The voyage of Thekla Nübling, part 6
For members of the Mitchell family
Thekla’s descendants are extremely lucky; a whole set of letters that she wrote to her family in Germany survive to tell her story of coming to America. I have done my best to translate these letters, so here they are (slightly abridged and edited for clarity).
This final set of letters describes her reunion with Max and their journey to her new home in Louisiana.
July 25, 1828
Philadelphia
Max writes —
In New York on the 20th, at 12 o’clock noon, I found my sister Thekla. This was the happiest day of my life. Now I have her, the eagerly-awaited beloved sister, and I thank God for it and I would just like to see anyone try to snatch her away from me again.
Since I have a lot of business to attend to, I’ll let her write the rest.
Thekla writes —
Max thinks it’s best if he leaves the rest of the writing to me, though it’s so oppressively hot that writing shall be an awkward chore.
Last Sunday I went to church with Wilhelmine S. in New York and from there we went to her apartment, because I still did not have real confidence in Max’s arrival. But no sooner had we entered the house than Minchen’s maid hurried towards us, and said, “The brother has arrived!”
Dear parents, I can’t describe how I felt. Dr. S got the harness immediately, and the coachman hurried as much as possible, but it was all moving much too slowly for me.
Max is still quite the same; I found only his complexion had changed a bit. He was strained by the journey. Even his great joy over our happy reunion may have had an effect on his spirit and body, because he had to lie down on the bed. I went to him and told him all afternoon about my travels, my stay in New York and our parents and siblings in Ulm.
The next day we went by steamboat to our aunt in Philadelphia. Max had prepared me for this meeting to some extent. He told me that Americans, in such cases, are not very demonstrative, but like a true German woman she presented her genuine self for an embrace, and I had to violently weep. However, soon everything went on in a better way, and I was won over every day and every hour. She is a small person, with black hair and very dark eyes, and in her features is something pleasant and attractive. She is an exception to most women of her class, as she is skilled in dressmaking and really likes to work.
The little towheaded child Margaret is a very amiable. She can already walk and is already chatting away.
I really like the way Max and our aunt and I get along with each other. I like it so well, that I often secretly wish that our father and mother could see us. I wish they could see how satisfied and happy I am, and that I have enjoyed good health; only the oppressive heat sometimes makes me tired and lethargic.
I must of necessity learn the English language, because Max himself will not speak German with me.
July 30, 1828
New York City
To my brother Wilhelm,
I came back to this town last night, and today it is my first business to warmly thank you for all that you have written to me. When I am bound to deal daily with so many dry Americans, it does my vivacious German sensibility well to receive such lovely letters.
For your own sake and for the sake of our parents, I am glad that you now live in Ulm. You now have an office of your own, dear brother! And to whom God gives an office, he will soon give an even better job — and I hope I will meet a wife by your side, when one day a I visit you.
August 23, 1828
New York City
Dearest father!
Today, on your birthday, I can’t help but write a few lines to you. It may take some time until the letter arrives in your hands, but you will happily receive even my very late heartfelt good wishes.
Max must always go deal with business. He left right after breakfast and it is now 5 o’clock in the evening, but he’s not back here yet. The whole morning I babbled at the aunt of you and our people in broken English. I love this dear woman more each day. We are of the same age and we agree on a great deal in our sentiments, so we live like the best of friends with each other.
I make good progress with the English language. I’m learning to talk with little Margaret, which is funny. The girl has so much of her dead father in her face that sometimes I can’t hold in the tears when I’m alone in my room.
I am astonished over my continued good health and I have never regretted my decision to dare to go on such a long journey. If only you, dear father, and with you my mother, could look in on us for a single evening, as we sit together so brightly and cheerfully! I know we will live quite comfortably together in St. Francisville.
Nevertheless I have a complaint, though not a very significant one. The mosquitoes plague me; my German blood must be particularly pleasant for them, because while our aunt takes very few pokes, I get them over and over. There are also many bedbugs. What I can’t change, I must accept patiently.
Next week we’ll go back to Philadelphia, stay there a couple of weeks, then go to Baltimore and from there to my future home. I long for it, because I’m getting tired of all this traveling.
You must not worry too much if you do not receive a letter from me for some time, because I can’t write well while traveling, so it will have to wait until we arrive in St. Francisville.
September 18, 1828
Philadelphia
Yet again we’re back in this city, but I’m full of delight because I have letters from home. We will not leave here until the beginning of October, but we’ll go by sea, which incidentally is entirely fine with me. It would have been more interesting for me to see the interior of the country, but it is more convenient to go by sea, and we’ll arrive sooner at our destination.
You write to me that many people have asked after me. I appreciate that, and I acknowledge it with thanks, even if it should happen that some of them do it purely out of nosiness. I send my friendly greetings to all, and tell them that I’m gradually getting fatter, and that I need to alter all the clothes I brought with me.
Should anyone ask you if I shall return soon, you can say with truth that you do not know, because I myself do not know.
November 2, 1828
St. Francisville
Finally, my dearest wish is fulfilled, and I can write to you from here! I live and walk through the rooms in which my unforgettable uncle once lived and worked.
We arrived here safely. The ocean voyage passed happily, though we had to endure a huge storm in the Gulf on the last day.
Now I must describe to you a scene that took place aboard the ship Benjamin Morgan, and which convinced me of how much I am really loved by my brother and Virginia. On the first morning, after we’d got into the river, an American customs officer came onto the ship. He was a small, somewhat ugly little man, and he did his business for a short while.
When he wanted to leave, the captain asked him, “What is the state of health in New Orleans?”
“Very bad. Yellow fever!” was his answer.
“How is your wife?”
“Dead!”
“And your four children?”
“Of them, three are dead, and the fourth is dangerously sick.”
All of the passengers sat down at this news as if struck. Nobody dared say a word. There were 22 on board who had all traveled north for the preservation of their health and were now returning home. Max and our aunt were the first to tacitly get up and leave. I followed them with a pounding heart and we went to our little room where we bunked. Max took me in his arms and kissed me; none of us could speak, we could only cry.
But Max soon mastered himself and exclaimed, “This is childish! I want to act, not cry!”
He consulted with some experienced men who advised him not to go into New Orleans, but to stay in the countryside until the steamboat left for Bayou Sara. He is especially worried for little Margaret, more so than me, because I am so vigorous and healthy.
A good friend of Max got us a carriage. So we drove, without seeing the city, into the countryside, about six miles away from the river. We would have had to wait for three days in the polluted city for the departure of the steamboat which brought us happily home.
Aunt Virginia, Margaret, Max and I live in a house that has, besides the 4 bedrooms, a nice living room and a dining room, and another room for the accommodation of visitors. The clerk sleeps in the other house, above the shop.
Max is an excellent person. I am so comfortable in his house that I have not yet gone out. Now I want to learn to ride a horse, so that I can ride around this new country with my brother.
Thekla wrote many more letters about her life in Louisiana, but I figured I’d stop here, at the end of her journey to her new home.
Anyway, Gary and I will be back from our trip shortly. I hope we’ll have some interesting family history stuff to share with you then!