Wednesday, November 1st 1854 ~ Brigue

Hotel des Trois Couronnes ~ This place seems to lie just at the end of the valley of the Rhone. Mountains enclose it on all sides but one, and here the river takes its first waters from the snows of the great mountains. Just above us towards the Semplon and its great road built by Napoleon. We passed last evening at Matigny in recounting our mutual adventures. The girls met in the diligence an old lady who was a great mineralogist having her collections for the day in a bag with her. She was English and going to the salt mines for Stalactites. Also, Mrs Edward Cathy an intimate friend of Mrs Gillebran, Miss Ropes that was etc., etc. They were treated with great consideration at the Hotel Byron and altogether had a most comfortable time. We left Matigny at three o’clock and arrived here at one at night. The diligence conductors wear a uniform consisting of a blue frock coat with brass buttons, standing collar and a blue cap. Both cap and coat have a bugle embroidered on them in gold to denote the postal service. The “cocher” wears a coat which would be a dress coat if the tails were double the size. This coat boasts scarlet collar and cuffs and is mounted with gilt bugle buttons. The hat is of glazed leather having a gold band and embroidered bugle. On our arrival here we went down into the kitchen and helped ourselves to some “potage” we found on the stove. It was the only comfortable place in the house.

Tuesday, October 31st 1854 ~ Martigny

Hotel de la Tour ~ We breakfasted at Chamonix this morning still with the Polish party and bid them goodbye at nine leaving them on their way to the Fligire, a mountain from which perhaps the best view of Mt. Blanc is to be had, while we started for this place over the “Tite-noire” and the “Val Orsini” on horses each having a guide to lead him. It was a clear bright day and all nature looked fresh and beautiful. Mt. Blanc from the village of Chamonix is in plain sight but looks lower than many of the other mountains because it is somewhat farther removed than they and it is only when the traveler reaches pretty high ground that the Monarch unveils his majesty and rises supreme, a great dom of snow. Our path conducted first through the Val d’Orsini, a narrow valley bounded on either side by sloping rocks, forming high shelving walls and looking like one of the sterile vales of the Arabian nights entertainments. All around us were great masses of jagged stone broken off and thrown here by the winters avalanches, many of them containing twenty and many sixty cubic feet. Between these, the mules picked their way, until the path began to ascend one of the hillsides; as it rose giving us views of the Alpine chain presided over by Mt. Blanc, unapproachable and vast, who here assumed his true rank. The road rising still, soon brought us to the “Tete Noire” which is the summit of the mountain, along whose side we had been creeping – rushing brooks from time to time appear forming beautiful cascades which are lost to view in the dark glens about us, or leaping down the precipice at our feet their voice is hushed in their distant landing. Looking down, the Swiss houses in the vale are reduced to the size of toy buildings in shop windows. Green meadows, little men and miniature cattle, sparkling brooks whose voices are lost in the distance. Now passing through a rock tunnel’d to receive the path we reached a little hotel closed to travelers for the season, but where we obtained some bread and wine and a pleasant parlor to rest in. Walking on, and leaving the mules and guides to follow, we wind through the woods on the top of the mountain picking wild flowers and obtaining beautiful views of nigh looking hillsides clothed in Autumnal verdure. A little further on the road descends and then ascends again and we recoup the frontier of Switzerland. Lizzie’s mule is the quickest walker so that she is in Switzerland while I remain’d in Savoy. A good natured gendarme came out and examined our passport and admired his own signature which allowed us to proceed.

From this point the guide pointed out the Silber-horn. The Jung Frau and before us the great valley of the Rhone almost as far as Brigue two days journey by diligence. The valley is bounded on either side by high hills between which the Rhone looks like a silver thread with the great road by its side running in a straight line through the green meadows. On the other side of the Rhone, rising above all lesser mountains, are the snowcapt mountains of the Bernese chain (which here we bid farewell to) and rich foliage of lesser mountains, makes a scene never to be forgotten. We walked a good part of the way down feeling badly at having bid farewell to our friends the Silber horn and Jung Frow, so beautiful in their majesty. We made friends with some peasants taking their flocks to Matigny which lies on the Rhone just at our feet in plain sight. Had quite a conversation with a peasant woman on her prospects. Lizzie’s guide gave her a history of his life, telling her he was still unmarried because his father wanted him to marry a rich girl that he did not like etc., etc. We found the girls already arrived when we reached the hotel in Matigny and a nice fire in rooms prepared for us. Our hostess’ first words to us were “il y a deux dames ici monsieur gui vous attend” {“there are two ladies waiting for you here, sir”} We were right glad to meet them safe and well.

