Читать книгу Sixty Years of California Song - Margaret Blake Alverson - Страница 12

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T LAST the long-looked-for letter came that father and brother had arrived in the mines of California, and in the letter were several small flakes of gold wrapped in a bit of paper. We had so long hoped against hope that the sight of the familiar writing caused the greatest excitement. Poor mother could hardly hold out any longer and the news was too much for her weak body, for she was just convalescing from weeks of sickness brought on by hope deferred and waiting and watching each day for a word from the wanderers. We were obliged to refrain for her sake, but we were all like as if news came from the dead—ten long months and no word. After we were somewhat quieted sister Mary read the letter aloud. It was like reading the last will of the departed, we were all so unnerved. At the close of the letter we were informed to get in readiness and that the money was already on the way for us. It had taken over two months for this letter to come by steamer, and we counted the days for another with the gold to take us away to California. What a consternation this news made in the congregation! They had hoped that father might return if things were not favorable, but the letter and the gold in the letter and the money coming to take us away were too true. There was no hope now that he would return. The successor of father was a young minister, Rev. Henry Rust. He heard the news with a sad heart, for he and my sister Mary were betrothed. Father's message was for sister Mary to take his place as help to mother, who was not able to take the family alone over the two oceans with all the uncertainty of travel. The weeks of waiting were spent in preparation. Many busy fingers plied the needle (for sewing machines were not known at that time). Young as I was, I was no stranger to the use of the needle, for that is part of a German girl's education, with knitting and crocheting. I was born in the time of weaving, spinning and carding. Much brass and pewter household articles were to be kept bright and shiny. Children in those days were little housewives and took as much pride in having the family silver, copper and brass polished as the older ones. The oaken floors were made white with soft soap and sand, and the comfortable rugs of rag carpet were woven with special care. The high-posted bedsteads with the valance around the bottom of white linen, the canopy above draped with chintz of the daintiest tracings of figures and flowers, and oh, the feather bed well beaten and made high, and immaculate white quilt finished a bed fit for a king to rest his royal body upon. While we had not a grand home, it was a place of order, taste and refinement. Each one was taught to feel responsible for the good or bad impressions from strangers who visited us from time to time. Consequently we all took pride in keeping order, which was the law of the home, and as young as we were we felt justly proud of praise from strangers. After school we had so much to sew, mend or knit. When that was done, we were allowed to play until six. The evenings were spent in preparing the lessons for the next day. My early years were spent in work and play. Law and order was the rule, but none of us were unhappy by the restraint. It was an education that has made the men and women of our family what they are today. We were home keepers as well as entertainers.

Having traveled so much during our lifetime, changing from one city to another, we were not afraid to take this last long journey. The difficulty was what to take, especially of many of the heirlooms that mother still retained from her girlhood home. After inquiry and instructions from the steamship company, we found to our dismay that no furniture could go, as there was no way of getting it over the Isthmus. All our long-cherished household furniture must remain behind. Only things that could be taken up in small boats were allowed. Kind friends of the congregation made their choice and took them as keepsakes in remembrance of us when we were far away. This act of kindness was much appreciated by mother, who suffered much anguish of mind to see the familiar things of her girlhood scattered here and there and her claim to them forever gone. She had heretofore been able to go willingly to different places because the familiar things made it homelike when settled in new surroundings, but this time all must be left behind. California was too far—she was going out to the great unknown world, far from civilization, not knowing what was before her. If everything else had to be left, she still retained the affection of her children, and we were as watchful of her happiness and comfort as if we were her keeper. Her hopes of meeting father and son, and her children with her, gave her the courage to begin the long journey.

