LETTERS
TO
THE YOUNG
FROM THE
OLD WORLD:
NOTES OF TRAVEL
BY
MRS. D. L. MILLER.
MOUNT MORRIS, ILL.:
THE BRETHREN’S PUBLISHING COMPANY,
1894.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1894,
BY MRS. D. L. MILLER,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
_To
MY HUSBAND,
Whose Helpful Words have Encouraged me in my Work,
and to the
YOUNG PEOPLE AND CHILDREN,
Who Urged me Strongly
to Write,
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED._
INTRODUCTION.
Two years ago the author of this charming little volume happened in my
office. I requested her to be seated, as I wanted to talk to her. I then
told her that she had traveled much in this world, having visited Sweden,
Denmark, Norway, Germany and the Bible Lands; that she had seen and heard
much that would be interesting for others to read about, and I wanted her
to write a series of articles for the _Young Disciple_, giving in the
simplest way possible the information gathered during her travels.
“No, indeed,” she quickly and positively replied. “I cannot do that.” I
told her I felt confident that she could prepare a number of articles, or
letters, that would prove exceedingly interesting and profitable reading,
and that the people were anxious to read what a woman had to say about
the Bible Lands, the people and their customs. Repeating what she had
said, she added that during all her travels she had not made one note,
that she would have to depend entirely upon memory, and felt sure that
she could not do justice to the undertaking. I urged her to give it a
trial.
After a few weeks she handed me two letters. I examined them, and told
her they were just what was desired, and that we would take as many
more as she felt disposed to write. More than fifteen thousand readers
of the _Young Disciple_ know the result. For months they were delighted
with these letters, and even before they were completed in the paper the
author received many communications urging her to bring them out in book
form. Many mothers wrote her and urged that the book should be published,
that it was greatly needed, and would be the means of accomplishing
much good among the children and young people. Even the children write
sister Miller and insist upon her publishing her letters in a book. These
requests became so urgent that the author finally decided to carefully
revise the letters, write more fully on some points, and give the result
of her labors in this neat little volume. We bespeak for it an extensive
circulation, a careful reading and a wide field of usefulness.
J. H. MOORE.
_Mt. Morris, Ill., Sept. 25, 1894._
TABLE OF CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
Across the Atlantic.—The Aller.—Small Sleeping Rooms.—A
Singular Kitchen.—Last Farewell.—Seasickness.—Children on the
Ship.—Four Little Boys.—Fog Horn.—The Lookout.—Icebergs.—A
Little Sailor Boy.—Porpoises and Sea Gulls.—Taking on the
Pilot.—Lights on the Other Shore.—Landing. 11
CHAPTER II.
Land.—Bremen.—On the Way to Denmark.—Copenhagen.—Religion
of Denmark.—Singing.—A Farmhouse.—Malmo.—Market Place in
Sweden.—Limhamn.—Fishermen and Boats.—Beautiful Lakes
of Sweden.—Children in Sweden and their Bows.—Pine
Branches.—Mother and Babe.—A Meal along the Way. 31
CHAPTER III.
Norway.—Kong Halfdan.—Fjords.—Hay Transfer.—Government
Vessel.—Two Young Girls.—A Glacier.—The Captain’s Kindness.—The
Beautiful Picture.—Tromsö.—A Floating Buoy.—Eider
Ducks.—Lapp Family.—Reindeer.—Torghatten.—Fish.—The Trap
for Salmon.—Hammerfest.—The White Polar Bear.—The Drunken
Sailor.—Arctic Ocean.—Whaling Station.—The Little White
Church.—Striking a Reef of Rocks. 57
CHAPTER IV.
The Story of a German Boy.—The Priest.—Catholic Woman.—Corps
of Singers.—My Singing Lesson.—Funeral Procession.—Children
Playing.—Wooden Shoes.—Neatness of the German Children.—Their
Politeness.—Cologne.—Its Cathedral.—Height of Towers.—Odd
Costumes.—Art Gallery.—The Picture I Saw. 88
CHAPTER V.
Calais.—English Channel Experience.—Reaching the Pier.—Going
Ashore.—London.—The Fog.—Show Lights.—British Museum.—National
Gallery.—The Tricky Monkey.—Westminster Abbey.—The Tower. 103
CHAPTER VI.