Monday, October 30th 1854 ~ Chamonix

Hotel de Londres ~ We were called at six and a half this morning and breakfasted at seven. After breakfast bid the girls good bye (I kissed Alice at parting) and started off for Sallenches. The idea was so ridiculous of our going in different directions that it put us into fine spirits. We left our trunks to the girls to take care of and at eight o’clock were comfortably seated in the coupé of the diligence and “en route.” This is the best seat. It is front, just under the driver and shut in with glass. It holds just three people and after the first two hours we had it all to ourselves. The early morning was misty so that we saw but little of the country. As we approached Sallenches the view became superb. The great chain of Mt. Blanc coming into sight, the sun gilding its summits and the mist rolling upward from the valley and creeping up the hill sides. At Sallenches, we obtained our second sight of Mt. Blanc (the first was from Geneva). We dined there and the dinner was miserable in the extreme, bad wine, bad meat, bad everything, cold room. It was market-day however and the costumes of the peasants in the great square were very pretty, standing before their booths, ornamented with ribands etc. We dined with a Polish Count and his sister, the widow of a Russian officer, and with them we took a carriage for Chamonix. They had been fellow travelers in the diligence from Geneva. By the way, on the road to Sallenches we met quantities of market people coming from and going to the fair with droves of cattle, shepherds carrying their little lambs and followed by the flock, droves of black pigs, carts of calves, in one a number of dead ones and one standing alive in their midst. The Polish Count was very deaf and did no talking but his sister did enough for both and in very glib French (which was her native tongue) and we had to keep our heads very clear to understand her rattle. She told us she had one son who was in the Russian army and to my question “how do you like the Russians and their rule” she answered with an expressive shrug “je suis Polonaise.” {I am Polish.} That told the whole story and seemed a history of a great nation’s wrongs. She seemed much interested in hearing about America and showed us by her questions that she had read much about us. The country between Sallenches and Chamonny is very beautiful. The road winds between the mountains, now ascending, now descending, passing through deep defiles, by rushing brooks and waterfalls and among snow capt hills. We had a drunken driver, who whirled us down the hills at a pace that threatened to shake the carriage to pieces; still we did not reach Chamonnix until eight o’clock. Our view as we drove through the vale of Chomonix by moonlight passes description. Mt. Blanc and his aiguilles on the one hand and lesser mountains on the other; in the half light they seemed supernaturally high and their glittering summits seemed as if cut out of solid silver. In many places they were so high that the moon rays did not reach us at all, but were arrested on the sides of the opposite mountains, daguerreotyping there the fantastic shapes of the great Alpine range. The road passes close to three arms of the great “mer de glace,” which descends from the summit of Mt. Blanc into the plain, wave upon wave of ice throwing back the moonlight. Just as the moon rose this evening the sun disappeared so that their rays were blended on the great white dome of Mt. Blanc, the moon rising over it, the sun’s last rays gulding it with rosy hues after they had for some time left us in the valley in the shades of night. Oh man, what are thy works compared with Natures wonders! We cannot help asking here “what is man that thou should’st be mindful of him! We took tea with our Polish friends and retired at midnight. We are the only people at the hotel which is about to be closed for the season.