It was now the year 1851. Mary had been teaching in the public schools and synagogue; sister Emma was sewing. They kept the finances from running low, as father's salary had to go to his successor and we had no other means of support. With good management and many friends we all came safely through the ordeal. After the first letter we had received no other word and the second year was passing, although we had been ready for months with the disposal of our household goods. The sisters kept their positions, so all went on as usual. In the latter part of May a rap was heard at the front door and sister Mary answered the summons and before her stood the express man of Adams Express Company, and he handed her a canvas sack filled with gold and a letter addressed to mother from California. Father had sent us $1,600 and orders to come as soon as possible. He would be awaiting us in Stockton, California. After our surprise was over, what was to be done with all this money—we could not keep it here safely. So sister Sarah was dispatched to one of the trustees of the church who had a safe in his office. The money was placed in a covered basket and she was sent with all haste to get to the office before closing time, but fate was against her and Mr. Butler had closed the office and gone. So she was obliged to bring it home once more. It was dark before she came back and there were two men who followed her at a distance all the way going and coming. What to do to protect this great amount of money was a vital question. We occupied the first story under the church and the front rooms faced on Betts street, as did the entrance of the church. The original parsonage had not been occupied since we vacated it because the new minister had no family. We still retained the key. After our plans were made, myself and sister Sarah were sent out on the sidewalk as if we were playing, to see if any strangers were lurking around. Mother stood in the front door and talked with us while sister Mary, accompanied by my small brother, took the money and went up to the other parsonage and let herself in, then into the church. It was still daylight. So as not to use a light, she quietly slipped into the church, removed one side of the pulpit steps and let my brother crawl over to the other side and put the gold beneath the steps there. After depositing it, she quietly put everything in place and returned to the house. Then we retired for the evening.

None of the neighbors knew of the money being received. It came at an hour when no one was coming home or happened to be on the sidewalk. The shutters on the first floor were solid wood so no one could molest us. We had been clearing the house and packing things away. We were all tired and slept well. Mary and Emma occupied the front room and for some unknown reason left the wooden bar off that made the door secure, and these two men came in so quietly that no one heard them. They had unlocked the doors to escape in case they were discovered. Mother was awakened during the night and said, "Mary, are you up?" No answer. After a short silence she heard another sound and she called, "Are you ill, Mary? If you are, I'll get up and help." Receiving no answer, she reached out to light the candle, but hearing nothing more she thought she had been mistaken and went to sleep. She arose early and found the shutters unlocked and the side door ajar. Then she went into the parlor and all the chairs had been taken from the front door where they had been piled. She immediately realized that there had been robbers in the house searching for the gold. She awoke the girls and told them of what had happened, and you can imagine our consternation. As long as we remained in the house we lived in fear of a second attempt. The next morning sister Sarah was sent with the gold to our friend, Mr. Butler, who was surprised and simply amazed at the amount sister gave him to keep. He immediately put it into safer hands at the mint where the gold was weighed and the value given in money and placed in the bank subject to mother's order. When Mr. Butler was told of the attempted robbery he immediately arranged to have the house watched each night until our departure, which came the first week in June, 1851. We left Cincinnati for New York and were welcomed on our arrival by friends with whom we remained for a week. On the following Monday we secured passage for California on the steamer Ohio bound for Aspinwall. I was too young and also too ill to know just the route taken, but after a month we arrived at Aspinwall, and when our belongings were properly taken care of we started on our journey across the Isthmus of Panama.

We were nine days going up the Chagres river in flatboats. This trip, girl as I was, I can recall perfectly and it was an experience which has served in after years as an education which I have used in many ways. We, as children, had access to father's great library and magazines from which we learned so much of foreign countries and people. I had artistic tastes and I used to find the tropical pictures and scenes much to my liking and asked many questions in regard to the different people among whom the missionaries worked. I had never thought ever to see or realize such a picture in the tropics as this. We had a large boat assigned to our family alone. Our belongings were deposited and two great, black natives were placed at each end of the boat or scow. They were without clothing, save for a short, full skirt of white cloth fastened around their waists on a band. Each used a long pole to propel the scow. We were the only family of women on board the steamer. There was Mr. Biggar and his wife and a bride and her husband, besides several colored women and their husbands coming out to take positions on the Pacific steamers. All the other passengers were men, coming to hunt their fortunes and go back rich. There were about eight or nine of these scows. The railroad was not finished, but it was being built at that time. The surveying was being done and small cabins were built for the surveyors' use at the different stations where we camped for the night. The captain had provided us with food in cans and packages, toasted bread and other things for our comfort and utensils for cooking, and we had a jolly picnic for nine long days before we came to the place where we mounted the burros to take us the rest of the way to Panama.

