Friday, September 15th 1854 ~ At sea

At sea ~ At ten o’clock we arrived within sight of the first point of the Irish coast (Cape Clear) but it was nearly twelve before to my landsman’s eyes, it appeared a well defined land of hill and dale. The day is clear and we could plainly see the bold coast, looking like broken off sand banks descending into the water. We could scarcely realize that we were gazing on the Old World! We to whom it had been so long a dream, a many colored picture in the atlas, a story of the geographies and histories, its every foot of earth recalling some record of the olden time, while our native land was still a wilderness. And this is the country of our ancestors, from which they went out a little band to plant a mighty nation, destined perhaps to be the most powerful of modern times, as it is now the most enlightened. Alice, who is decidedly the most enthusiastic of the party, could not restrain her oh’s! of delight. With the day only closed our view of Ireland, a poor woman, of the steerage, died yesterday morning, of consumption, and just after dinner today she was consigned to the sea. The body was sewed up in its bed clothes, making a compact bale, not unlike a coffin in shape and size, shutted at one end, then placed on a plank which was balanced on the bulwarks, while Dr. Gallup read some prayers, the ceremony over, one end of the plank was raised, there was a dull splash, and the waves received their charge, only to be released when the sea shall give up her dead. It was a very solemn sight. The woman was a native of Ireland and was on her way to die there. Death came but a little too soon, her country was in sight, as she took her last journey. There is only a step between birth and death, a baby was born aboard yesterday. The mother is a single lady, who made the voyage for her health, she being troubled with “dropsy”. She was treated for that until yesterday when her dropsy was removed!! I wrote to Aunt Jane today giving a full account of our voyage.

Monday, September 11, 1854 ~ At sea

A Sea ~ We had a severe gale in the night, which kept Captain Knowles up until daylight, our great ship was tossed about like a bubble and I confess I had no idea of a blow at sea until I heard the roar of the wind through the rigging last night. I went on deck at nine o’clock, and then it was so dark I could not see my own hand before my face, and the wind was so high that I couldn’t stand on the deck without holding on to some stationary object – it was from the Westward and we ran before it under double reefed topsails. All the cabin passengers slept in their clothes last night. As the storm was commencing a poor fellow, one of the steerage passengers, was dropt into his watery tomb, he died at five in the afternoon, and about eight the body was sewed up in its bedclothes and thus consigned to the sea. He was a Catholic and had friends on board who would have no service performed. We in the cabin did not hear of the death until all was over. This morning the wind blew hard, but the waves were not particularly high, owing to its having changed in the night. This morning we ran 70 miles along side of a large ship, bound for Liverpool, our relative positions in that run only changing a quarter of a mile. She is still this evening as near us as ever. Professor Treadwell and the Captain have been marking her progress by the compass. Captain Knowles informs us that he never knew such close sailing before. Our cabin is veneered on all sides beautifully, but when there is much motion it is really hard to make one’s self heard there, the creaking of the wood is so great. In a palace this cabin would make a perfect gem of a boudoir, but here it seems to us decidedly out of place. The walls are veneered throughout with mahogany inlaid with (white) satin wood, and the ceiling is handsomely gilded. It is painful to contemplate the possibility of its becoming in a few years the resort of a merry whalemans crew. To what base uses do we come at last! Mrs. Treadwell, and other ladies of the passengers are laying about the cabin floor again on mattresses, reading etc., the rough weather makes them feel a little inclined to be sick again. And how miserably they look!

Saturday, August 26, 1854 ~ Ship Chariot of Fame

Ship Chariot of Fame ~ Our project of a tour in Europe was hastily made two weeks ago; on account (on my part) of increasing ill health and need of relaxation from the labor of a clerkship in a dry goods commission house. Mary has not been well and thought the change of air and scene might benefit her, besides, of course, anticipating much pleasure from foreign travel; while of course my little wife, always ready for a “spree”, was doubly so for one of such a magnitude. Everything combined to make our way clear before us, and here we are a party of four on board the Chariot of Fame, a noble ship of 2000 tons, at sea and bound for Liverpool. I have spoken of three of our party the fourth is Mrs. Alice Watts – we feel as if we know her very well, having past a year under the same roof, and trust that quarter “familiarity” will not breed contempt on either side. We missed the cars this morning which were to carry us in to Boston from Savin Hill, and were forced to take Pa Little’s old carryall and drive in town where we joined Alice at the depot of the Old Colony railway, and as it was too early for carriages there, we four drove, with baggage, to the ship in our carryall, and must have looked very like an Irish family moving, or a Neapolitan turnout. Poor Mother bid us goodbye at Saven Hill with a tear or two and Grandmother says she never expects to see us again (the prevailing tune, by the way, of the last five years at every parting). They bore it, on the whole, much better than could have been expected considering that Mother was trusting to the ocean her all for an absence of perhaps a year. We felt very badly at parting with her, she has to look forward to a long, and perhaps lonely winter in Schenectady. William Codman, Mr. Foster, Mr. Watts, and others went to the limits of the harbor with us in the towboat “Rescue” which carried us out, and as the waving of their handkerchiefs disappeared in the distance, the last material link seemed broken that bound us to our American relatives and friends, but I hope their hearts will be with us on the watery way that is opening before us and I am sure ours will often revisit home and follow them in their daily occupations.

The day is cloudy, the wind unfavorable, being light and from the North East, so that we are close hauled and moving slowly. We have 150 steerage passengers on board, most of them paupers sent home to Ireland by the state. They are grouped forward, among the sailors, and present quite and picturesque appearance. The vessel is covered with flags of the sailors’ songs, being a novelty, sound very pleasantly to our landlubber ears. I doubt if we see any harbor more beautiful than this, with its little islands, its frowning fort, its fine shipping etc. We can detect no motion (up and down) in our vessel, although fairly out at sea, she lays upon the water like a great leviathan, slowly edging Eastward. It seems impossible to us that she could ever be the “sport of the waves.” Our cabin passengers are Mr. and Mrs. Prof. Treadwell, Dr. Spooner, young Shelton, Mrs. Ashendon and children, Dr. Gallup surgeon of the ship and of course Capt. Knowles, our commander. We left the wharf this morning at ten o’clock and now, at ten at night have a lee shore in plain sight. Mary and Alice have a stateroom together next to ours.