September 2 (continued)
Much time has passed before I could return to my little booklet. It is now 14 days that the Eagle has carried, whirled, shaken, weakened us, all as it pleased him. A long time for a land rat, especially the seasickness. It has brought me clear out of text and concept. Accordingly, I ask (you) to excuse the daily report and to put up with an unbound narrative. The thread may indeed have some knots. It will not always furnish clean linen, but will often be interwoven with satin (?) and cotton. Bear with me.
1. Suggestions for sea voyages
There are many means to ease seasickness, but none to remove it. Orange bitter or bishop’s extract — four times a day, 20 drops in some white wine — gives a good attitude in the stomach. Also, when there is a bitter taste in one’s mouth and when the stomach is all riled up and will accept nothing further, a teaspoon of magnesia is of good effect. It is good to take a powerful portion a few days before the voyage. Good herrings agree well in cases of seasickness. Patience is the best and helps the most, but it is a rare herb and does not grow in every garden. Another thing, which I must rather lament, must be included with seasickness and as a warning to others. Manners are often — usually — not without pain. In the first cabin, solidarity prevails. The doors and walls are of the finest mahogany with ebony and jarrah wood — black, white, ochre, red — everything polished really nice. My thumb, though, supplies the colors that are really missing [here in the second cabin]. It is squashed green and blue. The pains which I had to endure one night — and who knows how long I would have had to endure them had we not had our fine arnica tincture — these pains are not pleasant. I must be thankful for the modern and noble arrangement of doors. Why can they not be pushed open, as in the first cabin? It is impossible to open them in second cabin during a storm. When I complained with my hefty pains about these accident-prone doors, the captain comforted me with the statement that on a previous voyage, a child’s fingers had been knocked off.
2. People in irons
Blood has flowed! How is the earth so corrupted and the nature of Cain found again in so many? In the middle deck there was an old brewer who, sad to say, behaved in such a way that any dumb young fellow would scrape his feet on him. At coffee, which everyone had to get for himself, a rascal had tripped him. The old man falls, gets up, goes to his place, takes an empty bottle, returns to the one who tripped him and knocks a hole in his head. Fortunately, the chips of glass flew in such a way as not to inflict any further harm to anyone. The old brewer scolds and, scolding, returns to his place. The young fellow gets his strength back and lets the old man have a few blows with a knotted stick so that he cries, bleeding, “I have enough, I have enough.” The captain combines judgmental and executive power in his position as captain. He had the warring parties march up. After a hearing had taken place, he placed tight handcuffs on both of them. The public made notes on the side and conducted itself very much in self-defense. I examined the old “ass” of a brewer and found to my consternation that he had received a deep hole in his right temple. My needles came in handy. The wound, cleansed and sewn shut and then, with the help of a barber from Cologne, treated with arnica bandages, healed shut without infection. Ach, people!
My old friend the Swiss has allowed himself to become so intoxicated, coaxed by other rascals, that he became the object of ridicule to all others because of his foolish staggering. At my suggestion, a smith from Baden brought him into the cabin, where he disappeared. I would like to dedicate a few lines to this man from Baden, whom I regarded in the early days as a comedian because of his handsprings and laughable facial features. He may be a member of some artist’s group.
3. The Happy-Go-Lucky Passenger
One day at noon, when all were resting and it was completely quiet on deck, there sat the man from Baden, absorbed with studying two pictures. As I stepped closer to him, he showed me the two photographs. One of them portrayed his beautiful father city, Constance. The other was of his grandmother who lives there. “There I have a truly good grandmother,” he said, and he told me his life’s story — which I must, however, translate into our earnest High German:
My father and mother both died early, and I was brought up by my old grandmother. People had designated me for studies, but since my brother was a builder of machines in America, I became an apprentice to a smith. My apprenticeship was not yet over when the war broke out between Austria and Italy. I was 17 years old. Everyone raved for the liberation of Italy — I no less. I allowed myself to be taken [into military service] and took part in the war for three years. Toward the end of this period, I was captured, and after a short captivity was handed over in Baden. Here I was sentenced to 12 years of punitive service. But since I had nearly mastered my trade, I was sent for half a year to apprentice school.
I cannot relate much about the war in Italy other than that we suffered no hunger or thirst. It is known that the Austrian general, that thief [Spitzbub], cared for his money purse, but the 1,000 oxen which were meant for his people stood us in good stead. The loss of one toe on the right foot and the bullet which passed through my leg — I do not regard those highly. In Constance I had to do my service in the smithy and in the barracks. But I was often annoyed [?] by the young officers. I was a corporal, but I could not carry on with my recruits as people did with me. On account of this, they soured my life. When I was watchman one night, I thought about my situation and my future life. Freedom, as I pictured it, filled my heart. Off to America! There was no other way to escape these bonds!