To describe this journey needs a more romantic pen than mine, but I'll endeavor to tell you of some of the features and things that we saw which were so strange and wonderful to me. After we had said our good-byes to the captain and officers who were so gallant to us and did all they could for us during the long month on the rough Atlantic, we climbed into our boat and these natives took charge of it, one at each end, with a guttural grunt from both. They lightly took their places and we began our journey up the Chagres river. It was a warm, bright morning, and a light haze in the atmosphere made it appear like spring. At first we felt afraid of our boatmen, but soon we were drinking in all of the panoramic effects of the changing scenes of trailing vines, tropical flowers and other splendors. The chattering of monkeys and parrots, the alligators lying upon the opposite shore like great gray logs, some sleeping, some with their great mouths wide open to allow the insects to gather on their tongues, were things never to be forgotten. I observed that when a large number of flies had gathered the alligators would close their capacious jaws, satisfied with the sweet morsel, and roll their eyes with apparent enjoyment. Then they once more slowly opened their ponderous jaws and quietly waited for another meal. We had gone on our way several hours without speaking, there was so much to see and it was all so new. The quaint song of the natives amused us. They never seemed to weary of the same "Yenze, yenze, ah yenze." At the third "Yenze" the boat would shoot up the stream twice its length. It was nearing noon and the sun was getting torrid and the air close and stifling. Without any warning the rain showered upon us and we were obliged to remain in our places and let it come down upon us, regardless of results to our clothing. The rain was of short duration, however, and we rather enjoyed the cooling effect. Presently the sun shone in all its glory and in an hour we were once more with dry clothing. This mixed weather continued the whole ten days of our journey.

At noon of each day we disembarked and prepared our meal, generally stopping at one of the stations of the railroad. We found quite a number of white men and Mexicans at each place. They gladly received us and offered us some of their fare. In exchange we gave them soup, made in a large kettle, and had several things they were strangers to in their life in the forest of vines, flowers and fruit of the tropics where they subsisted on rations of pork, bacon, hardtack, etc. They gladly accepted our fare and we partook of theirs. Before we started again the men came to the boat with baskets of fresh cut oranges and bananas and plantains. They were for us to take on the steamer and we could enjoy them as they ripened on the way. We received marked attention from the men at every station. Women coming to California were a novelty, and when they learned we were all of one family of the American Padre, they were still more gracious. So we journeyed for ten days, each day bringing forth some new feature. At night we left the boats and slept in the bungalows perched high in the air, and to reach them we climbed steps cut out in a large log placed at the opening. There was only one large room and we all slept on the floor, rolled in our blankets. We got but little sleep because of the noise from below made by Americans and Spaniards playing cards and smoking cigarettes and Spanish girls dancing as the men thrummed on the guitars. The Spaniards carried long knives at their sides and pistols in their belts, wore wide straw hats and red sashes, black trousers slashed down the side and trimmed with rows of bright buttons. High-heeled boots and spurs finished the unique garb. The women wore a white chemise and white petticoat and slippers. Their black hair, plaited in two braids, and a silk shawl thrown gracefully over their heads and a fan, which is an indispensable article to a Spanish lady, completed the toilet. Nothing but troubled sleep came to our relief during these days. Fear of the Spaniards and the movements of the lizards on the rafters and walls, with now and then a tarantula, made rest almost impossible. At last we had only one day more, the tenth day. We had gotten familiar with the different scenes, the waving palms, the trailing vines where the monkeys climbed or hung by their tails and chattered in their own way. The scarlet lingawacha, or tongue plant, hung in graceful lengths and brightened the varied colored green in the background. Innumerable families of parrots talked and screamed from the branches. Bananas and orange trees everywhere interspersed with tall cocoanut palms, the large and small alligators basking in the sun on the sand were pictures never to be forgotten. The natives in their peculiar dress, the fandango at night, the graceful twirl of the Spanish waltz put the life touch to the picture that comes to me today at the age of seventy-five as it was in those days when I experienced, a girl of fifteen, all the discomforts of travel from Cincinnati to California.

