Step Two
Completion requirements
Source one:
Excerpt from Our pioneer days in Minnesota by Gertrude Braat Vandergon, 1949. American Memory Project digital ID lhbum 03667.
"Many relatives and friends came to the dock to bid us farewell. Of course, we all knew we would never see our loved ones again. The parting was difficult as well as sad. Grief stricken grandfather could not bear to see his daughter Johanna and family leave all that was so dear to them, besides the comforts they had enjoyed, and go to an unknown country.
The time for parting had come; it meant for all of us broken hearts, homes and what later turned out to be broken hopes. Mother was overcome with grief. Leaning heavily on father's arms, they walked into the boat. We children followed our parents, glancing back from time to time for a last look of our dear ones and Holland. We were so devoted to each other as a family. We stayed on deck for a short while, being too bewildered to know what to do. The truth of the matter was, we didn't care. Officers soon told us sternly to do downstairs at once. Everyone had to get settled.
The stairs were made of strong ropes, interwoven. Our room was assigned to us; we had to get settled, for we knew it would be several weeks before we would reach New York. The room had four beds of the double deck type. Father and brother Richard, aged seventeen, and John, aged eleven, occupied the upper berths, while Mother, sister Mary, aged thirteen, and myself occupied the lower berths. We traveled as second class passengers so were quite confortable. We felt very much favored when we looked through an open door and saw the people of the third class sleeping on the floor, their arms for pillows, old coats for extra covering. These people stayed by themselves, never tried to mingle with the other passengers. One day we saw them eat bread with raw pork form their baskets. We rushed to tell father, for he had always warned us never to eat raw pork. We begged him to tell these unfortunate people; somehow father did not seem the least disturbed.
You can well imagine the children had no time to be lonesome on the boat. We wandered around the deck. We watched passengers; some looked sick while others looked happy; then there were others who looked very sad, like my mother and father. Time did not weigh heavy on our hands, there was always something on deck to amuse us, and the ocean seemed an endless mass of water. One day, Mary Myst and myself wandered around the ship. (We loved to peek in doors) This particular day, we saw quite a commotion, chairs and a little table in one corner, and on a large table was the body of a woman. Mary said, "This woman must be ill, Gertrude. We must tell our parents; maybe they can help". Just then the woman's husband and two little daughters came. They were overcome with grief, so Mary and I wept also. We wished we had not peeked in the door.
Many passengers came to attend the funeral services. We were very curious so after coaxing our parents, they gave their consent to our attending this strange funeral. It was so different; a short sermon, a hymn and prayer. The lady was placed in a black sack and lowered into the ocean. It made a lasting impression on us. I can still see the husband and his two little daughters weep. It gave us a very lonely feeling as we continued our trip to America. We hoped our group would keep well, for it seemed so cruel to place a human being in a sack, lower them and sail away. We were afraid our Mother would become ill, and we would have to go through this horrible experience. Mother was frail, so the trip was hard on her."
Source two:
"It must have been in the early part of April, for we reached Chicago on July 4 after spending nine weeks and two days on the ocean, besides more than a week in the journey from Quebec to Chicago. Being stowed away under deck on a sailing vessel with little or no ventilation, in fair and stormy weather, some two hundred and fifty passengers in one room practically, with rows of double bunks (a la Pullman sleeper), and with seasickness prevalent, was not particularly conducive to happiness and joviality; but youthful passengers no doubt found some means of enjoyment. On the whole the passage was normal for the times. Two deaths occurred, a man and a child; both were buried at sea, the captain officiating.
At Montreal change was again made and we had our first railroad experience. Another change seems to have been made before we reached Buffalo, for we saw Niagara Falls from the American side. Father told us they were "the largest waterfalls in the world."
We took a boat at Buffalo for Detroit. And it was on Lake Erie that the saddest part of our journey commenced. Cholera broke out among the immigrants, and many deaths occurred before we landed at Detroit and at that city as well, among them being the only passenger who talked English, and who had served as interpreter for the party. He was a strong young man in the prime of life, who had spent some time in America. We were packed into immigrant cars, and a considerable number of deaths occurred in our car before Chicago was reached. While the cholera thus took a heavy toll among the passengers, the Haugen family and a neighbor family from the Old Country, each numbering eight persons, seemed to be immune. Mother was sick, supposedly with the disease, but recovered. It may have been some other ailment not so fatal."
