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SIXTY YEARS OF CALIFORNIA SONG
Margaret Blake-Alverson
M.B. ALVERSON
1913
[Transcriber's Note: Numerous typographical errors and misspellings
(especially of non-English words and names) in the original text have
been corrected in this e-text, where the correct spelling could be
confirmed.]
[Illustration: "Should Auld Acquaintance be forgot?"
Margaret Blake-Alverson
_Webster Photo, Oakland, 1912_]
Address all correspondence to
MRS. MARGARET BLAKE-ALVERSON
1429 SECOND AVENUE
OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA
_Copyright 1913 by_
MARGARET BLAKE-ALVERSON
_All rights reserved_
_Man must reap and sow and sing;
Trade and traffic and sing;
Love and forgive and sing;
Rear the young with tenderness and sing;
Then silently step forth to meet whatever is--and sing._
TO MY FRIENDS EVERYWHERE I AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATE THIS BOOK.
IF AS A SINGER AND A TEACHER OF SINGING I HAVE BEEN A FACTOR IN THE
BETTERMENT OF INDIVIDUALS AND COMMUNITIES, THEN HAS MY WORK BEEN WELL
DONE AND I AM CONTENT.
MARGARET BLAKE-ALVERSON
OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA
JANUARY, 1913
FOREWORD
This book has been written for friends and musical associates of more
than half a century.
The author's life has been a busy one, often with events of public
import, and so it may be that this volume has value as history. Those
who should know have so affirmed.
It is hoped that old-time Californians will find the book good
reading. The later generations of students and musicians will be
interested in the story of one who helped to prepare the way for them.
The narrative tells somewhat of the Christian ministry of a noble
father, of the writer's career as a public singer and of reminiscences
of many associated musicians, efficient factors in the development of
music in California to the high place it holds today.
Some mention is made of distinguished divines and men of note in the
professions and in business. The part taken by the author in political
campaigns and in the activities of the Grand Army of the Republic will
appeal to patriots.
Some chapters on the singing voice and its cultivation are the
fruitage of a wide experience of many years. A list of pupils for
three decades is added.
The illustrations have been at once a labor of love and an
extravagance of money cost, but it is believed that the reader will
find in that feature alone justification for the publication.
THE TEXT
Antecedents and Childhood 1
Our Trip to California via the Isthmus and Early Days There.
First Church Choir in Stockton 13
Stockton in the Fifties. Benicia Seminary. Genesis of Mills
College. Distinguished Pioneers. Marriage 33
How I Made the First Bear Flag in California 43
Boston. Dedham Choir, 1858. The Civil War.
Musicians. Return to California. Santa Cruz 48
Music in Santa Cruz in the Sixties. Return to San Francisco.
How and Why I Became a Dressmaker. Opera. Music in
San Francisco in the Seventies 59
Lady of Lyons Given for the Fire Engine Fund, Santa Cruz.
Flag-Raising at Gilroy Hot Springs. Visalia Concerts 69
On the Road with Dick Kohler, Mr. Vivian, Walter Campbell,
Mr. Wand and Charles Atkins 75
Early Music and Music Houses. Musical Instrument Makers.
Old-Time Singers 83
As a Church Choir Singer in Cincinnati, Stockton, Benicia,
Dedham, Santa Cruz, San Francisco, San Bernardino and
Oakland. Rev. Starr King, Howard Dow, Henry Clay
Barnabee, Carl Zerrahn, J.C.D. Parker, Carlotta and
Adelina Patti, Jenny Lind, Joe Maguire, Georgiana Leach,
Sam Mayer, Harry Gates 92
Golden Jubilee of Song Service, June 12, 1896 108
Camilla Urso's Festival, 1873. Madame Anna Bishop, The
Loring Club, Alfred Wilkie, Frank Gilder, D.P. Hughes,
Ben Clark 112
St. Patrick's, St. Mary's, St. Ignatius' Cathedrals. Episcopal
and Jewish Music. J.H. Dohrmann. The Bianchis 123
Great Musical Festival in Aid of the Mercantile Library, 1878.