Sunday, October 29th 1854 ~ Geneva

Caesar Malan

The day has been perfectly splendid. Lake Leman unruffled and clear as crystal, and in the distance the white chain of Mt. Blanc presided over by the monarch himself. A little before ten this morning Lizzie and myself sallied out on a voyage of discovery for the chapel of the celebrated Caesar Malin {actually spelled Malán}. He does not seem at all popular in his native place and we found it difficult to hear where he could be found. After many inquiries we discovered his house just out of the city proper and his church in the grounds. We rang at his garden gate and were told by the woman that came that he would not preach until two o’clock so we went back to the English Chapel and heard the service badly read and a sermon so delivered that we could comprehend very little of it. After church we returned to the hotel and in a quarter of an hour set out again for Mr. Malan’s. It is a very plain little building of wood not painted on the inside with a high old fashioned pulpit, narrow and covered by a canopy of green velvet. Mr. Malin is a fine looking old man about middle height with long hair white as snow. His text was from St. John’s gospel “He it was that should betray him being one of the twelve.” His doctrine we found were very severe (Calvinistic), and somewhat peculiar, but his sermon forcible and manner most impressive, voice musical and instinct with deep feeling. In speaking of the love of Christ it faintly trembled. It is needless to say the sermon impressed us all much. It was in French but remarkably distinct and clear. As he descended from the pulpit in his long black robe he extended his hand to one, a stranger, and I took the opportunity to introduce myself and Lizzie whose father he remembered well. The sunset was superb; we saw it returning along the banks of the lake. The giant shadows of the mountains were reflected in the many colored waters. Byron’s description does not now seem over drawn. In the evening before our woodfire we talked over our plans and concluded to separate our party, Mary and Alice passing over the lake to Hotel Byron and meeting us at Martigny and we going by way of Chamonix, Alice not being able to bear the fatigue of this route.

Saturday, October 28th 1854 ~ Geneva

Hotel de l’Eau ~ Mary’s birthday; the sun shines brightly and Mt. Blanc is in full view. I finally decided upon my watch this morning and took it. I then called at the police office rue de la Cite’ and obtained my passport which had been taken from me on our arrival. Nothing of importance transpired. There is nothing particularly to see in Geneva and I have no impressions to write.

Frederick Augustus Cobb

Charles' father, Frederick Augustus Cobb (1801 - 1848)

1801 - born in Portland, ME on July 26th.

1820 to ≥ 1833 - Lived in Boston, where he attended Harvard
(a member of the "Porcellian Club"), was a member of the local
library, owned lots of stock, married Helen Augusta Kane, and
had two children: Charles (1831) and Mary Wray Cobb (1833).
(Mary accompanied Charles and Lizzie to Europe).

≤ 1838 to 1848 - Lived in Schenectady, NY., where he donated
$5 to a church and apparently attended political conventions of
the Whig party! He died in Schenectady on August 2nd 1848
(aged 47), when Charles was 17.

It isn't clear where all of his money came from...or where it went for that matter!

Thanks to great-great-grandson-in-law Rich Allen and great-great-great granddaughter Becky James for digitizing the painting!

Charles Kane Cobb, timeline

A photo of Charles K. Cobb ca. 1861.

1831 - Born in Boston, MA.
1833 - Sister Mary Wray Cobb is born in Boston.
1830s - Family moves to Schenectady, NY.
1848 - Father, Frederick Augustus Cobb, dies in Schenectady.
1850 - Possibly boards at 7 Morton Pl., Boston (Charles Cobb, clerk).
1852 - Boards at "Winthrop House" in Boston.
1853 - Marries Elizabeth Codman.
1854 - Clerkship in a dry goods commission house.
1854 - Trip to Europe with wife Lizzie and sister Mary.
1855 - Son born in Schenectady, NY: Charles Kane Cobb, Jr.
1856 - Grandmother mentioned in journal (Maria Wray) dies.
1857 - Resides at 18 E. Brookline St., Boston.
1857 - Daughter born in Boston: Helen Kent Cobb.
1857-8 Works as a merchant at 53 Central Wharf.
1858 - Possibly boards at 4 Bulfinch Place (C.K. Cobb).
1858 - Mother, Helen Augusta Kane, dies in Boston.
1859 - Son born in Boston: Frederick Codman Cobb.
1860 - Appears in US Census as Boston resident, merchant.
1861 - Works at 22 Central Wharf, J.P. Hawes & Co., merchants.
1861-? - Lieutenant/adjutant in Civil War, stationed in Boston Harbor.
1862 - Absent from the Boston Directory. At war?
1864 - Daughter born in Boston: Elizabeth Codman Cobb.
1864 - Starts a bank and brokerage company.
1865-6 - Partners with Francis V. Parker becoming "Parker & Cobb."
1865 - Resides at 11 Brookline St.
1865 - Parker & Cobb located at "1 Phoenix Building" in Boston.
1868 - Parker & Cobb located at 8 Devonshire St.
1868-death - Resides at 11 Marlboro St.
1870-3 - Parker & Cobb located at 36 Devonshire St.
1872 - Parker & Cobb narrowly escapes the "great fire" of Nov 9.
1873 - Charles is a member of the Boston Stock and Exchange Board.
1873-6 - Parker & Cobb is located at 78 Devonshire St.
1876 - Dies in Boston, age 45. Bank becomes F.V. Parker & Co.