Quietly I took care of my little money through an exchange agent. I bought a trunk full of clothes, brought them to the depot, hung up my uniform in a private restroom, then was off to the railroad and the train chugged away. I was free then from my punishment, free from the dark foundations and walls. In Bremen, where police asked for my pass, I showed them my paid-up ticket and as good patrolmen they let me go. But I didn’t trust the situation. When the policemen came into a restaurant in search of me, I revealed myself to my host. He was a friendly man and helped me [evade them]. But on the day of our departure, to my not inconsiderable fright, these same two men from the Bremen police came to the Eagle and asked about me by name. I seated myself along the side of the ship humming a tune. I was visualizing death, for sad to say, I was ready to jump overboard if they were to find me. They went down below and searched all corners and edges, and when they did not find me, duty drove them to search other ships without looking around on the Eagle’s deck. My heart beat warm and quietly again for now I was out of danger. I would like to see their long faces when they go to take possession of my property at my grandmother’s house and she will say, “He is in America!”
A few days later, I met the man from Constance with several other passengers. One was telling about his rich uncle in America, whom he was to visit. “Ah, what rich uncle?” called the blacksmith. “I have two rich uncles who will not forsake me.” Then he flexed his muscular arms and acted as if he were hammering.
4. The Poor Fallen One
Since I have begun to shed light on the lives of fellow passengers, I must recount the saddest picture I have yet seen. A girl of 17 years had been sent away by her parents because she had stolen, so people said. She was barely on board when she looked for a lover, but found only a big sailor. Because of her bad behavior, she was banished from the second cabin. People did not want to receive her on the middle deck either. She was deserted by the sailor. Then she came to the captain and she stood before him, mocked and despised by all, in torn clothing, with bristly hair and eyes cast downward before us. One did not know whether pity or anger had the upper hand over one’s feelings. Now she keeps herself withdrawn, yet the freshness is easily noticed [? unclear].
5. German Faithfulness
A young couple from Würtemberg is on the Eagle, taking their wedding trip. The man had traveled to America as a 17-year-old youth when his future wife was only 11 years old. They carried on a limited correspondence, which “fell asleep” in the busy life of the man. But when the war [his service in the Civil War?] was over and he had settled down again, the old love came to life. He had such homesickness that he returned to Schwaben. I will not describe seeing again and finding again. The love-songs and chords cannot be expressed in prose. One thing I must share: His aged mother did not recognize her son again, nor the brother his brother until they had spent some hours together.
Just yesterday morning our dear neighbor Mr. Grote from Lesum called me to the man from Würtemberg. The latter had had a nose bleed through the night and during the day before and had lost much blood. They were worried. I followed him and found the little wife quietly crying at her husband’s bed. First I quieted her in her anxiety. Then I cut two pieces of sponge, wetted them with vinegar, and put them into his nose. I placed wet cloths on the nape of his neck. He was so far gone that he did not see clearly. It helped at first, but not for long. I gave him vinegar to drink, and that helped. The dear reader may make demands of me because of my illegal doctoring and may ask, What about the description of your journey? Quickly, a new chapter.
We have something more than a fresh breeze. Without permission of the captain, I want to call it a strong wind. When the sails tear like paper, I believe I have a right to call it so, and no one is permitted to tell me about zephyr breezes. On the fifth, it was a full moon, and a dweller along the coast in Würsten will know that something is going to happen at spring tide. Late last morning, I was laughed at with my spring tide — on the open sea one does not think of it. But at the forward leg [tack?] it was scary and now at the backward leg the wind tore through six sails. If things would only move forward ... but one can learn patience. When breakers spread over the rear, one can become accustomed to it — but several of my children have involuntarily taken a bath at sea, or rather received one. When things get unbearable down in the cabin, one tries to get into fresh air. So also my children. As they bravely sit up above this morning, a salty wave almost spills them away. Laughing, they come down the stairway. There was hardly a dry thread on them, so well the showerbath had worked. The rocking — the horrible rocking — bothers us more. One can hardly stand without holding on, and one often stumbles against the lower side of the ship. The worst is eating soup. Everyone holds his plate, but when he falls from his seat, the soup is lost and also the cloth onto which it is poured. At times, saucers, plates and glasses fly together despite the high edges which are around and over the table.
Yesterday I could write no more, because our Wilhelm was reading to us from the Life of Luther and although I have already read this little book, it is always dear to me. This past Sunday, our Wilhelm dressed up so neatly we were astonished. We learned that it was his 19th birthday. Where there are so many birthdays, one can forget one or the other. At morning devotions, we had had the beautiful hymn “The Lord hath helped me hitherto.” Ah, if we might finally be able to join in singing this hymn on land! Regrettably, we still have unfavorable winds. This same problem also hinders the ships going with us to America.
We addressed an English ship this morning. It had taken 14 days from Liverpool — an unusually long time. If only another wind would come soon. Sixty kegs of water have been used up; 200 remain on board, many of them leaking, I am told. The voyagers are on deck today to be written down. Sometimes things become laughable. A girl from Würtemberg is named Viktoria Speck. Immediately, the public cries, “Victoria — now there’ll be bacon.” [Speck is the German word for bacon.] A man from Ostfriesland is named Focke Rolfs. His son is named Rolfs Focke Rolfs. This writing may not seem very bright, but it helps the day pass.