It was about 4 o'clock on the tenth day when we arrived at the small village where we were to remain for the night and next morning, then ho! for Panama. We had better accommodations here, a large adobe house, kept by a Spaniard and wife and daughters, under the supervision of the steamship company, which also controlled the scows that we used on the river Chagres. Our goods were transferred from the scows to the pack mule train. After everything had been safely lashed upon their backs, our burros were brought and we all mounted astride. It was well for us we were no strangers to riding. My youngest brother was too small to ride, so a large native bamboo chair was brought and strapped upon the back of a large native and in the chair, safely tied in, sat the brother, as contented as a lord. He was such a handsome child, mother did not want to have the native take him for fear he would steal him, so she had the slave start first and she came behind and rode with him in sight all the way, but she was unnecessarily alarmed, for he was most faithful. The day before we left for the steamer he came with an offering of fruit and nuts for the boy and the madre and senoritas. Mother gave him an extra dollar and he was greatly surprised and smilingly picked up brother and carried him to the steamer and assisted us in every way until we were safely transferred to the steamship Tennessee, Captain Totten, commander. The ride on the burros over mountains, hills and dales was an experience never to be forgotten. Slowly, step by step we wound around the mountain trail. These burros had gone the road so many years that their tiny hoofs had worn places in the rocks. All we had to do was to sit tight in the saddle as we ascended or descended the steep places. The pummel of the saddle was high and we held on to that, and enjoyed the novelty of the situation. Once or twice we merged into a plain of a mile or so, then began the rocky ascent. We refreshed ourselves from time to time at cooling springs that dripped out from the rocks into a rustic stone basin. The scenery was very attractive, but it became monotonous as we sat in our saddles while the burros, step by step, ascended or descended the path they had traversed so often. Toward night the mountains became more like rolling hills and there was more open space and sky to be seen. By the time darkness overtook us we were near the outskirts of Panama and hoped soon to see the lights of the city. About nine o'clock we stopped before an adobe building, long and wide, two stories high, with a large enclosed place for the burros. This was also under the steamship company's control. This time the proprietor was a white man and we were able to obtain desirable beds and comfortable fare. He gave us the best rooms, large and clean, more homelike than anything we had seen since leaving home. We were so weary it was with difficulty we got off the burros, having ridden all day long. I could hardly feel the earth under me and I staggered many times before we were comfortable in our rooms. After resting for an hour we were summoned to supper. It was now ten o'clock. Late as it was, we found the supper so appetizing we forgot the hour and really enjoyed the first good meal in the ten days we were on the way. The host and his good wife saw that everybody was made comfortable during the time we remained there. The steamer Tennessee had arrived two days before and had all the cargo in and fruits and fresh vegetables on board, so we were able to sail the next afternoon at three o'clock.

It was almost five when the signal was given for "all ashore," and in an hour we were steaming along the coast and out of sight of Panama. The sea was calm and the steamer was steady and I supposed I would fare better than I had during the first part of the trip. But as soon as I smelled the smoke from the stacks and the odor of the cooking food, I was as miserable as before. The rest of the family fared better and were able to go to the table when the sea was calm. There were about fifty cabin passengers, and during this voyage we made several lifelong friends of some of the most prominent men who came here to make their fortunes. We received the most courteous treatment from every one. It was like one large family. Captain Totten and First Officer A.J. Clifton were like fathers to us. Mr. Clifton claimed me, as I was the age of his daughter left at home, and I used to sing for him and then I was his "Nightingale." We had learned a song to sing for our father when we expected him home, and as he did not come we related the incident to the captain and Mr. Clifton and our friends on board, and nothing must do until we sang it for all on board. It was on a moonlight night and we were going smoothly, consequently I was not ill, and Captain Totten proposed that we should sing the song. Everybody was on deck enjoying the delightful evening. Everything was still; only the puffing of the smokestack and the plash of the wheel were heard. We all clustered around mother and began our song.

"Home again, home again from a foreign shore, And O! it fills my soul with joy to meet my friends once more. Here we dropped the parting tear to cross the ocean's foam, But now we're once again with those who kindly greet me home. Home again, home again," etc.

Mother, Emma and Sarah sang the soprano; Mary, Margaret and Lauretta sang the alto. Mary's voice being a deep contralto, she improvised the third part. The plaintive song, with the sentiment of home surroundings, touched the hearts of all the passengers and turned their thoughts homewards, and many an eye glistened with tears.

After the first night of song there never was an evening that there was not singing of some kind. Sister found some good voices among the men and we formed a chorus. In a short time we were without an audience, for everybody gradually found he had a note or two to use, and whenever it was good sailing we sang. We had two severe storms when I, for one, was not visible on any occasion. I must confess the sea and I are not at all friends. We had one storm passing the bay of Tehuantepec. The steamer rolled and the sea dashed high for two days, but the boat was faithful to her trust and we safely steamed into the beautiful bay at Acapulco the last of the week. I had been ill all the way, going without food, and when we arrived Captain Totten said I should have one fine dinner. After the passengers had gone ashore we were taken off in the captain's boat and had our dinner at the hotel where the captain had ordered it in advance. We remained on shore all day visiting this Spanish town while the steamer was loading food and coal. We visited some Spanish homes where the captain had friends, and we were entertained by these Castilian ladies, who sang their songs to us. In return we sang for them and they appreciated our music. About three o'clock we said good-bye and they gave us beautiful mementos of shell flowers, nuts and fruits and accompanied us to the boat with their servants to carry our gifts for us. Such a beautiful day of happenings and surprises for us who had never seen people of this kind before left lasting impressions in my heart of courtesy and kindness.