Venice.—A Gondola.—The Pigeons.—Trieste.—Piræus.—Athens.—Paul
and Mars’ Hill.—Sickness.—From Athens to Smyrna.—Man
Overboard.—A Lesson of Unselfishness.—Smyrna.—A Cruel
Father.—Ephesus.—Paul’s Missionary Journey.—The
Vesta.—Beyrut.—Jaffa Landing. 117
CHAPTER VII.
Jaffa.—The Careless Camel.—Bible Characters who lived in
Jaffa.—Jonah’s Temptation.—On the Way to the Holy City.—An
Arab and his Plow.—Ramleh.—Lydda in the Distance.—Leprous
People Begging.—Leprous People of Bible Times.—Camp-fire in
the Cave.—Jerusalem.—Our Room.—Solomon’s Disobedience.—Tower
of David.—The Stubborn Donkey.—Mohammedan Cemetery.—Mount of
Olives. 145
CHAPTER VIII.
Bethany.—Bethlehem.—Rachel’s Tomb.—The Shepherd Boy.—Ruth
and Naomi.—Garden of Gethsemane.—Departure from
Jerusalem.—Yosef.—Jericho Road.—Ain-es-Sultan.—Morning
Call.—Donkey Boy.—Dead Sea.—Along the Banks of the Jordan.—John
the Baptist.—Bad Roads. 168
CHAPTER IX.
Strange Kind of Fuel.—The Village Oven.—Women’s Work.—Fresh
Bread.—The Little Baby.—Landmarks.—Bethel.—My Faithful
Friend.—A Trying Time in the Saddle.—Sinjal. 196
CHAPTER X.
Shiloh.—Jacob’s Well.—Tomb of
Joseph.—Shechem.—Samaria.—Gibeah.—Dothan in the
Distance.—Fountain of Gideon.—Shunem.—Shunammite’s Son.—Nain.
205
CHAPTER XI.
Riding into Nazareth.—Virgin’s Fountain.—Tricky Horses.—Cana
of Galilee.—Tiberias.—Story of Jesus and his Disciples.—Boat
Ride on the Sea of Galilee.—Capernaum.—Mounting
Horses.—Disappearance of the Dragoman.—A Serious Accident.—Lake
Huleh.—Cesarea Philippi.—Mount Hermon.—Crossing the River
Pharpar.—Damascus.—Via Recta.—Bible References to Courts.—Cup
of Coffee.—Water Seller. 218
CHAPTER XII.
Farewell to Damascus.—Ain Fijeh.—Quarrelsome Arabs.—Onward
to Baalbek.—A Friendly Arab Family.—On the Mountains of
Lebanon.—Baalbek.—Rejected Stone.—From Baalbek to Beyrut.—My
Horse John.—Homeward Bound. 243
[Illustration]
CHAPTER I.
_Across the Atlantic.—The Aller.—Small Sleeping Rooms.—A Singular
Kitchen.—Last Farewell.—Seasickness.—Children on the Ship.—Four Little
Boys.—Fog Horn.—The Lookout.—Icebergs.—A Little Sailor Boy.—Porpoises
and Sea Gulls.—Taking on the Pilot.—Lights on the Other Shore.—Landing._
As a usual thing, boys and girls—and even older people—delight to hear
about the ocean and the vessels which float upon it, and now I shall tell
you what I know about the ocean and a voyage across it.
August is said to be one of the best summer months for ocean travel,
because there are not so many hard storms during that month. There is
very little use in paying attention to that saying, for the sea is just
as liable to be rough and stormy one month as another. You know storms
come up on land when we least expect them, and continue longer than
we think they will? Well, just so it is on the ocean; so there is a
possibility of having bad weather, go any month you will.
For a starting point you may choose one of four harbors,—Boston,
Baltimore, Philadelphia or New York. The largest steamers, however, sail
from New York, and it was from there that we took our departure the first
day of August, 1891, at one o’clock P.M. The day was beautiful, just as
clear as any August day you ever saw; so the hearts of the passengers
were glad, for sunshine and mild weather were indications of a pleasant
voyage, we thought. Pleasant weather on land, however, did not mean
pleasant weather out at sea, as we found out later on.
