Continuing ...

On Sunday it was my intention to read a sermon. Rain and storms intervened and ruled that out. Tracts and testaments were distributed. Whoever wished to read could read privately. Then four young men came and wanted to play cards. I went to them and said that if they had no conscience for Sunday, they might play down below. They were not to disturb us here. They sneaked away, but two of them took tracts and read them.

The young married man whom I had helped with the nosebleed related his first voyage, which he had made over Liverpool. He would advise any German against emigrating by English ship. The food and the mood were not to be described. Usually the Irish are strongly represented. On the first night, the sailors made their way among the immigrants. To protect his wife, a man had pulled his knife and had cut off the hand of the chief instigator. This man was brought back to land, but the Irishman had been placed in chains. The tragedy had a very sad ending. In a moment when he was not being watched, when they had removed the handcuffs, he jumped overboard and disappeared. Every day there were bloody heads, dirt beyond all bounds, insects without number — that was the picture on an English ship. Then again, why should I speak at length about others? Enough has happened here, which one would not have expected on a ship from Bremen.

7. The Family Circle

I have told you much already about my fellow voyagers; may I also draw you a few scenes of my children? Elizabeth is probably the hardiest. She sits healthily with red cheeks up above and sews — with Mrs. Grote, if possible, or with someone else. Wilhelm reads much but conducts school with his three younger brothers. However, I can easily see how writing becomes quite a drudgery with the everlasting rocking. In arithmetic, the book flies away from the nose; the interest escapes them soon. To play at draughts is something else. If the stones fly helter-skelter together, it does not hurt. They will be set right again. Theodora is in a bad way. She sits either on the sofa or on the floor or up above in woolen covers. She remains where she sits and doesn’t say much. Even worse off is Erich. He seldom leaves the cabin, poor boy. But I hope that he will be healthy and strong after a while. Emma sits carefree and happy with the Grotes and other small children and helps them at play. Hans likes to have a “sliding party.” When the ship is rocking badly, he seats himself on the floor of the cabin and slides back and forth with the movements of the ship. He also likes to do gymnastics using a rope and climbing up on it. Everyone enjoys the boy and no one can look at him without speaking a friendly word to him. The bigger children have their joy and astonishments at the sea and its beauty. Toward evening, when one feels best, the tongues loosen up. We often sit under the rocking lamps and exchange stories about Germany, about wonderful times of the past and about the joy we will have when we feel land under our feet. And then we cannot find our way to the cabin.

Conclusion

Greed is a root of all evil. We travelers on the Eagle were made to feel it in a hard way. I have tried to fight down all the complaints about bad treatment which came to my ears in the first three weeks. I have given the people to understand that we were no longer on the land. At one time the captain was called from the table. In front of the cabin stood all the seamen, one with a kettle in his hand, in which there was some spread-out pudding. He expressed himself clearly and extensively that they had not had any well-prepared food, that the food had never been any better than this pudding. The captain expressed the opinion that he could not now hire another cook. Just the same, something was done to give the cook some help — by a high German with a mustache and a low German without one. But on the middle deck, the complaints prevailed. Relief was hard to find and many a bitter tear was wept. A person would have had to have a heart of stone to eat and drink to satisfaction while hundreds were hungry and thirsty. I sought to comfort the sick wherever I could.

A baker from Ostfriesland came to me, named Focke Englemann, and asked whether I would come and see his sick child. I went with him down under. There lay the mother, pale and listless, with the suckling child, about nine months old, in the bed. The child was pale as the mother — quiet, mouth stretched wide open, and red as a rose. The man complained with a sad face that the mother had become parched because of the poor food, and his child had to go hungry half the day, receiving warm water in the morning and late at night. The child, however, would take a biscuit (of which the man still had a supply), softened in cold water. I got the man two spoonfuls of arrowroot from the ship’s drug dispensary, which was cooked for him. I told the man to get some daily and to notify the captain whenever the cook refused to give him warm water. I informed the captain about the suffering of this man, and he dispensed further arrowroot. But the cook gave no further water. Engelmann complained to the captain, but the captain made him go away dry: He would have to figure out how to get along with the cook. Englemann complained further that his wife hadn’t eaten anything for some time and that she could not get up on her feet. The captain passed on the information that she just had to come to the deck and things would improve. But she can’t do that, also because of the child.

After a few days, the man came to me again and asked whether something could be worked out for him. I could do nothing. I put it bluntly to the captain: The child would starve if the cook would not give hot water. But my influence was at an end. The air was growing worse in the cabin. If I asked a question, I got no answer. But what does it bother me? I know from long experience: He who tells the truth finds no lodging [people do not believe him].