By nine in the evening we had left the bay and our newly made friends far behind and we were steaming toward California as fast as the steamer could carry us. We had come nearly half the way and were nearing Lower California when we encountered rough weather off Cape Lucas. Oh, how the ship tossed and rolled. I thought morning never would dawn. The wind was against us. The masts strained and creaked. I really feared we would not reach California. The sea was rough nearly all the time until we passed Santa Barbara, when it became calm and we could once more feel that we might reach our destination. We had been now three weeks on the way and we were longing for sight of land. We strained our eyes daily, hoping to see the hills, but not until we had come within two days of the Golden Gate did we see any sign of land. Fog and distance prevented our distinguishing anything but an outline of the shore, but as the fog lifted we saw more distinctly the hills, and each hour brought us nearer to the long-looked-for harbor within the Golden Gate. And yet we saw no city, only sand hills. We steamed past Telegraph Hill, then we began to see here and there low wooden buildings and tents and shacks. Was this then San Francisco? Oh, how disappointed we were; there was no place to go. We remained on board until the Stockton steamer arrived. There was no accommodation for women anywhere. The steamer, American Eagle, came in about 1 o'clock, and our things were transferred on board, and Captain Totten cared for us as though we were his family and had everything arranged as far as possible for our comfort. He explained to the river captain that we were to be met in Stockton by father. But the captain also had instructions from Rev. J.H. Woods not to expect father, who had been ill in the mines, but we were to go to his home until father could arrive from Scorpion Gulch, where he and brother had a store, and it was slow travel with the six-mule "schooner," over hills and dusty roads to Stockton.

It was quite a change from the great steamer Tennessee to the little stern-wheel boat as it slowly puffed across the bay through Carquinez straits and up the slough, turning and winding along, sometimes being caught by a sharp turn in the stream and one or two stops on the sand bars if the water was too low. We did not sleep much because everything was so strange and small. We were always in fear of some accident. The hours dragged slowly until morning, when the boat came to a stop about seven o'clock. At eight o'clock the small cannon was fired, informing the people that the steamer had arrived. The captain came about nine o'clock for us and we breakfasted with him and the officers. We were the only female passengers, as we had parted with the other friends at San Francisco, they having gone to Sacramento and Marysville, with their husbands, to the mines. It was like the parting of a large family. We had been together two long months, sharing the changes and rough traveling and the happy evenings on board where the genial officers did all they could to make the voyage comfortable with the means they possessed. Before we came only men traveled and they put up with any inconvenience to get to the gold fields. About ten o'clock our friend, Rev. Mr. Woods, met us and gave us the message sent by father, so it was arranged we should go to the reverend gentleman's home and await his and brother George's coming. Mrs. Woods was a Southern lady, from Alabama, and met us with warm hospitality. She was glad to see us, being the only white woman in Stockton at the time. And we were glad to meet another woman. These good people had several boys but no girls. We were seven girls and one boy. As ministers' families, we had much in common. The Woods' cottage was pretty well crowded, but we managed well, as every one was able to be a help instead of a burden. A tent was put up in the lot and bunks were soon made, and we put the men in the tents and the women and children indoors. We were not yet acclimated and suffered with colds for several weeks.

We patiently awaited father's return, but three whole weeks passed before the meeting was granted us. We were sitting in front of the cottage, chatting and sewing, when about four o'clock in the afternoon we saw several men approaching and, as we observed them, my quick eye recognized father. With one spring from the porch I cried, "Father," and as fleet as a rabbit I was off before any one realized what was the cause of my sudden exit. They watched my flying feet and by the time they realized what I was doing I was in the arms of the dear old daddy, coming slowly with Mr. Woods, brother George and two friends. It was our habit, as children, to always meet father when he came home at night, and when we all ran to meet him the youngest always received the first attention, being taken in his arms, and the others clung to his coat and skipped alongside, chatting as fast as we could until we entered the house. Words cannot express the joy of the meeting after more than two years' separation. When mother realized that father had come at last she was like one dazed and could not move. The children in their happiness were surrounding the long lost wanderers. At last father spoke, with tears of gladness in his eyes, "Where is Mary, your mother, my children?" We had monopolized his attention and poor mother was neglected for the moment. As soon as we had realized the oversight sister Mary beckoned us all away and we gradually disappeared and left the two to enjoy their happy reunion. After a half hour had passed, and while they were softly conversing, we gathered in the main room and, clustering around sister Mary, we began the song—

"Home again, home again from a foreign shore, And oh it fills my soul with joy to meet my friends once more."

