Book continues story about iron pot

The story my father told me about my great-great grandmother’s cast iron pot was in large part corroborated by a distant cousin, Donna Holschuh Haanen. Her book, “The Holzschuh Families of Geisfeld, Germany,” was published in 2007. It took Donna (whose name is spelled without the z) 10 years to compile the book, but it’s absolutely priceless. I’m so glad I have it, but in truth, it sat undisturbed on my bookshelf until I began writing about my favorite soup kettle.

Now where were we? Oh, yes. We left my great-great grandfather John George Holzschuh, his sister Margarethe and fiancé Anna Maria on board a ship headed for America. They set sail in March 1856, destination Wisconsin, on what would be a minimum six-week voyage across the Atlantic. Everything about it was dangerous, but most terrifying were the storms and disease.

Vessels often encountered vicious squalls. A sudden heave of the ship could dislodge passengers from their berths and send them hurtling headlong onto shipmates on the other side. Deadly illnesses were common; cholera accounted for 25% of fatalities among emigrants from some ports of demarcation.

Even if the weather cooperated, the lack of fresh food on board made menus monotonous. Breakfast and supper consisted of coffee or tea and bread and butter, if it didn’t turn rancid. A typical dinner (noon meal) included a salted or pickled entrée such as bacon, fatback, salt pork, or herring, pea soup, sauerkraut and stewed prunes. For the first weeks, they might have had potatoes, carrots, rutabagas, and onions, but even root vegetables could spoil rather quickly. It was a grueling experience, but they made it, even managing to acquire a rudimentary grasp of English during the voyage.

It’s easy to imagine the Holzschuh Party of Three’s ecstatic reaction when they first saw dry land. That euphoria was likely accompanied by more than a little trepidation as they docked in Manhattan Battery at Castle Garden, the national gateway opened in 1855 that operated until Ellis Island replaced it in 1890. They were greeted by travel specialists who assisted with maps, train tickets, food purchases, temporary lodging, employment opportunities, and stern warnings against fraudsters who specialized in fleecing naïve newcomers.

After the necessary paperwork and mandatory health checks were completed, the Holzschuhs collected their baggage, which had been thrown in a heap on the dock. The pile surely contained the cast iron pot that I treasure. As eager as the three must have been to get to their final destination, the Town of Lima, it would be two more weeks until they reached their new home. They must first travel to Albany by boat, a three-day trip. Then it was on to Buffalo, a two-day train ride, followed by a 10-day sail in a small schooner across the Great Lakes to Sheboygan.

The last leg of the journey was made via horse-drawn wagon, with Anna Maria carrying on her lap a few special items which have become Donna’s family heirlooms: her Sunday best white bonnet, Bible and prayer card, and an 18-inch square napkin she had embroidered during the passage, later cross-stitched with her initials.

As Dad continued sharing this precious piece of family history with me, I just had to ask. Why had John George chosen the Town of Lima as their final destination? Dad said he wasn’t sure, but he had been told John George was the first immigrant from Geisfeld to do so. Maybe it had something to do with Margarethe? I offered. Maybe. All I know, he said, is that 14 weeks after leaving Germany, John George finally claimed Anna Maria as his bride. They were both 24 years old.

Then Dad surprised me by adding that it was a double wedding. Really? I asked. Yup. That same day Margarethe married Johann Walter, the “eligible bachelor” who had paid for her passage to America. Never known as a gambler, Johann made his substantial wager with no guarantee Margarethe would have him. Fortunately, it turned out to be an excellent arrangement for all as John George and Anna Maria lived with the Walters until they were settled.

As Dad finished this part of the story, I cradled my newfound treasure affectionately. Now it all made sense. I couldn’t resist. Oh, so then Margarethe actually was a mail order bride. That’s so romantic. How wonderful.

His reply was swift and sharp. Wonderful? Not hardly.

I couldn’t help getting a bit defensive for my great-great aunt. Well, so she married a total stranger because he’d paid for her trip to America. You said she had a choice, and so the story does have a happy ending. Dad looked at me and scowled. Happy ending? Who said anything about a happy ending?

(To be continued)