Thursday, November 2nd 1854 ~ Domo d’Ossola

We started at nine o’clock this morning from Brigue in the diligence drawn by seven horses, two to the pole, three abreast next, and two abreast for leaders. The road, which is macadamized, conducts immediately from Brigue along the side of the mountain, continuously rising at the rate of one inch per foot until it reaches the highest point marked by a simple cross of wood, sixty two hundred feet above the level of the sea. We walked much of the way up admiring the views at every turn. The road on the Swiss side rises spirally, so that it looks from below like a great corkscrew laid against the mountainside. An Italian who talked French fast and badly and a young, silent German, a woman and ourselves were the only passengers. The Italian made himself as agreeable as he could, told us he was Turin lawyer etc. I endeavored to make him understand, in French, the scheme of our own government. He was polite enough to pretend a perfect comprehension of my ideas conveyed through the medium but I fear his truth suffered for his “politisse.” As we approached the summit of the mountain we found snow along the sides of the road until at the highest point it was nearly a foot deep. Near the summit the road passes through a tunnel and several covered galleries, supported by columns of solid masonry, to protect it from the avalanches of ice and snow that fall from the higher peaks above it. Quite a large cascade falls on one of the galleries while the diligence drives safely beneath it. We arrived at the highest point at four o’clock, seven hours after our departure from Brigue and then half an hour’s drive over a level road brought us to the Hospice founded by Napoleon the Great. It’s an immense stone building looking not unlike a factory with its long and regular rows of windows. Here we halted for a few moments and were shown by a monk (Father Barras) who was for many years stationed on the Gt. St. Bernard, the whole of the building. It is nicely heated by a furnace and is neat as shaker dwelling. The floors are of dark wood highly polished. The good monk took us into the cuisine and gave us a little lunch of bread, butter, cheese and wine and then reprised a gratuity for his hospitality. He took us into the chapel and the sleeping rooms and invited us to pass the night. From here the Bernese chain is still visible. The Jung Frau Monk etc. The conductor had given us up his place in the morning and now all were crowded into the “Banquette” to see to advantage our decent into Italy. Dear Switzerland adieu. Soon after learning the Hospice the sun set and the moon rose silvering the snow covered peaks and their over-hanging glaciers, in her pale radiance and deepening indefinitely the chasms beneath us. The diligence followed a terrible but beautiful drive. The horses were put into a trot, then into a gallop and we almost flew through the most magnificent scenery ever beheld. At one moment dashing through a dark tunnel cut through the solid rock and emerging to sweep along the edge of a precipice, with a torrent foaming below but at such a depth that we were aware of its presence only by its roar. And now winding around needles of rock that rose three thousand feet into the air above our heads. The atmosphere quickly changed in our rapid descent and we were soon at Isella, where our trunks were ransacked and our passports countersigned by Italians. The change has not dawned gradually but we found ourselves in a moment within range of the Italian lingo. We again resumed our seats and continued our journey descending gradually through a country of vinyards and soft verdure, white wooden houses etc. Everything is Italian in appearance and in effect we are in Piedmont with the snows of the Semplon still clinging to our wheels. At nine o’clock we found ourselves at Domo d’Ossola just at the foot of the mountain chain.

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.