Rev. Mr. Woods and family were more than surprised to find such voices among us, and their appreciation was so genuine we gave them one of our dear old German hymns, a favorite of father's also.

The singing seemed to give new life to his long struggle in the ministry. His was the only church in Stockton at that time, besides a Catholic church, and it was uphill work to get the men to come to service. A new thought came to him that perhaps music in the church might be an incentive for men to forsake one day thinking of gold. So the choir was established and a large melodeon was secured from San Francisco from one of the music stores which had been established. Joseph Atwill began the music business on Washington street in 1850, just one year before we arrived in November, 1851. It was soon noised about that the family of Rev. H. Kroh were singers and that by the first of the month there would be a choir in the Presbyterian church. A melodeon was to be purchased. Miss M. Kroh was to play the organ and direct the music and the sisters were to sing. During the time the melodeon was on the way we had become acquainted with William Trembly, a fine tenor; James Holmes, bass; William Cobb, tenor; Will Belding, bass; Samuel Grove, tenor; and William H. Knight, bass.

Father had returned to take charge of his store and we had moved into the only house to be found, a story and a half high with eight rooms and a canvas kitchen. We would call it a barn today, but we thought it a palace. It was originally built for a small hotel, cloth and paper on the walls and ceiling, roughened wood floors, everything of the most primitive make. The rent of it was $80 a month and it cost $1,100 to furnish it. We had matting for carpets, the most common kitchen chairs in the best room, kitchen table for a center table, and our dining table was made of two long redwood boards joined together and placed on four saw horses. Having had so much to do in making the best out of nothing in the many places before, we had not lost the art of arranging the furnishings of this house. Fortunately we did not sacrifice all of our bedding, linens and quilts. We were allowed them in the freight. The stores kept nothing but the brightest colored prints and some bright damasks for the use of the Indians who came down from the mountains and traded for such things. We could get white cotton cloth, so we were able to have curtains at the windows combined with red damask. We covered boxes with the same damask, and with castors screwed on the corners we had some very comfortable stools. Then a square of damask was properly finished off and made a table cover for the center table. When all was done we began to feel we were once more at home. There was yet something lacking. We had no piano and we were lost without the usual music that made our home so happy. Dear sister Mary, how we all pitied her. We knew she was suffering daily from homesickness, the separation from her sweetheart, the loss of her organ and piano and no companionship with musical people. Although she never murmured, we could see that her mind was where her heart was. But her duty was here. She was bravely battling day by day. We all saw it and hoped against hope to change the condition.

Finally the choir had been formed and the melodeon came. That was soon compensation for her loss. So the rehearsals began, and on the first Sunday of the month we gave the first service. We had anthems from the old Carmina Sacra and familiar hymns and our new found friends all joined the choir. It was a great service. It seemed that everybody from the pastor to the choir was inspired. Such an outpouring of men! Mother and Mrs. Woods in the congregation and five of us in the choir composed all the female portion of the congregation. The rest consisted of men of mature years and young men away from home and entering a church for the first time perhaps in this new country. When the hour arrived for service the church could hold no more. Those who could not enter stood outside the door during the whole service. The evening service was a repetition, and those who could not get into the church obtained boxes and laid boards upon them and kneeled before the windows which were opened so they could hear the sermon and the singing. It was a strange sight for the men to see women and especially young girls. The miners would come to Stockton on Saturday to frequent the resorts. Drinking and card playing formed their diversions. Many a young man turned away from the gaming table to listen to the music and hear the sermon.