Excerpt from Our pioneer days in Minnesota by Gertrude Braat Vandergon, 1949. American Memory Project digital ID lhbum 03667.
"Many relatives and friends came to the dock to bid us farewell. Of course, we all knew we would never see our loved ones again. The parting was difficult as well as sad. Grief stricken grandfather could not bear to see his daughter Johanna and family leave all that was so dear to them, besides the comforts they had enjoyed, and go to an unknown country.
The time for parting had come; it meant for all of us broken hearts, homes and what later turned out to be broken hopes. Mother was overcome with grief. Leaning heavily on father's arms, they walked into the boat. We children followed our parents, glancing back from time to time for a last look of our dear ones and Holland. We were so devoted to each other as a family. We stayed on deck for a short while, being too bewildered to know what to do. The truth of the matter was, we didn't care. Officers soon told us sternly to do downstairs at once. Everyone had to get settled.
The stairs were made of strong ropes, interwoven. Our room was assigned to us; we had to get settled, for we knew it would be several weeks before we would reach New York. The room had four beds of the double deck type. Father and brother Richard, aged seventeen, and John, aged eleven, occupied the upper berths, while Mother, sister Mary, aged thirteen, and myself occupied the lower berths. We traveled as second class passengers so were quite confortable. We felt very much favored when we looked through an open door and saw the people of the third class sleeping on the floor, their arms for pillows, old coats for extra covering. These people stayed by themselves, never tried to mingle with the other passengers. One day we saw them eat bread with raw pork form their baskets. We rushed to tell father, for he had always warned us never to eat raw pork. We begged him to tell these unfortunate people; somehow father did not seem the least disturbed.
You can well imagine the children had no time to be lonesome on the boat. We wandered around the deck. We watched passengers; some looked sick while others looked happy; then there were others who looked very sad, like my mother and father. Time did not weigh heavy on our hands, there was always something on deck to amuse us, and the ocean seemed an endless mass of water. One day, Mary Myst and myself wandered around the ship. (We loved to peek in doors) This particular day, we saw quite a commotion, chairs and a little table in one corner, and on a large table was the body of a woman. Mary said, "This woman must be ill, Gertrude. We must tell our parents; maybe they can help". Just then the woman's husband and two little daughters came. They were overcome with grief, so Mary and I wept also. We wished we had not peeked in the door.
Many passengers came to attend the funeral services. We were very curious so after coaxing our parents, they gave their consent to our attending this strange funeral. It was so different; a short sermon, a hymn and prayer. The lady was placed in a black sack and lowered into the ocean. It made a lasting impression on us. I can still see the husband and his two little daughters weep. It gave us a very lonely feeling as we continued our trip to America. We hoped our group would keep well, for it seemed so cruel to place a human being in a sack, lower them and sail away. We were afraid our Mother would become ill, and we would have to go through this horrible experience. Mother was frail, so the trip was hard on her."
Source two:
"It must have been in the early part of April, for we reached Chicago on July 4 after spending nine weeks and two days on the ocean, besides more than a week in the journey from Quebec to Chicago. Being stowed away under deck on a sailing vessel with little or no ventilation, in fair and stormy weather, some two hundred and fifty passengers in one room practically, with rows of double bunks (a la Pullman sleeper), and with seasickness prevalent, was not particularly conducive to happiness and joviality; but youthful passengers no doubt found some means of enjoyment. On the whole the passage was normal for the times. Two deaths occurred, a man and a child; both were buried at sea, the captain officiating.
At Montreal change was again made and we had our first railroad experience. Another change seems to have been made before we reached Buffalo, for we saw Niagara Falls from the American side. Father told us they were "the largest waterfalls in the world."
We took a boat at Buffalo for Detroit. And it was on Lake Erie that the saddest part of our journey commenced. Cholera broke out among the immigrants, and many deaths occurred before we landed at Detroit and at that city as well, among them being the only passenger who talked English, and who had served as interpreter for the party. He was a strong young man in the prime of life, who had spent some time in America. We were packed into immigrant cars, and a considerable number of deaths occurred in our car before Chicago was reached. While the cholera thus took a heavy toll among the passengers, the Haugen family and a neighbor family from the Old Country, each numbering eight persons, seemed to be immune. Mother was sick, supposedly with the disease, but recovered. It may have been some other ailment not so fatal."
Last modified: Monday, July 30, 2012, 7:51 PM