The name of our steamer was the Aller. It is not one of the very largest
ships, but it did seem immense to us. We were quite anxious to have a
good look at our new home, so we went aboard long before sailing time,
and before the rest of the passengers gathered together. In wandering
around we saw narrow passageways and many very small rooms. In our houses
at home we should have called them good sized closets, but in a steamship
they were sleeping rooms, and plenty large enough—if only two persons
occupied them. But it is a surprise to know that sometimes three and four
persons must room together when there is a crowd. I am glad to say there
was plenty of room on the Aller, and we were the only occupants of our
stateroom.
[Illustration: _The Aller._]
In each of the rooms there was a sofa covered with plush, a wash-stand
and basin, and two beds. The beds were built against one side of the
little room, one above the other, and the person who occupied the upper
berth found it necessary to climb up a stepladder every time he retired.
Every piece of furniture was fastened securely; there seemed to be no
danger of their moving from place to place when the sea grew wild and
the vessel tumbled about. Each room had a window in it almost as large
as a dinner plate, and just as round. The glass was set in a heavy brass
frame, and a large screw was used to fasten the window. Not a drop of
water could enter, no matter how high the waves rolled or how hard the
water dashed against them. These windows are called portholes, and the
little rooms are always known as staterooms. When a berth was spoken of
we all knew it meant the bed. You see by this that the most familiar
things had a different name on board a ship.
The floors of halls and staterooms were nicely carpeted, and we wondered
how they could be kept looking so well. There was a beautifully furnished
sitting room with carpet of velvet; heavy damask curtains, sofas of fine
plush, and fine oil paintings decorated the sides and ceiling, painted
there by a master hand. The comfort of the passengers seemed to have been
studied well, for we saw there a beautiful piano and a library of books,
all of which could be used by passengers when they felt so disposed.
The dining room and kitchen we found in the center of the ship, and the
kitchen in particular interested us very much, for we had often wondered
how the cooking utensils were kept in place when the sea became very
rough. The mystery was easily solved, for on looking around we saw many
racks which held the pots, pans and kettles firmly in place. Not very far
from the kitchen was the pantry. There we saw plenty of glassware, and
many dishes of different sizes, all nicely arranged in racks and fitting
so tight that there seemed to be no chance for one of them to move from
right to left.
But the time for sailing was nearer than we had any idea it was, and
further investigation seemed out of the question; but before parting
from our friends we decided that our floating home was neat and clean,
and truly not an unpleasant place to spend the next ten days in.
Passengers were arriving fast by this time, and trunk after trunk was
placed in the hold of the ship by diligent ship hands. We watched the
people as they came aboard one by one. Some faces were looking happy, and
others again showed marks of sadness. I wondered why there was such a
difference, but concluded that the sad-faced people realized what a three
thousand mile journey by water meant, and felt that they might nevermore
behold the faces of loved ones again. If such should have been their
thoughts, is it any wonder they looked sad?
All was hurry and confusion; the large bell rang, and “All ashore” was
called out. Hurriedly friends bade each other good-bye, and those who
were not to go with us made haste to leave the ship. The gang plank was
removed, the ropes were untied, and slowly the ship Aller moved from the
wharf. People who stood there waved handkerchiefs, and we watched them
with our field glass until they seemed like mere specks in the distance.
We were floating seaward, sure enough; and as the ship moved farther and
farther from shore we continued standing on deck, wishing to see all
we could of the land, for we knew many days would pass by when nothing
but sky and water would be seen. In a very short time we were far from
the noise and confusion, and not a strip of land was in sight; then,
with tearful eyes, we left the deck and retired to our stateroom below.
Our mind turned toward the sea and its dangers; visions of shipwrecks
and collisions flitted back and forth before us; but trying hard to be
brave, we cast such thoughts from our mind, consoling ourselves with the
thought that millions of people had crossed the Atlantic safely, and
perhaps we might be so blessed. Then, when we looked around and beheld
the steamer with its immense engines and manned by such strong, hearty
seamen, we could not help but feel that all would go well with us. So,
after breathing a prayer for protection, we settled down to make the best
of things, knowing the Lord to be our protector and feeling sure he would
watch over and care for us.
The sea was not very rough and sailing was delightful. The ship rolled a
little, but the passengers concluded the voyage would be a pleasant one.
Ship acquaintances were soon made, our sitting places at table decided
upon, and everything seemed to be in good running order, and we were as
well fixed as it was possible to be while in the floating home.
