by Avi
I might be discovered by the crew of the Stephanie K. and once at sea tossed overboard and (God preserve me) drown.
Worst of all? I might fail in my endeavor and be forced to remain in dull Providence with my aunt.
But I had read widely. Thus I had also come upon what that great American Benjamin Franklin wrote: “Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”
I presumed that most passengers on the ship would be men. Would I not be able to steal my way aboard by being dressed as a young man? Did that make me uneasy? Fearful? Of course! But I, choosing happiness rather than dignity, was so determined to go to California that I pushed all such worrisome thoughts away.
How was I to do it?
Recall that I had been able to save my earnings, such as they were. Recall that Father had refused them. My honest wages became my means to find my dishonest way.
Once again, I ventured into town. This time, with Jacob at my side, I searched out a shop in the Providence business district that sold used articles of clothing. I told the shop clerk that I wished to purchase inexpensive work clothing for my (nonexistent) older brother.
“Since he is about my height,” I added, “and I being tall for my age, I can try them on.”
The shop assistant eyed me with a blatant suspicion, but I explained: “My brother is too busy working to come himself.”
I bought a man’s collapsible tall hat, shirt, trousers, jacket, and boots and carried them away. They were previously used, and visibly so, but that only added to their value. A disguise does best when dingy. As soon as we returned home, it was easy enough to stow the clothing at the bottom of Jacob’s trunk.
With my masquerade at hand, my scheming was almost done. All I needed to do was wait for Father to embark upon the Stephanie K. and sail to California.
But there was one other precarious thing which I had to do: I must tell Mother about my intentions.
Why did I have to tell Mother? Because I could not simply vanish. My disappearance would upset her to the extreme and be harmful to her health. No, she needed to know about the secret enterprise upon which her courageous daughter was embarking.
But what if she said no?
It was a hazard I had to risk. If a girl must put faith in one person, it should be her mother.
By then, our house having been sold, Mother and the rest of us were installed in my aunt’s house on Benefit Street. Stuffed as it was with heavy furniture in drab colors, heavy drapes at the window made it feel as if we were living in a dim and crowded mausoleum. There, Father all but waited on my aunt, always agreeing with whatever she said. It made me ill.
Then too, Aunt Lavinia checked my clothing daily, looked to see if my hands were clean, asked me what I intended to do each hour.
“You are not my mother,” I protested, often.
“Your weak mother is ill because of your foolish father.”
If I required any more motivation to escape Providence, my aunt supplied it every moment of every day.
Finding a time when Mother and I were alone — she resting in bed, her red shawl around her, me holding her hand — I told her what I had conspired.
As I revealed my plan to her, she looked at me with astonishment, until the moment came when she outright cried. “And do you,” she said, “truly think you can do this?”
“I will do it,” I said, working hard to show only eagerness, not my private unease.
“Won’t you be in great danger?”
“Father will be there, and of course, Jacob will be too.”
“But —”
“Mother, you know how Aunt Lavinia stridently disapproves of me, everything I do and say. She makes this a distressed household, a source of continual irritation to your health. And remember,” I reminded her, “you originally agreed that I should go with Father.”
Mother did not contest my view. Rather she said, “But what could I tell your aunt as to your whereabouts?”
“Tell her that at the last moment Father changed his mind and brought me along.
“Mother,” I pressed, “remind her that Father and Jacob know nothing of housekeeping, cooking, nor cleaning. I can do all those things. She will approve of that. Besides, we both know I am of no use to you here.”
Then I added my decisive argument: “Mother, I prefer to be happy rather than dignified.”
Mother smiled and squeezed my hand as much as her strength allowed. “Young ladies today,” she said, “are much more daring than they were when I was your age. Yes, I can see you being of assistance to Father and Jacob. They will certainly need a woman to run our fine new home.”
That was hardly my desire or plan, but once again I kept my thoughts to myself.