Advertisement from The Banker's Almanac, 1874.

sources:
Banker's Almanacs, 1872-1874.
Barron, C. W. and J. G. Martin. 1893. The Boston Stock Exchange.
Boston Directories 1849 to 1875.
Chandler, A. 1876. Secretary's Report, class of 1868, Harvard.
Greenough, Jones & Co. 1872. Boston Business Directory.
Parker, F. J. 1880. The story of the 32nd regiment Massachusetts...
Reno, C. 1900. Memoirs of the judiciary and the bar of New England...

Note: some dates and/or places may be wrong! (i.e., mistaken identities)

Wednesday, October 4th 1854 ~ Koblenz, Germany

Drachenfels Castle as it looked in the 21st and 17th centuries (photo: S. Mense, engraving: M. Merian).

Hotel Du Géant ~ Last evening at six o’clock we left Cologne for Bonn by rail and past the night there. It is only one hours ride. Bonn is a lovely place, just upon the river, where it begins to be picturesque and commands a fine view of the seven hills, with the Drachenfells castle in the distance. We saw the river by moonlight last evening. Bonn is a fine looking city, looking somewhat like an American watering place, handsome houses, unpaved streets, large trees on either side etc. It contains a celebrated university in which Prince Albert was educated. The house is still shown there in which Bethoven was born. At ten o’clock we took an open carriage provided by our hotel and left Bonn en route up the river. The drive is delightful to Godesberg, a hill overlooking the river, crowned by a ruined castle built by one of the Archbishops of Cologne in the 13th century, on the site of a Roman fort. We made the ascent on Donkeys in about 15 minutes. Our donkeys were each led by little boys. The view from the top is magnificent, finer much than that from the Drachenfells. It is a hard scrambling ride but the view repays the trouble. Our little guides, when we arrived at the top, picked little bouquets for us, in hopes to increase their “drink geld.” The little asses seemed quite disproportionate to the load they bear. My feet almost touched the ground, on either side, when seated on one of them. They walk with great elasticity and force but do not like to trot. They seem to posses more sagacity than a horse and make a loud crying when displeased, which is very painful to unaccustomed ears. Continuing our drive up the river, we found we were traversing a road founded by Marcus Aurelius of Lucius Verus, 160 years after Christ. A few miles brought us to the foot of the Drachenfells, which we ascended on mules. The hill is very steep indeed and the road winds up through vineyards almost all the way. The ruined towers at the top and the view is not as fine as in many other places on the Rhine. Still it is beautiful. We took out Childe Harold and read the passages relating to this part of the river. At half past one we took a steamer and were soon sailing rapidly up the river, between very high and irregular banks. Just above Konigswinter on the opposite side rises a steep hill on which is the ruin of the castle of Rolandseck. The nephew of Charlemagne (Roland) built it to command a view of the convent where his betrothed had taken the veil. From a point a short distance above this the prospect is charming. One may see the ruins of the Drachenfells, Rolandseck Castle, on their separate heights and the convent below, besides several less important castellated summits. Farther up the river are the ruins of Hammerstein Castle, on a high rock just over the water. It was built in the 10th century and was besieged by the Swedes in the 30 years war. Still farther up we passed the white tower which marks the spot where Caesar crossed the Rhine when leading an army against the Sicambri and also where General Hoche crossed in 1797 in spite of the opposition of the Austrians. All these Rhemish hillsides are covered with grape vines which grow on terraces and which seem to be inaccessible to mortal foot. Many of these terraces are cut out of the solid rock and the soil has been carried up to them in baskits, on the heads of the peasants. The vines did not seem to us to add to the landscape as they are trained on straight poles only about four or five feet high, which appear merely like scrub bushes from the river below. We have been perfectly enchanted with our days voyaging. The Rhine is beautiful beyond description, more beautiful by far than the Hudson (setting aside the ruins) although there are some small portions of the Hudson that more than equal it in natural beauty. This part of the Rhine is narrower than the Hudson and the banks are far more precipitous, rocky, and the general scenery wilder. The white and red wines are very agreeable to one who is a little used to them. They are entirely without adulteration and admixture of alcohol here, that these wines always have in America and possess a purer taste. Lizzie and the girls do not like them because they are not accustomed to any acid wine. The price on board the Rhine boats is one franc to one and a half per bottle (20 to 30 cts). Last evening at Bonn we all went to a concert because Alice said she “wanted to hear some German music in a German land.” But the concert turned out to be only a four Tyrolian songs given by three or four natives in costume. It would have been decidedly common in America. The audience looked just as any well dressed one would in America. Thus far life seems much the same all over. At the hotels they always give us here a square pillow (about two feet square) stuffed with down as an extra covering. It is a very peculiar arrangement because it only covers half the body, and that only for half the night, for at the first turn it rolls off. We have not seen a double bed for a long while. We arrived this evening at Coblentz. Our rooms look out upon the river.