At Gilroy Springs 130
Authors' Carnival, 1880, President Hayes and General Sherman
Present 137
Vacation Episodes at Deer Park, July 4, 1893 145
In Oakland. Sad Accident. With Brush and Easel. Kind
Friends 152
Party at Dr. J.M. Shannon's Home in 1907 157
Lee Tung Foo 161
What I Know of the Voice and of Teaching 167
Tremolo 172
More About the Voice 179
Political Campaigning. Work as a Patriot on National Holidays
and with the Grand Army of the Republic. Flag
Raising at Monterey 183
Repertoire and Other Data. Distinguished Musicians and
Singers of the Last Century 203
Reminiscences of Early California Musicians and Singers 216
Reminiscences of Later California Musicians and Singers 227
With My Pupils 248
A List of My Pupils 262
THE ILLUSTRATIONS
Mrs. Margaret Blake-Alverson, 1912 _faces Title_
Heirloom Jewel _faces page_ 4
Rev. Dr. and Mrs. Henry Kroh and Family,
Stockton, 1852 _faces page_ 12
Coat-of-Arms of the Blake Family _faces page_ 16
Steamer "American Eagle," Sacramento River, 1852.
Home of Rev. Dr. and Mrs. Henry Kroh, Stockton, 1853 _faces page_ 20
First Presbyterian Church, Stockton, Built in 1849,
the First Protestant Church in California _page_ 25
Pioneer Home of Rev. Dr. and Mrs. Henry Kroh, Stockton,
1851 _page_ 26
Associated Musicians and Singers, 1853 to 1879: Richard
Condy, Mr. Schnable, Lizzie Fisher, Ellen Lloyd, Mary Jane
Lloyd, Mrs. Anna Bowden Shattuck, Judge H.B. Underhill,
Carrie Heinemann, Mrs. Taylor _faces page_ 28
Business Men of Stockton, 1852: Austin Sperry, James Harrold,
Wm. H. Knight, Geo. Henry Sanderson _faces page_ 32
Reminiscent of Benicia in the Early Fifties: Benicia Young
Ladies' Seminary, 1852; Benicia Courthouse, 1853; Prof.
Jos. Trenkle, Prof. Schumacher, Prof. Beutler, Prof. Paul
Pioda _faces page_ 36
Masonic Sheepskin, London, England, 1811. Capt. Chas.
Blake _faces page_ 38
Major-General Benj. Lincoln, of the War of the
Revolution _page_ 39
Sacred to the Memory of Mrs. Mary Kroh-Trembly, Pioneer
Organist, Stockton, 1852 _page_ 42
First Graduating Class, Young Ladies' Seminary, Benicia,
Founded 1852: Mary E. Woodbridge, Mary Ridell, Mary
Hook, Mary E. Walsh; Principal, Mary Atkins; Teachers,
Sallie Knox, Kate Sherman; Pupils, Mary O'Neill, Agnes
Bell _faces page_ 44
First California Bear Flag, Made by Mrs. Blake-Alverson in
Stockton, 1852 _page_ 45
Dedham, Mass., Church Choir, 1861, Men Singers _faces page_ 48
Dedham, Mass., Church Choir, 1861, Women Singers _faces page_ 52
Typical Concert Programme of the Early Sixties in
San Francisco. Oratorio of Samson _page_ 56
Santa Cruz Choir, 1867: F.A. Anthony, Belle Peterson,
Chas. A. Metti _faces page_ 60
Church of the Advent, San Francisco, 1880. Roman
Catholic Church, San Bernardino, 1888. Calvary
Episcopal Church, Santa Cruz, 1864. Pilgrim
Congregational Church, Oakland, 1893 _faces page_ 64
Associated Musicians and Singers of the Seventies
and to Date: Sam'l D. Mayer, Mrs. Alfred Abbey,
"Joe" Maguire, Frank Gilder, Walter C. Campbell,
Mrs. Augusta Lowell-Garthwaite, H.S. Stedman, Mrs.
Mollie Melvin-Dewing _faces page_ 68
Ministers with Whom Mrs. Blake-Alverson Has Been
Associated: Rev. Dr. J.K. McLean, Rev. P.Y. Cool,
Rev. V.M. Law, Rev. "Father" Akerly, Rev. Giles A.