I went down on my knees and put my hands in a prayerful position. “Mother, you will join us as soon as possible. In my heart, I believe all will go well. May I?”
She gazed at me for a long while with sad but loving eyes. Then, with much tenderness, she said, “Happy the mother who can admire her daughter. I give permission.”
I leaped up and hugged her. Then she unwrapped her favorite red shawl from her shoulders and presented it to me. “Wear it so I can always embrace you.”
In other words, Mother agreed to keep my secret. Of course, having a clandestine plan is one thing. Putting it to work was quite another.
FEBRUARY 12, 1849.
If you have never taken part in the departure of a great ocean sailing ship, I pity you. One cannot begin to comprehend the commotion and exhilarating chaos that prevails. It is like a Fourth of July and New Year’s Eve in one, and in my view, all great changes in life should be celebrated.
Consider the Providence wharf that cold and blustery day, with bits of confetti-like snow flecking the air: Crowds of people going on and off the great three-masted ship Stephanie K. People joyfully or tearfully wishing one another well. People with faces full of sorrow. People with faces full of glee. People engaged in heart-clinging farewells. People making hasty goodbyes, as if separation could not come fast enough. On the wharf, men’s tall hats so numerous it was like a city of smokeless chimneys.
Faces full of expectations. Faces full of dread. Faces pale. Faces flushed. Tears and laughter bucketing from the same hearts. Need I say more? An entire encyclopedia of emotions.
Or, if you prefer (as I did) a perfect melodrama, complete with music, for there on the wharf was a church choir that sang an optimistic hymn that God should bless us all.
There was, too, all manner of cargo — trunks, bales, and boxed belongings — which needed to be brought aboard. Food and water were likewise carried on.
Of course, midst the mingling multitudes of immigrants was the sailing crew, which for the Stephanie K. numbered thirty-two, plus officers, including a captain with an elegant black beard.
In other words, a swirling, swarming, and scintillating ship.
The anticipation was intoxicating. Even I, who never touched ardent spirits, knew that.
Father, being forty-nine years of age, looked to be the oldest passenger. Most of the travelers on board — there were about one hundred and seventy in total — were young men going to California for gold. Gold fever at the highest temperature. Indeed, the word “gold” buzzed in my ears as if I were standing amidst a swarm of bees in search of summer’s golden nectar.
On board, there were only a few women and fewer children. That, I admit, gave me new feelings of trepidation. But I was bolstered by a resolve that was churning like a nor’easter about to burst.
Father and Jacob had made their leave-takings to Mother at her bedside in my aunt’s house. Those moments were truly tender, with as much sentiment and clear declarations of love as my parents were capable of expressing.
“Dear wife, I shall think of you often.”
“Beloved husband, I shall pray for your success.”
In secret, I had made my own goodbyes to Mother the night before. I think Mother had begun to relish this family intrigue as much as I did. I rather suspect she was
finding being a convalescent — under the imperial eye of her sister — ever drearier.
Indeed, Mother, now very much wishing to travel west, spoke of embarking on one of the fast new clipper ships as soon as she could. As for the undoubted assurance of my father’s great wealth to come, it lifted her spirits and was a buffer against Aunt Lavinia.
“Come as quickly as you can,” I urged her.
“Everything will be better there,” she said, as much to herself as to me.
“Dearest Mother, thank you for believing in me. Know that I shall always have you in my thoughts and heart.”
On the day of departure, I accompanied Father and Jacob upon the Stephanie K. There was no hindrance to my boarding since many people were going on to say goodbye to passengers. Midst all that churning of emotions and embraces, no one questioned why I was there.
Once on board, as planned, I asked that Jacob be allowed to show me the sleeping place Father had reserved.
“Of course,” said Father.
In haste, my brother led me below. I quickly learned that upon these large ships there is the main deck and the bottom hold, wherein cargo is carried. Between these two areas was the “tween deck,” where passengers had their belongings and sleeping compartments.