Tuesday, October 3rd 1854 ~ Bonn, Germany

Left: Cologne Cathedral under construction in 1856. Right: in 1912, after its completion in 1880.

Hotel Bellevue ~ I date at Bonn because I write from there this evening but the whole day has been spent at Cologne. Mary was quite unwell this morning. She had headache and was obliged to remain at the hotel while we were sightseeing. We started early and first directed our steps to the great Cathedral “Domkirche.” It is still unfinished and was begun in the 11th century. At present the work is being prosecuted with vigor and will probably be concluded in a half century more. This is a great gothic structure and when completed will be the largest of its style in the world. It has two towers, one on either side of the nave, that will be 500 feet high. It contains of course many wonderful relics (what Rhemish or Belgian cathedral does not!). Among them are a “lock of the hair of the Virgin” and the “skulls of the three Kings of Cologne,” the wise men or Magi, who first came to adore the infant Christ. The vast proportions of the outside of this cathedral impressed us much. We gazed at its proportions a long while. From one of its towers springs quite a good sized tree, taken root on a deposit of ages. We now went to the Ursuline Chapel, whose walls are filled with the bones of the eleven thousand sainted virgins who were massacred here by the Huns in the 3rd century. I have given their history under date of Sept. 29th. In the sacristy their bones are arranged in glass cases which extend from the floor to the ceiling and perfectly line the room. We were shown the skull of St. Ursula with her name embroidered upon a band of crimson velvet which encircles it, covering up the lower jaw and thus taking from the face that repulsive expression common to this object. Very many of the other skulls were similarly adorned. The question presented itself to us, how they came to know these skulls one from another, after they had been in a confused heap for ages. In this same place they pointed out to us one of the “alabaster wine pots used by our Lord at [Cans] of Galilee. It was broken and looked old. From here we visited another church where there is a splendid painting of Rubens. It was presented by him to the church, the one in which he was baptized. The subject is the crucifixion of St. Peter. His executioners are affixing his ponderous body to the cross head downwards and driving the nails. His face is calm, but each mussel of the body betrays his suffering. He is represented as in high health, but an old man with gray hair. This picture impresses us more than any we have ever seen and now we feel as if we never should see its like again. We saw the house in which Ruben was born and Mary de Médicis died. The church which has Rubens painting still preserves the font in which he was baptized. It has the tomb of a child of an English king in the 3rd century, a monument much defaced.