After getting out to sea, one must get used to the rolling motion of the
ship, and for many it means to get sick. Now, possibly, you have heard
of people getting seasick. Well, I know all about it myself, and can
tell you that it is a very disagreeable ailment. No one ever dies of
seasickness, physicians say; so it is more distressing than dangerous.
Many people, however, cross and recross the Atlantic without having
unpleasant feelings in that direction; but, on the other hand, very many
are unable to appear at meals regularly. You are not out at sea long
until one by one passengers disappear. Some are missed but a day, while
others do not put in an appearance during the journey. These last named
never do get used to the uneasy, restless sea, and must therefore remain
in their berths during the entire trip. Little boys and girls get very
sick too, sometimes, but as a rule they are not as apt to get seasick as
older people. While I know all about the malady, six days was the longest
period of my affliction, and that occurred when in a hard storm a few
years ago.
A sea voyage has a tendency to make one feel sad. You realize how great
the force of water is and what a mere speck a human being is; each dash
of the waves against the ship’s sides brings you face to face with the
fact that in a twinkling—if the Lord willed—the ship and all on board
could be swept from the face of the water and their burial place be the
bottom of the ocean. Some passengers bury their sad feelings in the wine
cup and at the card table, while others go to the Lord in prayer. Which
of these two ways do you consider to be the better one? The Lord does
not like a drunkard, and you know drunkards cannot enter the kingdom of
heaven. I hope you may all learn to love the Lord in youth, and may you
never be known to drink strong beverages, or be found playing cards and
gambling. Remember that all those who play cards and drink strong drink
in youth usually continue it when they become men and women; for bad
habits formed in youth are hard to overcome even in old age.
A great many children of all ages cross the Atlantic yearly with their
parents, and some of them are very, very young, even tiny little babies
with great long dresses. These little ones, however, are never seen on
deck, as a short time on deck would doubtless chill them completely and
cause a spell of colic to follow shortly after.
The children who are old enough to run around have a delightful time
playing on deck, and the nurse who cares for them has a hard time to keep
them from getting hurt. The ship gives such heavy lurches that many times
grown people find it a difficult matter to keep upon their feet.
Boys and girls as a rule enjoy a sea voyage immensely if they keep well,
and not any of the passengers seemed more happy than they. When they
were tumbled over by a lurch of the ship, it seemed like great fun, and
jumping up they ran away laughing harder than ever.
There were four little boys belonging to two different families on
board the Aller, and those little fellows attracted the attention of
the passengers greatly. Two brothers were good, and two were naughty.
The last named knew how to act ugly and be rude and boisterous; they
quarreled with each other, and even spoke unkindly to their mamma, and,
for that matter, to everybody else. It was plain that those boys had
been spoiled at home, and that being the case nothing better need be
expected of them when away from home. The people on board that steamer
pronounced them both little nuisances, and wished they were at home; for
how could they think of spending ten days in company with such children?
But there was no help for it; so we all endured the trial. Their papa
was one of the men who drank and gambled, and the mamma did not seem
strong enough to manage such tough little fellows alone. The other two
were quiet, innocent little boys, and when spoken to were sure to reply
in a gentlemanly manner. Those who had charge of the two last named
children were seen to pay a great deal of attention to them; and will you
be surprised when I tell you that even the passengers took pleasure in
talking to those good little boys?
While writing this I wonder how many of you are like these little ones I
am writing about. Well, I hope you are all like the good children, for
I cannot bear to think of one of you as being rude and unkind. Do you
want to be loved by those around you? Then be kind, loving, thoughtful
children. You must not speak cross to mamma and papa; no, no; nor to
grandpapa and grandma either. Don’t say, “I won’t,” when asked to do a
little favor, but rather run quickly, saying, “I will do anything you ask
of me.”
Did you ever think of how the Lord keeps a strict account of all we do
and say? Well, he does, and it is written in a book, and then some day
that book will be opened, and all the ugly things we have said and done
will be read out. Just think how it will sound. Children, let us remember
that the better we behave ourselves, the fewer will be the evil deeds
recorded; and then let us remember, too, that the Lord loves dutiful
children.