I was surprised that these compartments consisted of nothing more than what looked like crudely constructed shelves for library books, the shelves hardly more than twenty-five inches wide. All the same, I was much relieved to see Jacob’s luggage stowed there, in particular his trunk, which contained my disguise. I now knew where I could find it. When Jacob and I saw the trunk, we exchanged self-assured, conspiratorial grins.
“Where is the ladies’ dressing room?” I asked.
“I’ve no idea,” he returned.
While that unnerved me considerably, there was absolutely no time to pause and investigate, so we hastened back to the main deck. Once there, the three of us — Father, Jacob, and I — went to the gangway, where I spoke what I hoped sounded like heartfelt adieus to both Father and Jacob.
As soon as that was accomplished, I walked down the gangplank to the wharf, turned back, and waved a flamboyant farewell. After they, in turn, saluted me, I took a few steps away.
Immediately Jacob did as I had instructed him. He pulled at Father’s greatcoat and dragged him away to see some far corner of the great ship. Then came the most thrilling moment — up to that time — of my entire life.
I rushed back onto the ship via the same footbridge. Once on board, I raced down to Jacob’s berth. Had I not learned the way? But since I had not discovered where the women’s quarters were, and with my heart beating like an uncaged bird, I had no choice but to open Jacob’s trunk and withdraw from its bottom the clothing I had purchased.
The tween deck was teeming with people — passengers, families, and crew bidding farewell. Thus it was that no one cared when I flung a blanket over myself. Beneath it, I dressed as a man, in trousers, shirt, and boots, my long chestnut hair stuffed into a black top hat which sat low upon my brow. When I stepped free and assayed my appearance, I had to suppress my glee as to how I must look. Did ever a girl’s heart flutter so?
Leaving my girl’s attire in Jacob’s trunk, I returned to the main deck, there to mingle among the multitudes of young men. Let it be said: it is fine to be noticed, but it is delightful to be invisible.
Warning whistles began to be piped. Ship departure! Passengers who were embarking lined the rails and waved to those who retreated to the wharf.
At the library in Providence, I had read Mr. Poe’s story “The Purloined Letter,” which had impressed me with the idea that the best hiding place is right in the open. I, therefore, remained at the top rail in full view — in my costume, of course — and waved to people on the dock as if saying goodbye to kin. Sure enough, although I stood boldly before all, I went completely unnoticed.
Despite the snow, the crew climbed the rigging like sprightly spiders. Sails — from flying jib (at the bow) to spanker (at the stern) to main royal (the topmost sail) — were loosed and sheeted home. The lines that bound the Stephanie K. to the east coast of the United States were cast off. Our ship was warped into Narragansett Bay. Having wind and tide in our favor, off we went. It was absolutely thrilling so that I fairly tingled with delight. No one — save my brother, Jacob — knew I was a stowaway.
I suppose it is immodest to say, but I was exceedingly pleased with myself. There I was, engaged in a true adventure. None of my mother’s romance books equaled this. I was the heroine in my own story.
We sailed down Narragansett Bay with a colony of seagulls as our airborne escort. To my ears, their squawks sounded as if they were laughing with glee, echoing my own delight. Above, the bulky, billowy sails were our own soufflé of clouds. With the bay waters smack-smooth, there was little in the way of disturbing movement.
Shortly after we embarked, all passengers were called on deck, and the captain welcomed us by reading out his rules.
“All passengers must rise by seven a.m. unless excused by the ship’s doctor. Bedtime is no later than ten p.m. No breakfast until all decks are swept and your bedding stowed. No liquor allowed. The use of gunpowder is strictly prohibited. A religious service will be held every Sunday morning by our chaplain. All are required to attend. My first mate shall make sure these rules are enforced.”