Saturday, September 30th 1854 ~ Brussels, Belgium

The Sonian Forest or Forêt de Soignes (photo: D. Edgar).

Hotel de L’Unions ~ We find we made a mistake in selecting our hotel. It is a good house celebrated for its table d’hote but in a bad location, not near the park and decidedly “down town”. Here, and indeed all through Germany, there are no double beds, two good sized single beds being invariably used instead. They have always full white curtains descending from a round head piece. The beds are low and in what we call the French style. I took the stage at ten o’clock this morning for Waterloo, leaving Lizzie and the girls to do some shopping for lace etc. in the city. The road to Waterloo is a very fine one, graded almost as well as one of our railways. The county, for the most part, would be considered uninteresting; but some parts of it are beautiful. The distance is thirteen miles and the road is paved with round stone all the way. It passes for several miles through the forest of Soigne and over it the British troops past on their way to the great battle field. This wood Lord Byron alludes to in the beautiful lines commencing “And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, dewy with Natures tear drops as they pass.” Here the road is truly beautiful, the trees are immense and entirely shade it, and the wood is very thick. In all this level expanse of country there is not a fence or hedge or any other perceptible line to divide a man’s land from his neighbors’. The effect of this view of highly cultivated, unbroken prairie land is very fine, extending as it does, as far as the eye can reach. The field of Waterloo is only marked by a great mound of earth, on the top of which the Belgic lion, in bronze, puts his paw on a small marble world, and looks defiant. The ground the two armies occupied would not seem to give either a great advantage. It is merely a swelling meadow land. The little vale between the foes seems much too small to give either a great advantage. Wellington’s strength of position seems to have consisted entirely in having his extreme wings supported by the brick walls, which surrounded two old farm houses, so protected by clumps of trees that the French could not us their artillery against them and could not therefore get at the English from the rear on account of these temporary forts. They are called “Hougoumont” and “La Haye Sainte.” The walls of the Houngoumont are still standing and are all battered up on the outsides by musket balls fired at the loop holes. I stood upon the spot where Wellington gave his orders and to which the imperial gard almost penetrated during their final charge. The village is in plain sight, and about two miles distant, from which late in the afternoon the Prussians emerged. Our guide was an English officer of low grade who served under Wellington in the battle. He is a very smart fellow in that he does not boast of his courage but says he felt much relieved when his company were withdrawn from the fire. One cannot help feelings of sadness at the remembrance of the misery caused here and I believe we all left the place with subdued feelings and quiet faces. I got back to Brussels at four o’clock just in time for the table d’hote. Dinner in the French style. Nothing on the table, but dishes handed around, already carved and no two things placed on the same plate. Soup, corn beef, roast beef liver, fricandeau of veal larded, roast veal and baked pears, bread and cheese, jelly, pudding, pears, peaches etc. Each kind of meat constituted a separate course. The waiters are drest in black frock coats and white gloves and are generally gentlemanly looking young men speaking two or more languages.

Friday, September 8th 1854 ~ At sea

Pickled limes - an old-time New England treat.

At sea ~ Alice was taken again with cramps about ten o’clock last evening. Mary sat up with her nearly all night. She slept but two hours. Dr Gallup was very much frightened by Alice’s symptoms, and entirely lost his presence of mind, so that we were absolutely forced to expel him from her state room, he disturbed her so much by his agitation. Nature proved a good physician, administered a good nights rest and today she is much better. The weather is rainy and rather cold, thermometer at 58 to 60. We are at last on the banks, we reached them yesterday, and are now leaving Newfoundland on the west. We seem at last fairly clear of the new world and bound in earnest for the old. All indications are in favor of a long passage. We passed twelve vessels yesterday and signalized one, which should report us at home. Most of these however were fishing craft. Mary and the Captain, Professor Treadwell and myself had a game of whist this evening. We occasionally get up a supper just before retiring. Sometimes I ransack the pantry, sometimes the Dr. gets out the ginger preserves, or anchovies, bread butter etc. Pickled limes.