Have you ever heard of “fog at sea”? Well, sometimes it becomes very
dense and you can scarcely see the full length of the ship. Seamen dread
fog more than storms. It is then that the captain’s face lengthens and
his seat at table is vacant. There is great danger of collisions, for
ships get nearer each other then, because they cannot see ahead. There
is greater danger in going in and out of port when fog is dense, and
many times have we read of steamers running into each other just as they
were getting near to the stopping place. Such an occurrence usually
means a great loss of life, for there is seldom time enough to save the
unfortunate ones. The speed of a vessel should always be slackened when
it is in a fog; but I am sorry to say that many of the captains are
careless, as much so as engineers on our trains; they rush along anxious
to make quick time, and if possible to gain port before ships of another
line do. Many times they do gain port first, but it is the port of death;
and we are made to think that the loss of life is a high price to pay for
quick time.
We have been in fog a great many times. Once we were enveloped in it
five days and five nights. All steamers sound the fog horn, and every
few minutes during that time the disagreeable sound was heard. They gave
it as a warning to other vessels, that they might keep away from them,
thereby avoiding collisions.
There are always men on the lookout for danger. In a box way up in the
rigging of the ship two men stand watching day and night, no difference
how bad the weather is. Several men take their turn in watching, thus
giving each one an opportunity to rest. If at any time there seems to be
a suspicious object in their line of travel, the man calls out in loud
tones, “Danger ahead.” Sometimes the object seen proves to be a wreck,
and if a signal of danger is seen, all haste is made to go to the rescue
of those on board, and many lives are saved in that way. The box in
which those men stand is called the “lookout box,” and from it is called
the hour of day. I remember so well of hearing them call the midnight
hour time and again. It was called thus, “Twelve o’clock”; and then,
“All is well.” O what a satisfaction it always was to know that all was
well; then after that call I was sure to fall into a sweet sleep, only to
awaken at the dawn of another day.
Have you ever heard of an iceberg? Well, they are great mountains of
floating ice which come down from Greenland, Spitzbergen, and other polar
lands. Sometimes they appear right in a ship’s course, and are not always
seen by the naked eye. They float along for miles and miles under water,
making it rather uncertain how close a ship is getting to them. Many
icebergs, however, tower high above the water, and an account has been
given of one seen a few years ago which was two and one-half miles long,
two and one-fifth miles wide, and one hundred and fifty-three feet high.
It is said that many million tons of ice were in that iceberg. When such
an obstacle is seen there is cause for alarm, and well may the men on the
lookout call, “Danger ahead!”
When the weather was favorable we sat on deck every day; and while
sitting there we noticed a sailor go to the railing of the steamer with
a canvas pail. We wondered what he intended doing, and so watched. He
first fastened a long rope to the pail, then threw it overboard, and
after it had floated about in the water a while he drew it toward him,
lifting the pail over the railing brimful of water and immediately after
thrusting a thermometer into it. We knew by that time that the sailor
was testing the temperature of the water. He examined very closely how
many degrees cold it was, then reported the result to the captain. When
the water is many degrees colder than common it is quite possible that an
iceberg is not far distant, so the ship’s course is changed and possibly
a wreck avoided. There seems to be no end of reasons why a man should be
stationed to watch for danger day and night. If a lookout man could tell
us the number of times he was the means of saving people from perishing
by being the first to see the signal of distress, no doubt we should be
surprised. Ships meet with accidents of different kinds. Sometimes we
read of them burning up, and before help can reach them all on board are
lost. How sad that seems. Think of the heartache of friends at home when
the time for their return is at hand and they do not come.
The sailor’s life is a hard one, and yet it is said he is not happy when
off duty long at a time. Have you ever heard him called the “jolly sailor
boy”? I have wondered why people speak of them as being jolly. To me they
are a sad-faced set of men, and out at sea I never saw one of them smile;
sometimes I wondered whether they knew how to. Perhaps all their smiling
is engaged in when on land, where they get beer and strong drink.
Satan finds work for idle hands to do, and the captain is aware of that
fact, so he manages to keep all hands busy when on a voyage, except
during their hours of rest. You see if everybody is busy working or
studying there is no time to plan naughty things, and Satan will soon
find there is no chance for him. You would be surprised to know how many
boys are learning to be sailors. Some of them on the Aller seemed not
over twelve years of age. Their work is not of the hardest kind, still
it is much harder than many of you are used to doing. It matters not how
cold or rainy the weather, the little sailor boys, as well as the big
sailors, must be on hand when duty demands them. It was no uncommon sight
to see the little fellows out in stormy weather, and their hands almost
stiff with cold. There was one boy who seemed to be on deck the greater
part of the time. He was always armed with a broom, and he used it too;
every little piece of paper, and every bit of dirt received his immediate
attention, and with a steady sweep of the broom he sent them out to sea.
