Once they reached the wharf, two men in blue uniforms came forward to assist the women from the boat. As Mercy’s feet touched the wooden planks, she swayed for a moment, so used to the motion of the water that the solid steadiness of the land made her dizzy.

The other girls held on to each other, whether from fear or dizziness, Mercy couldn’t tell, especially as the calls from the men rang out in increasing fervor. Ahead, at the end of the wharf, several of the older gentlemen from yesterday’s welcoming committee were there to greet them once again.

Past them on the shore, ropes had been erected to form a pathway. More officers stood along the lane, apparently to hold the men back as they pushed forward for their first glimpses up close of the bride-ship women.

All Mercy needed was one look at the eagerness in their faces for fresh dread to soak into her. Men of all types, sizes, ages, and skin colors stared boldly back at her. Their excited grins and undisguised interest told her Mr. Scott had been correct. The men expected to secure brides.

It appeared as though the male population of Victoria far outnumbered the few matrons among the crowd. Even with the boatload of new women arriving, there wouldn’t be enough women to go around. There would likely be many disappointed men who’d have to wait for the next bride ship to arrive—the one carrying Patience.

What would her sister think of all this? Would she be excited at the possibility of finding a husband, or would it fill her with dread too? Patience had never been opposed to marriage the same way that Mercy was. But she’d always been particular about men, telling Mercy she intended to marry someone who loved God just as she herself did. Maybe here in Victoria, Patience would finally discover a man like that.

Mercy focused on the wharf. As for her, she simply wanted to survive and find a way to escape.

“Duck your heads,” she instructed her charges. Perhaps if they didn’t make eye contact and kept their heads down, they’d draw less attention. She trembled to think of what would happen once they moved off the wharf. Would the men lunge after them, grabbing and fighting over their brides? Or would the women have to parade in front of the crowd first before arriving at some sort of platform to be displayed further?

“If you women will line up in twos” came the distinguished voice of Lieutenant Verney, one of the gentlemen who’d come aboard the Tynemouth yesterday, “Victoria’s bluejackets will escort you to your accommodations.”

Mercy took hope from the lieutenant’s instructions. Perhaps the women wouldn’t be distributed among the men right away after all.