a large man, a stoker. His face was streaked and awash with coal dust. He leered at them and grinned, showing his blackened teeth. He didn’t say anything but laughed and then stepped aside. Corinne didn’t know if the terrible odor came from him or the lavatory, all she knew was that she was happy he moved out of their way and she hoped she wouldn’t meet him again.
To use the lavatory was an inconvenience for the women for sure. The wash basins were supplied with water made from the sea water and condensed from the exhaust steam of the engine. It had a strong and disagreeable odor which remained on the skin after washing in it.
The closets in the lavatory had a smell that was so foul that Corinne thought she would be seasick before she could open the door.
Corinne turned to Mrs. Andresen and said. “I thought I would be violently ill before I could open the door to get out. I dread having to use it again.”
“I know, let’s get back to the steerage,” Mrs. Andresen replied.
The sailors and stokers broke out in a chorus of catcalls and laughter as the two ladies, near tears, rushed through the forecastle back toward the steerage area of the ship.
“Breakfast will be served in approximately thirty minutes, the purser yelled. Make sure you secure your belongings in your berth before coming out to dine.”
Breakfast consisted of bread and coffee with sugar and a hint of milk added. The main staple was an Irish stew, filled with potatoes and in which a piece of meat could occasionally be found. Esben looked glum as he looked into his bowl and stirred his stew listlessly.
“Come on now; eat your breakfast, boy. It will be a long voyage and you will have to keep up your strength,” Gunard said.
“I know, it’s just that this tastes horrible. Won’t we get any eggs?”
“I told you that we will have to wait until we get to New York. The first thing I will do is buy you as many eggs as you want to eat Esben. Now come on, finish that stew; then we will go and unpack our things and make our sleeping quarters seem a little more like home.”
It was a long morning and they spent it completing their last preparations for the voyage. Afterward, they lounged on the forecastle head and looked off at the picturesque Baltic Sea, on which they would soon be sailing.
They left port later that day and trimmed their sails as they headed toward the Island of Gotland and The Sound, locally known as Sundet, the almost tideless strait that separates the Danish island , Zealand, from the southern Swedish Provence of Scania. It connects the Baltic Sea, and the North Sea around the tip of Sweden and the city of Malmo and then into the Kattegat Bay on their way to the North Sea and finally the Atlantic Ocean on their way to America.