Thursday, August 31st 1854 ~ At sea

At sea ~ The ship is somewhat less crank today and the wind more favorable. All the lady passengers made their appearance at the breakfast table for the first time this morning and it really seems like quite an event in our very quiet life. Mrs. Treadwell only came with a great effort that she might not be the last. She has passed the greater part of the day heretofore extended on a mattress on the cabin floor. After breakfast we had a game of shuffle-board on deck, where we remained reading, studying French etc. We were on deck also in the afternoon. All feel well enough now to enjoy the new life. Our time goes quickly, so much so that we read but little. It is an unfailing pleasure to watch the ever-changing swelling waters. It is still pleasant without over coats or shawls. We see large banks of seaweed every few moments. This afternoon a school of porpoises were playing about the ship, springing out of the water every few moments and then swimming so near the surface as to be distinctly seen in their rapid course - we are moving from ten to twelve knots per hour and yet they pass us as if we were standing still. A sail appeared and in the distance this afternoon. In the evening we sat upon the deck listening to the Doctor’s flute, and exercising our melodious voices in the Ave Maria, Home Sweet Home etc. At nine o’clock we descended to the cabin and had a game of “old-maid,” Alice much frightened but not hurt!! Prof. Treadwell today thought I would not dare to go aloft, there being no “lubber-holes” in the “tops”. I made the attempt and succeeded, when I returned he desired to put his hand on my wrist to see “how the pulse went.” Dr. Gallup reads French to us and has become in a measure our teacher. In the steerage are two poor women in the consumption who are returning to Ireland to die, our days are also numbered and be they shorter or longer they will pass like a dream in the night, or the shadow of a cloud, and the places that have known us shall know us no more forever and we shall be called upon to render an account to our Maker. Looking upon the vast expanse around us should teach us humility and our own littleness in the presence of Him who holds the ocean in the hollow of his hand.

Wednesday, August 30th 1854 ~ At sea

At sea ~ This morning the wind is somewhat better but we are still further in the gulf stream and have made with our numerous tacks North and South but a very few miles of Easting. I shaved this morning for the first time since leaving home and left the upper lip. Capt. Knowles thinks I was seized with “mal de mer” just in time to check operations on that member. Lizzie and the girls are much better today, even Alice seems to have partially recovered. The Capt. and Dr. carried mattresses up on deck for their use, on which they have been reclining all day, watching the ever undulating plain around us and basking in the warm sun. It is surprising how a few days of sea sickness preys on the damask cheek and bleaches even the sweetest rose. Our ladies appear as if they had passed through a dangerous illness, all sentiment is famished and listless content the greatest good aimed at for the present. The moon has made her appearance and we are looking forward to a succession of fine moon light nights.

Tuesday, August 29th, 1854 ~ At sea

Painting: "The Chariot of Fame crossing the Atlantic from Liverpool to Boston" by M.J. Whitehead.

At sea ~ Lizzie and the girls are somewhat better today although it is still rough and the tin cups that hang to our births are in requisition sometimes. Capt. Knowles is in despair for the wind comes from the old quarter and we are much out of our course. We have seen a whale in the distance, but as yet no other fish. Time is divided into watches and bells – there are six watches in the 24 hours of 4 hours each, beginning at noon, at half past twelve the steersman strikes one bell, at one o’clock he strikes two bells, at half past strikes three, at two he strikes four bells, at half past, five bells and so on until four o’clock when the number of bells reaches eight. Here the second watch comes on, and the sublimity of the ocean does not strike me as I supposed it would were I out at sea. I am disappointed in the heighth of the ocean waves, they seem higher when one is seated on the rocks at Sahant or the beach at Newport – perhaps it is that the land is an obstacle that shows to advantage their force. Our great vessel looks smaller contrasted only with this vast expanse of water – and the effect of the waves upon her have ceased to cause wonder.

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.