You may easily imagine how impatient I was, but I had to stay in disguise until we were fully out to sea. Mind, I needed to hide for only the first two days of a seven-month voyage. It greatly helped that during those first days the ship was in a state of continual disarray as passengers learned their way about. In addition, the Stephanie K. was fairly packed with young men, a great many of whom were beardless youths, and since I did not look so different from them, I went unnoticed. To further support my ruse, I refrained from speaking, not wishing to reveal my feminine voice.
Jacob and I had planned where and when to meet. At these appointed moments, he brought not just a friendly face but food, drink, and, at our first meeting, a blanket. Yes, I might have eaten at the common tables, but I preferred to take extra precautions.
For me, the next forty-eight hours were the most challenging. We sailed down Narragansett Bay, twixt Point Judith and Newport, and then out upon the awe-inspiring Atlantic Ocean.
I slept those first two nights on deck — one among many sleepers. To be sure, I was cold, but I learned that if you are going to be a heroine in your own adventure, a certain amount of discomfort is obligatory.
At last, we reached the open sea. By day, oh, the sublime endless wonder of it. No land in sight, only ceaseless blue and white-capped foaming waves. Sails fluffed and snapped as the ship hissed and spanked through the wash. By night, a vast array of frozen stars.
As we sailed, we pitched, bobbed, rolled, and yawed enough to make some people ill. Father was one of those, but I am glad to report, not me. To the contrary, my healthy heart fairly swelled in an attempt to match the immensity of the ocean, a seemingly endless world. How shall I best express it? I loved myself for loving it all. If I could, I would have hugged the universe.
After two days had passed, I met with Jacob. He managed to maneuver Father out of his berth, where he lay in seasick discomfort. Once he left, I once again ducked beneath a blanket — this time to change back into my young woman’s attire.
When I emerged, no one took particular notice of me, appearing as the girl I truly was, in a modest trimmed bonnet and a full-length, high-necked dress, with wide sleeves at my wrists. I also wore Mother’s red shawl. As if indifferent — but hardly so — I walked about the main deck until I spied Father standing by the bulwark rail, gazing out upon the sea, perhaps pondering the immense change in his life — and in his unhappy belly.
I paused, relishing the moment. Oh, such wonderful drama. When the curtain lifts, is it not delightful to be on center stage?
“Sir!” I called to him. “Mr. Blaisdell!”
FATHER TURNED AND LOOKED AT ME WITHOUT
comprehension. It was that curious truth: the familiar in an unfamiliar place is oft unseen.
It took some full moments before he grasped that it was me. When he did realize it was his daughter who stood before him, she whom he thought he’d left behind in Providence, his face displayed complete bewilderment.
“What . . . what,” he stammered, “are you doing here?”
I almost said, “My will has decided my destiny.” Instead, I replied, “I am going to San Francisco.”
Father, perfectly dumbfounded, managed to say, “But how . . . how did you get here?”
I told him.
“Does Mother know?”
“She approved.”
“Did she?” he cried, newly aghast and, I suspect, feeling somewhat betrayed. “But . . . but what do you intend to do in California?”
“I’m quite sure, Father, that you can care for yourself. For my part, I intend to take care of Jacob and keep our fine new house. Meanwhile, you shall be free to gather that abundant gold. At dinnertime each day, I shall serve you your meal and you shall regale us with your daily adventures and your new wealth.”
These words, though surely stilted, had been well practiced to soothe his ear. I had composed them with that goal in mind.
But though that is what I said, let it be clearly understood: my vision of my future was to be far more energetic than that. I cared little for gold. My desire was to become fully independent, have intelligent people around me, and somehow (I was not exactly sure) amaze the world. I had already learned that for a girl, the more ambitious you are, the better it is to keep it within.
What did my father do when he realized that I was on the ship and that there was no way he could send me home? He did what many people do when confronted with something that they can’t control: he acted as if it was always meant to be. What’s more, the constant degree of congestion on the ship was such that no one in authority ever realized I was dodging a fare. You may be sure Father was too embarrassed to acknowledge it.
There was something more: I do believe Father looked upon me with the realization that I was far more capable than he had thought before.
