Josef Calloway
1325 Queens Avenue
London, England
May 6,
1892
Dearest Josef,
There is little light to write by, and the horrible rocking of this
dreadful ship shakes my pen. Father was foolish in spending so much for such an
unworthy vessel, especially when we are saving money for other things. Every day
the weather grows worse around us, and Marie prays alongside Mother that God
spare us. There are some days when we fear the ship will capsize.
On days like these, I long
for the quiet countryside of England. I miss the feel of solid ground beneath
me. Fear overcomes me. Land should have been spotted days ago, but still all we
see is the same gray waters lapping at the ship’s side.
Everyone hopes you are well, especially John. He
hopes you will follow us soon. He fears plowing the fields Father intends to
purchase when we arrive. I laughed when he first brought this to my attention. Still,
John fears Father. He thinks Father despises him for being weak and preferring
the arts to agriculture.
If you should follow us, I bid you find a seaworthy
ship, one more suited to passengers. Our community quarters are in the cargo
hold, and most of us are forbidden to go to the upper decks. Sickness spreads
in the filth like a wildfire. Several lie ill in beds made from spare blankets
and luggage.
I miss you dearly. Once we arrive, if ever we do,
I shall inform you of our plans, so you may attempt to contact us. From what I
hear, farmland is scarce where we will port. We can only hope we won’t have to
travel far. Please know that I am well.
Love always,
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