These boys never talked with the passengers, but were polite when spoken
to. No idling is allowed on shipboard, so the little fellows were busy
and always on the move. Perhaps they would have enjoyed a good romp as
well as any of you; but that was out of the question.
Sitting on deck is one of the pastimes of an ocean voyage. If a passenger
seemed at all inclined to stay in the stateroom day after day when he
was well and the weather was fine, you soon heard some one say, “Better
stay on deck.” The air of a stateroom is not fresh and bracing, and after
having been on deck a few hours one has a dislike to stay in closer
quarters. There are deck chairs to sit upon. Any person paying one dollar
extra has the privilege of using one during the voyage. Sea air is
usually a damp, cold air which makes it necessary to have heavy wraps
and a good thick steamer rug to throw over the knees, that you may keep
comfortable.
The first four or five days of an ocean voyage pass very slowly, for
you remember there is nothing to be seen but sky and water. There was
a strong desire on the part of the people to see a ship, and if some
one should call out, “Oh, there’s a sail!” all eyes were turned toward
the dark object in the distance, and with the help of a field glass the
outline of a vessel could be plainly seen. By and by it was in full
view, and the children were heard to say, “Let me see too.” You would
be surprised to know for how long a time that ship is the subject of
conversation. They wonder what her name is and to what port she is bound;
whether she is a passenger steamer or carries freight alone. Passengers
on a steamer are easily entertained, and no object is passed by unseen,
for the most of them are on the watch.
By this time you can imagine us to be pretty well out at sea, and now
the sight of a vessel is no uncommon occurrence. A sailing vessel, with
her sails all filled with wind, was a beautiful sight, and scarcely a
day passed without seeing one or more of them. Many, many years ago
steamships were unknown, and a voyage across the Atlantic was not
accomplished in as short a period of time as in these days. You know
that when a vessel depends upon wind to move it along there is danger of
its progress being hindered, for sometimes the wind is from the contrary
direction.
Each day brought with it something new which amused the passengers. One
day we found ourselves standing at the railing of the ship watching
porpoises as they rushed along in the water below. Porpoises are of a
sociable turn, and are seen swimming in schools close by the vessel’s
side. Their color is a dark gray, or almost black, and the under side
of them approaches a pure white; their length when full grown is five
feet or more. There was a time when the meat of porpoises was eaten and
considered good; but now they are rarely if ever eaten; the blubber or
fat alone is used for the oil which it contains. They are great fellows
to spring up out of the water, and it is then that their full length and
color are seen. That action greatly amused the children, and they called
out, “O, look at the fish; just look at them!” And then the merry peals
of laughter sounded throughout the ship. We never knew how long a time
the porpoises traveled with us, for standing became tiresome, and one by
one we turned away, leaving them without an admirer.
Sea gulls began flying about the ship by this time, and the indications
were that land was not very far distant. How pleased we were to see them,
and when land was mentioned our hearts swelled with joy. The gull is a
web-footed sea fowl with long, narrow wings and straight beak, hooked at
the tip. Occasionally you see some that are gray in color, but the most
of them are all white. They feed upon fish, yet very willingly do they
eat the scraps which the cooks throw to them.
Did you ever go fishing? Well, I’m very sure you had more trouble to
catch fish than those gulls had. They would not be bothered with hook and
line, and neither would you if it were possible for you to catch fish as
they do. While flying above the water a sharp lookout is kept for fish
below, and when one is seen they dart down upon it; and the next instant
it is theirs. You would be surprised to see with what ease and grace they
ride upon the waves, seemingly resting as comfortably as we who were upon
the ship sitting in steamer chairs. We imagined they were tired, and that
sitting on a wave was their method of resting, and a sort of pastime for
them.