We arrived in Stockton the latter part of November. 1851, and remained with Rev. James Woods until we obtained this house, where we remained two years. During that time we had formed the acquaintance of the foremost merchants, bankers and professional men. The first Thanksgiving we invited the following gentlemen to dinner: William H. Knight, Samuel Grove, William Belding, William Gray, Austin Sperry, Frederick Lux, C.V. Payton, James Harrold, William Trembly, David Trembly, James Holmes, Thomas Mosely, Charles Deering, Gilbert Claiborne, Mr. Shoenewasser, Mr. Thompson, B.W. Bours, Charles Woodman, William Cobb and Charles Greenly. Brother George still had his team of mules and the large schooner and made his regular trips from Scorpion Gulch with his friend, Fred Lux, who also was engaged in the same business. On their way down for this occasion they killed enough wild game to serve bountifully the needs for this first Thanksgiving dinner, as the usual turkey was not to be obtained. Wild geese, rabbits and squirrels were plentiful and our hearts were gladdened to see such a display. How we worked and baked and planned! By many willing hands the dinner was prepared and the guests began to arrive. Including our family, there were thirty in all. Our home had but two rooms on the first floor. A large parlor, hall and stairway faced upon the main street, and the dining room led out from the hall and was large enough to seat many guests. The kitchen was made of canvas and led into the dining room. There were three fine windows in the dining room, so it made a pleasant and cheerful place. Although everything was of the plainest sort, the long table with the white cloth and greens from the pine trees the boys had cut as they came along, and the wild flowers we had gathered and placed in bowls to grace the tables with the greens which were arranged tastefully in wreaths and festoons, gave a homelike welcome to these men who for months had not eaten a home dinner or enjoyed the society of women. As the darkness came on, we lit up the room with candles, having no other lights. We had not forgotten to bring our brass candlesticks among our household effects. Mother could not part with them, so they were carefully packed among our clothing in the trunks and served us beautifully on this occasion. They got an extra polish of whiting from sister and me, who were the decorators on this occasion, and we had to attend to the tables while mother and the older sisters made the cakes, pies and prepared the roasts and meat pies and other necessary additions for a dinner of this kind. Father, mother and the older sisters sat with the guests, and sister Sarah and I waited upon the table. As young as I was, the impression was a lasting one. Some of the gentlemen looked sad, some dignified, others joked and others related stories of home and their experiences in different places in California until the dinner was over and we adjourned to the parlor.

The dinner made such an impression that before the guests departed they had it all arranged that we were to take them all as boarders. After such a feast of things they had longed for so many months, they were not willing to go back to the old way of batching it, as they termed it. We were young and used to housework and we wanted a home of our own some day. Father consulted us and we agreed that on the following Monday they might begin to come. We were assigned our parts, and for two years we worked until we were able to secure our own house, which stands today in Stockton as one of the earlier homes and our homestead. While in this house there were times when we still longed for home and the old surroundings. Sister Mary wanted her instrument which she supposed she would never have again. Our friends, knowing this, quietly consulted father in regard to securing a piano as a birthday offering. But as Christmas Day was the date of her birth, it was too late for the year 1851. We had already entered upon the year 1852, and it would take almost a year to get a piano here, as Mr. Atwill had not imported any instruments as yet. Our friends were good business men and they immediately set about to learn if a piano could not be obtained. All this was unknown to any of us but father. William Trembly and James Harrold, while in San Francisco, inquired at the different musical stores as to arrangements to obtain a piano. Kohler & Chase did not import at that time. They dealt in notions, fancy goods and toys. They were not wholly in the music business until later in the sixties. Mr. Atwill was at the time on Washington street. He did not import largely, and when Messrs. Trembly and Harrold came to him he gladly entered into the plan to get a fine Chickering here by December 25th of 1852. The cost was to be $1,200, delivered in good order. The piano order was given, and how it came to California, whether by steamer or around the Horn, I am not able to say.

All through the year we worked early and late, and our boarders had increased until they numbered thirty-five. We could not accommodate any more. There were no amusements of any kind. We occasionally had a moonlight ride as far as I.D. Staple's ranch, where we were entertained for an hour or so, then we returned. Our rehearsals went on each week. New people were coming all the time. Mr. Grove's sisters arrived, which was another addition to our society. Mrs. George Sanderson and Mrs. John Millar came to join their husbands, who were the prominent men in business. Father had secured a lot and our home was being built, at which we rejoiced greatly, for it was difficult to work for so many people, and the lack of necessary household conveniences and of proper kitchen utensils were a great detriment. Nothing especially transpired during these months. We kept busily at our work until the season for rain was approaching. Several rough houses were built opposite, on the corner a saloon, which was an eyesore to us for it was a busy place where men drank and sometimes fought with knives. Next to our house was a one-story cottage where the family of Louis Millar lived, and a fandango house next door where they danced and played their guitars. We lived on the corner and fortunately had a sidewalk on two sides of the house, but the streets were not made and the mud and slush was dreadful. Men crossed the streets in high rubber leggings. We never pretended to go in the street at this time, everything being brought to us. We were almost as closely confined as prisoners. There was no drainage, consequently the mud remained in the streets for weeks while the rains lasted.

