JOURNEY TO AMERICA AND FIRST EXPERIENCES THERE
Being thus generously provided for, we embarked at Whompoa on the 4th of
January, 1847, in the good ship “Huntress” under Captain Gillespie. As
stated above, she belonged to the Olyphant Brothers and was loaded with
a full cargo of tea. We had the northeast trade wind in our favor, which
blew strong and steady all the way from Whompoa to St. Helena. There was
no accident of any kind, excepting a gale as we doubled the Cape of Good
Hope. The tops of the masts and ends of the yards were tipped with balls
of electricity. The strong wind was howling and whistling behind us like
a host of invisible Furies. The night was pitch dark and the electric
balls dancing on the tips of the yards and tops of the masts, back and
forth and from side to side like so many infernal lanterns in the black
night, presented a spectacle never to be forgotten by me. I realized no
danger, although the ship pitched and groaned, but enjoyed the wild and
weird scene hugely. After the Cape was doubled, our vessel ploughed
through the comparatively smooth waters of the Atlantic until we reached
the Island of St. Helena where we were obliged to stop for fresh water
and provisions. Most sailing vessels that were bound from the East for
the Atlantic board were accustomed to make St. Helena their stopping
place. St. Helena, as viewed from the shipboard, presented an outward
appearance of a barren volcanic rock, as though freshly emerged from the
baptism of fire and brimstone. Not a blade of grass could be seen on its
burnt and charred surface. We landed at Jamestown, which is a small
village in the valley of the Island. In this valley there was rich and
beautiful vegetation. We found among the sparse inhabitants a few
Chinese who were brought there by the East India Company’s ships. They
were middle-aged people, and had their families there. While there, we
went over to Longwood where was Napoleon’s empty tomb. A large weeping
willow hung and swept over it. We cut a few twigs, and kept them alive
till we reached this country and they were brought to Auburn, N. Y., by
Mr. Brown, who planted them near his residence when he was teaching in
the Auburn Academy for several years before his departure for Japan.
These willows proved to be fine, handsome trees when I visited Auburn in
1854.
From St. Helena we took a northwesterly course and struck the Gulf
Stream, which, with the wind still fair and favorable, carried us to New
York in a short time. We landed in New York on the 12th of April, 1847,
after a passage of ninety-eight days of unprecedented fair weather. The
New York of 1847 was altogether a different city from the New York of
1909. It was a city of only 250,000 or 300,000 inhabitants; now it is a
metropolis rivaling London in population, wealth and commerce. The whole
of Manhattan Island is turned into a city of skyscrapers, churches and
palatial residences.
Little did I realize when in 1845 I wrote, while in the Morrison School,
a composition on “An Imaginary Voyage to New York and up the Hudson,”
that I was to see New York in reality. This incident leads me to the
reflection that sometimes our imagination foreshadows what lies
uppermost in our minds and brings possibilities within the sphere of
realities. The Chinese Education Scheme is another example of the
realities that came out of my day dreams a year before I graduated. So
was my marrying an American wife. Still there are other day dreams yet
to be realized; whether or no they will ever come to pass the future
will determine.
Our stay in New York was brief. The first friends we had the good
fortune to make in the new world, were Prof. David E. Bartlett and his
wife. He was a professor in the New York Asylum for the Deaf and Dumb,
and was afterwards connected with a like institution in Hartford. The
Professor died in 1879. His wife, Mrs. Fanny P. Bartlett, survived him
for nearly thirty years and passed away in the spring of 1907. She was a
woman highly respected and beloved for her high Christian character and
unceasing activities for good in the community in which she lived. Her
influence was even extended to China by the few students who happened to
enjoy her care and instruction. I count her as one of my most valued
friends in America.
From New York we proceeded by boat to New Haven where we had an
opportunity to see Yale College and were introduced to President Day. I
had not then the remotest idea of becoming a graduate of one of the
finest colleges of the country, as I did a few years afterwards. We went
by rail from New Haven to Warehouse Point and from there to East
Windsor, the home of Mrs. Elizabeth Brown, wife of Dr. Brown. Her
parents were then living. Her father, the Rev. Shubael Bartlett, was the
pastor of the East Windsor Congregational Church. I well remember the
first Sabbath we attended his church. We three Chinese boys sat in the
pastor’s pew which was on the left of the pulpit, having a side view of
the minister, but in full view of the whole congregation. We were the
cynosure of the whole church. I doubt whether much attention was paid to
the sermon that day.
The Rev. Shubael Bartlett was a genuine type of the old New England
Puritan. He was exact and precise in all his manners and ways. He spoke
in a deliberate and solemn tone, but full of sincerity and earnestness.
He conducted himself as though he was treading on thin ice, cautiously
and circumspectly. One would suppose from his appearance that he was
austere and exacting, but he was gentle and thoughtful. He would have
his family Bible and hymn book placed one on top of the other, squared
and in straight lines, on the same spot on the table every morning for
morning prayers. He always sat in the same spot for morning prayers. In
other words, you always knew where to find him. His habits and daily
life were as regular as clock work. I never heard him crack a joke or
burst out in open laughter.
Mrs. Bartlett, Mrs. Brown’s mother, was of a different makeup. She was
always cheerful. A smile lighted up her features nearly all the time and
for everyone she had a kind and cheerful word, while the sweet tone of
her voice always carried with it cheerfulness and good will. Her genial
temperament and her hospitality made the parsonage a favorite resort to
all the friends and relatives of the family, who were quite numerous. It
was always a puzzle to me how the old lady managed to make ends meet
when her husband’s salary was not over $400 a year. To be sure, the farm
annually realized something, but Daniel, the youngest son, who was the
staff of the old couple, had to work hard to keep up the prestige of the
parsonage. It was in this parsonage that I found a temporary home while
at school in Monson, and also in Yale.