Our
misery was very great.
The passengers were few in number, only a couple of Mexican
miners who had been prospecting, an irritable old Mexican woman,
and a German doctor, who was agreeable but elusive.
The old Mexican woman sat on the deck all day, with her back
against the stateroom door; she was a picturesque and indolent
figure.
There was no diversion, no variety; my little boy required
constant care and watching. The days seemed endless. Everbody
bought great bunches of green bananas at the ports in Mexico,
where we stopped for passengers.
The old woman was irritable, and one day when she saw the
agreeable German doctor pulling bananas from the bunch which she
had hung in the sun to ripen, she got up muttering "Carramba,"
and shaking her fist in his face. He appeased her wrath by
offering her, in the most fluent Spanish, some from his own bunch
when they should be ripe.
Such were my surroundings on the old "Newbern." The German
doctor was interesting, and I loved to talk with him, on days
when I was not seasick, and to read the letters which he had
received from his family, who were living on their Rittergut (or
landed estates) in Prussia.
He amused me by tales of his life at a wretched little mining
village somewhere about fifty miles from Ehrenberg, and I was
always wondering how he came to have lived there.
He had the keenest sense of humor, and as I listened to the tales
of his adventures and miraculous escapes from death at the hands
of these desperate folk, I looked in his large laughing blue eyes
and tried to solve the mystery.
For that he was of noble birth and of ancient family there was no
doubt. There were the letters, there was the crest, and here was
the offshoot of the family. I made up my mind that he was a
ne'er-do-weel and a rolling stone. He was elusive, and, beyond
his adventures, told me nothing of himself. It was some time
after my arrival in San Francisco that I learned more about him.
Now, after we rounded Cape St. Lucas, we were caught in the long
heavy swell of the Pacific Ocean, and it was only at intervals
that my little boy and I could leave our stateroom. The doctor
often held him while I ran below to get something to eat, and I
can never forget his kindness; and if, as I afterward heard in
San Francisco, he really had entered the "Gate of a hundred
sorrows," it would perhaps best explain his elusiveness, his
general condition, and his sometimes dazed expression.
A gentle and kindly spirit, met by chance, known through the
propinquity of a sixteen days' voyage, and never forgotten.
Everything comes to an end, however interminable it may seem, and
at last the sharp and jagged outlines of the coast began to grow
softer and we approached the Golden Gate.
The old "Newbern," with nothing in her but ballast, rolled and
lurched along, through the bright green waters of the outer bar.
I stood leaning against the great mast, steadying myself as best
I could, and the tears rolled down my face; for I saw the
friendly green hills, and before me lay the glorious bay of San
Francisco. I had left behind me the deserts, the black rocks, the
burning sun, the snakes, the scorpions, the centipedes, the
Indians and the Ehrenberg graveyard; and so the tears flowed, and
I did not try to stop them; they were tears of joy.
The custom officers wanted to confiscate the great bundles of
Mexican cigarettes they found in my trunk, but "No," I told
them, "they were for my own use. "They raised their eyebrows,
gave me one look, and put them back into the trunk.
My beloved California relatives met us, and took care of us for a
fortnight, and when I entered a Pullman car for a nine days'
journey to my old home, it seemed like the most luxurious
comfort, although I had a fourteen-months-old child in my arms,
and no nurse. So does everything in this life go by comparison.
Arriving in Boston, my sister Harriet met me at the train, and as
she took little Harry from my arms she cried: "Where did you get
that sunbonnet? Now the baby can't wear that in Boston!"
Of course we were both thinking hard of all that had happened to
me since we parted, on the morning after my wedding, two years
before, and we were so overcome with the joy of meeting, that if
it had not been for the baby's white sunbonnet, I do not know
what kind of a scene we might have made. That saved the
situation, and after a few days of rest and necessary shopping,
we started for our old home in Nantucket. Such a welcome as the
baby and I had from my mother and father and all old friends!
But I saw sadness in their faces, and I heard it in their voices,
for no one thought I could possibly live. I felt, however, sure
it was not too late. I knew the East wind's tonic would not fail
me, its own child.
Stories of our experiences and misfortunes were eagerly listened
to, by the family, and betwixt sighs and laughter they declared
they were going to fill some boxes which should contain
everything necessary for comfort in those distant places. So one
room in our old house was set apart for this; great boxes were
brought, and day by day various articles, useful, ornamental, and
comfortable, and precious heirlooms of silver and glass, were
packed away in them. It was the year of 1876, the year of the
great Centennial, at Philadelphia.