December was approaching and of course our thoughts turned towards Christmas and preparations for its festivities. Everybody was busy. We had much to do, for all these men were still with us. There was mince meat to make, raisins to seed, cakes and pies to bake. Everything we used came in bottles and cans. There were no fresh vegetables of any kind, excepting onions and potatoes. It was wonderful how we managed during all this time under the most trying difficulties, and yet prepared meals in such a way that our large family was always thoroughly satisfied. Sometimes we could get bananas from Mexico, cocoanuts and oranges, but not very often. Christmas eve came at last and such a busy place, no idle hands these days. Brother George and Mr. Lux brought with them two large sacks of the finest English walnuts. They were a windfall to us. We never had seen so many before. We were used to black walnuts, filberts and other nuts at home. This was the beginning of all that came to us this Christmas. It seemed that each one tried to get something we had not had before. Christmas came clear and bright, but mud was everywhere. Rubber boots were indispensable this Christmas. Dinner was served about 1:30 o'clock and everybody seemed to be in the happiest mood. It was sister Mary's birthday and we were especially attentive to her.

The dinner was over and the dessert was almost finished when a rap on the front door sounded loud and rough. Father asked Mary to go to the door as she was nearest. She obeyed and, when she had answered the knock, a teamster handed her a letter and asked if Miss Mary Kroh lived here. She replied in the affirmative, and taking the letter she glanced out of the door and saw a heavy truck with an immense box or case on it. She said, "You must be mistaken." He said, "Are you not Miss Kroh? This is for her." By this time we were getting excited and with one accord the guests arose to see the result. Father became uneasy at her long silence and came out in time to see her reel against the railing of the stairs. She had read the note and realized that her great desire had at last become a reality and her birthday had brought her the long-wished-for piano. This is what she read in the note:

"A merry Christmas and a happy birthday for Miss Mary Matilda Kroh, from her father and many friends who have appreciated her noble sacrifice of the musical environment of her Eastern home. This instrument is given as a partial compensation for her cheerful and noble performance of her duty to her parents and as full appreciation. James Harrold, C.V. Payton, Charles Greenly, David Trembly, William Cobb, Charles Deering, Gilbert Claiborne, William H. Knight, Samuel Grove, A.M. Thompson, William Gray, Thomas Mosely, William A. Trembly, Henry Kroh, James Holmes, Henry Noel, Austin Sperry, George H. Blake."

When the secret was out, all was excitement. Sister made her exit upstairs and the men took off their coats and helped with a will. Soon the beautiful instrument was out of the box and placed in the parlor. What a rejoicing there was! Father gave orders that Mary must play the first air, and we awaited her coming, but she had not been able to control herself to meet the friends and see the most magnificent gift she ever received. Sister Sarah was dispatched to bring her down stairs. She found her in the attitude of prayer. After much persuasion she came down and father met her and led her to the instrument. She stood for a moment unable to proceed. Seating herself upon the stool, she began to play the Doxology, but her head sank upon the piano. Then the tears gushed forth, the spell was broken and after a short time she was able to proceed. It was now about the hour of seven, darkness had crept on and the curtains were closed and the lights lit. We all became more composed, music was brought out, songs were sung and it was like a new world to us, such unexpected happiness in a far-off city of the Golden West. Father had occasion to answer a call at the front door and before closing he accidentally looked out, and to his surprise the sidewalks and porch were filled with old and young men. Along the side of the house stood scores of men in the street as far as the eye could see and some were sobbing. On entering the room he said, "We have an immense congregation outside. Get out your familiar tunes—'Home, sweet home,' etc." He then drew aside the curtains and raised the windows, "Now, my children and friends, give these homesick sons and fathers a few songs more before we assemble for the evening worship." We sang until the hour of nine and closed with the Doxology. Once more father went on the porch and thanked the people for their appreciation of the music and dismissed them with the benediction. We closed the windows and curtains and remained with our friends a short time, when they departed fully assured that they had brought happiness to many souls by their magnificent gift to one who was worthy to receive it, my sainted sister, Mary Matilda Kroh.

This is the story of the first piano in Stockton, given to sister, December 25, 1852. This night was not the only night when men assembled on our porch to hear the music. Later on a number of men accosted father and told him that the music on the first night we received the piano had so vividly brought back home surroundings and memories of father and mother, that it was the turning point in the path from which they had strayed and caused them to see the error of their ways and to come back. Such is the influence of song upon the young and the old. Anyone who has no appreciation of music in his soul is an unhappy man or woman indeed. Music is one of the most refining factors among young men and women. They are always the happiest where there is music, no matter what other entertainment has been enjoyed.