One of the great events of a sea voyage is the taking on of a pilot,
and that occurs when a few days out from land. The pilot who brings a
vessel across the Atlantic does not take it into the harbor, unless, as
is sometimes the case, a pilot cannot be picked up because of the density
of the fog. In that event the one who steers the ship across the ocean
_must_ take it into port; but he would rather not do so, for navigation
is both difficult and dangerous the nearer one gets to land. The new
pilot is taken aboard to superintend the steering of the vessel into
port, and during the time he has charge of it the whole responsibility
of getting her into port safely rests upon him. He knows where to locate
the bad places, and makes a business of trying to escape them. Passengers
watch faithfully for the appearance of the pilot boat, and a great deal
of time is consumed in that way.
The pilot boat is small, and has one white sail; on the sail is painted
a number in black. For instance, number nine, or number thirteen is to
be seen plainly. The passengers sometimes thought the pilot boat was
slow in putting in an appearance. They were over-anxious, you see; but
in due time the little boat was seen away off in the distance bobbing up
and down with the waves; sometimes it was lost sight of entirely; only
for a little time, however, for the next wave brought it in full view,
and a chorus of voices called out, “There she is, almost here.” How
small it seemed compared with the Aller, and the waves tossed it about
as though it were a mere feather. At times they almost overwhelmed it;
but the sturdy seamen had strong nerve, and they handled the little craft
as though the task was a light one, still steering in the direction of
the great Atlantic steamer. Can you imagine the boat coming nearer and
nearer the Aller? I can; and in my mind I see the seamen throw the rope
overboard to them; they catch it, are drawn closer and closer to the
side of the great ship where the long rope ladder hangs. O how anxious
we feel! What if he should make a misstep? And we turned away from the
railing where the crowd stood watching. It took the man but a little
while to climb to the top of the ladder, and before we were aware of it
he was standing on deck. We looked at him with surprise, and he bade us
the time of day.
No sooner was the new pilot on deck than we found ourselves steaming
away. Just how soon he commenced work we do not know; but we settled down
quietly, feeling satisfied that if all was well with us only a few days
would pass before our feet would tread upon dry land again.
The sad faces took on a more cheerful look now, and peal after peal
of laughter was heard. The piano was opened and lively music played;
singing was engaged in, and indeed it seemed as though a new set of
people had come forth. It was plainly to be seen that no one dreaded to
reach land. The sea was rough, and the sky overcast with heavy clouds;
but that was nothing new, for the whole ten days it was rainy, and the
sun shone but little to cheer us on our way.
There was a band of music on board the steamer which played several times
each day. Sometimes they played on deck, and always while we were eating
dinner. Not everybody enjoyed their music, but since it was the custom to
have band music they had to submit.
Sunday mornings we were always awakened by music which seemed in the
distance; and the old familiar hymn of “Nearer, My God, to Thee,” came
to us seemingly from the far away. The sound of it never failed to bring
tears to my eyes, for home loomed up before me, and I beheld loved ones
gathered together for worship, singing songs of praise and thanksgiving.
But the music passed away, and Sunday was spent just like all other
days. Southampton, England, was reached, and there we unloaded some of
our cargo. A great many passengers left and a few came aboard to go on
to Bremen with us. Their journey seemed like a short one compared to the
voyage which was just ending for the most of the passengers.
Between ten and eleven o’clock one night land was sighted, and many
lights could be plainly seen along the shore, although it was said they
were twenty-five or thirty miles away. We stood on deck an hour or
more watching those beacon lights, and the tears of joy flowed down
our cheeks. While we looked at them the beautiful hymn of P. P. Bliss,
“Let the Lower Lights be Burning,” came to our mind, and quietly we
sang it; and I thought of this passage of Scripture, “Let your light so
shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your
Father which is in heaven.” And that night I realized what it meant for
Christians to have their lamps trimmed and burning. We could not remain
on deck longer, for the air was damp and chilly, so we retired to our
stateroom feeling sure that on the morrow, if the Lord willed, our feet
would again press mother earth.
The next day was disagreeable indeed, but when the time to go ashore was
announced no one murmured. America seemed far, far away now, and instead
of traveling under the stars and stripes of our mother country henceforth
flags of other nations were to fly above us. Willingly did we journey to
those foreign lands, so we made the best of the situation, deciding to
see and learn all we could. There was a satisfaction in knowing that the
Lord in whom we trusted would go with us in whatsoever land we journeyed.
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