Many things combine to cause passengers this type of suffering. When soup and coffee — seven pounds are used every morning — are thinner, the foodstuffs go up in price: eggs up to 15 cents a dozen, beer up to 7 and a half cents a bottle. A rascal of a sailor who had been rescued twice from shipwrecks in six weeks, yelled down into the middle deck one stormy night when all were asleep: “Hey there! Anyone who wants to come should come now — everyone is going overboard!” Unbelievable confusion, crying, complaining, praying. All this the passengers have to take from an ignorant young fellow. The cook often drinks crazily and excessively. One family has no peas and not even one slice of potato in the soup; another family has many, but all burnt.

There are many complaints and many sick people in the middle deck. As I wished to apply some salve to a young man who had burned his foot, the captain waved me away even though the young fellow had begged me with tears. That incident broke the silence. At meal time, I told the captain that it could not and dare not stay that way. He must see to it that the people would receive enough to eat. It was strong [I spoke strongly.] I now knew why I no longer was allowed on the middle deck. [The following conversation does not make clear sense.] The cook with the mustache came to me on deck and began speaking in a quiet voice: “Mr. Mueller, will you listen to me a moment? I have a few words to say to you privately.” I answered: “First dress up somewhat cleanly, [else] I cannot grant you an audience. The public is not satisfied with the coffee deal.” “But I have only sold a pound of coffee and no biscuits, so I do not appreciate the expression of sarcasm.” “Now, if the shoe does not fit a person, he had better not put it on,” I said. The cook departed amidst general laughter.

After a nervous day there followed yet a pleasant evening. It was quiet on the sea. The wind, which had been quite favorable during the day, had subsided. A beautiful northern light shone for us, with its torchlights beautiful to behold.

A Funeral

Despite the captain’s prohibition, I found myself in the middle deck. I just had to see how the sick child was getting along. How awful the thought of starving, perishing! May God keep us from suffering. The “little worm” is passing away for lack of care. It lies in its mother’s arm without making a sound, mouth wide open. The father is standing in mourning at the foot of the bed. When will the little one have completed his suffering?

At midnight the child will be sunk into the deep, deep sea!
It is well with you, O child; the host of dear angels remembers you.
They will plant you in Paradise, a precious little flower.
If you received no human care here, there it will be better.

I am told that it is custom on board ship to bury a corpse at night in the sea. No one will notice it and no one will be frightened by death. The mournful scene could have a disturbing effect on the happy company. It would seem to be inappropriate to be reminded of death aboard ship on this good day. If only he [death] would not be surrounding the ship so threateningly!

An Outbreak of Hostility

On September 22, the Eagle was cleansed of water that had seeped in. The big force pump had been set into motion. Usually there was no water in it; today it gushed from the deck. Because I have a deep interest in machines, I betook myself from the rear deck to the front deck in order that I might see the gushing of the water and the working of the machine. When the sailors were through, I stepped up, that I might turn the flywheel. The host from New York was leaning against a pillar. I drew close to him unconcerned, took hold of the handle, and asked whether he would make room for a moment. “No,” was his answer. I was surprised; he had always been friendliness itself. Since I had room just the same, I turned it over once without further ado. But in that same moment, he grabbed me with both hands and pushed me over the twin handles of the pump. I slid out on the wet floor and did not come to a lying-down position, but my feet spread so far apart that I could only get up with difficulty. At my feet lay a thick club; I wanted to grab it, but my good angel whispered, “Vengeance is Mine.” I turned away. When I had taken two steps, my strength gave way. I felt a pain in my leg which I cannot describe. With great exertion I got to the stairway. A few more steps and I had to call for help, otherwise I would have fallen down the stairs. Grote and the captain pulled me up and carried me to a bench, where I sat for a moment in indescribable pain. What had happened to my leg, we do not know. They brought me into the cabin, undressed me, and a barber examined the place but could find nothing. My children cried, the captain scolded that I had no business there. My wife made some wet packs with arnica. That night and the next day I had many pains, and I had to lie down for eight full days. Many sympathetic inquiries were made whenever my children showed themselves on deck. When I reappeared, I heard to my joy that the food had improved. The company of travelers was now sharply divided, but the majority were on my side.

A further attempt to provoke me to action had failed. But they thereby prepared for me a grievance and humiliation and for my family a real scare. They stirred up women against me, who were to provoke me with scoldings and bragging. It was the most awful scene. These women in their rage were literally foaming beasts, offerings of Hell who jumped around me. As my faithful wife led me into the cabin, they jeered at us through our window. They said they would not let me leave the ship alive, which made my wife and children so concerned that they would not let me go up alone. They surrounded me as a wall constantly.

In the evening — it was a bright, moonlit, quiet night — many a Nicodemus came to quiet me and to speak courage and comfort to me even though it was not necessary. “My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth.” (Psalm 121)