Easton _faces page_ 76
Wm. H. Keith, Baritone, Pupil of Mrs. Blake-Alverson,
1881 _faces page_ 80
Music House of Kohler & Chase, 1851 and 1910. Andrew
Kohler, Quincy A. Chase, S.J. Bruce _faces page_ 84
Heads of Pioneer Music Houses, San Francisco:
William G. Badger, Matthias Gray, Julius R. Weber,
C.H. McCurrie _faces page_ 86
Music House of Sherman, Clay & Co. C.C. Clay,
Leander S. Sherman _faces page_ 90
First Church Choir in California, Stockton, 1852:
Margaret R. Kroh, Sarah R. Kroh, Emma J. Kroh, Ann
L. Kroh, Mary M. Kroh, Sir Geo. Henry Blake, James
Holmes, Wm. W. Trembly, Wm. H. Knight _faces page_ 92
Henry Clay Barnabee, Opera Singer, Associate of
Mrs. Blake-Alverson in Boston, Mass., in 1861 _faces page_ 96
Organists of the Early Years in San Francisco:
Richard T. Yarndley, Gustav A. Scott, Chas. H.
Schultz, Frederick Katzenbach _faces page_ 100
Floral Tributes Presented Mrs. Blake-Alverson on
Her Fiftieth Anniversary of Song Service,
June 12, 1896 _faces page_ 108
Pen Sketch of Mrs. Blake-Alverson, Made by Richard
Partington. Sixtieth Birthday, June 12, 1896 _page_ 111
Mrs. Blake-Alverson on Her Fiftieth Anniversary as
a Public Singer, Sixty Years of Age, Oakland,
June 12, 1896 _faces page_ 112
Mme. Anna Bishop, Prima Donna, Teacher and
Associate of Mrs. Blake-Alverson _page_ 115
Associated Musicians, 1860-1913: Hugo Mansfeldt,
Sir Henry Heyman, J.H. Dohrmann, Alfred Wilkie _faces page_ 116
Original Members Loring Club, San Francisco, 1873.
French Horn Quartette, San Francisco, 1895: Geo.
Fletcher, Wm. E. Blake, Nathaniel Page, Geo. Story _faces page_ 118
Organ St. Patrick's Church, San Francisco, 1875.
J.H. Dohrmann, Organist and Choir Director _faces page_ 124
Eminent Divines for Whom Mrs. Blake-Alverson has
sung: Rev. Dr. A.M. Anderson, Stockton, 1852; Rev.
Dr. Eells, Rev. Dr. Scudder, Rev. Dr. A.L. Stone,
the Right Rev. Ingraham Kip, Rev. John Hemphill,
Rev. Dr. H.D. Lathrop _faces page_ 128
Musical Directors, May Festival, San Francisco,
1878: John P. Morgan, Carl Zerrahn, Rudolf Herold _faces page_ 132
Bouquet of Artists, May Festival, San Francisco,
1878 _faces page_ 134
Authors' Carnival, San Francisco, 1880: Mrs.
Blake-Alverson as Charity Pecksniff; H.G.
Sturtevant as Pecksniff; Alice Van Winkle as Mercy
Pecksniff; Dolly Sroufe, Italian Booth; Henry Van
Winkle, Cervantes Booth _faces page_ 140
Mme. Bowers, Etelka Gerster, Julie Rive-King,
Associates and Friends of Mrs. Blake-Alverson _faces page_ 144
Deer Park Cabin, Lake Tahoe, Dedicated July 4,
1893. Col. Richard Parnell, Sole Survivor of the
Battle of Balaklava _faces page_ 148
Mrs. Blake-Alverson in 1852, 1864, 1874, 1880,
1905 _faces page_ 156
A Group of Friends, Distinguished Singers in the
Seventies and Eighties: Mrs. Margaret C. Pierce,
Mrs. Sarah Watkins-Little, Mrs. Blake-Alverson,
Mrs. Helen Wetherbee, Mrs. Marriner-Campbell _faces page_ 160
Lee Tung Foo, Pupil in the Nineties _faces pages_ 164 _and_ 166
Mrs. Blake-Alverson and Her Two Sons, Wm. Ellery
Blake, George Lincoln Blake _faces page_ 172
Associated Musicians and Singers, 1854-1900:
Frederick Zech, Henry Wetherbee, Adolph Klose, S.
Arrillaga, William P. Melvin, John W. Metcalf, Wm.
M'F. Greer _faces page_ 176
Trophies and Tributes Presented Mrs. Blake-Alverson _faces page_ 180
"Sam" Booth, Popular Political Poet and Campaign
Singer in San Francisco in the Seventies _page_ 184
Mechanics' Institute Fair, 1879. Mrs. Blake-Alverson
in Costume _faces page_ 188
Civil War Mailing Envelopes, 1861. Co. K, Seventh
California Volunteers, Capt O.P. Sloat, from San
Bernardino, 1898 _faces page_ 192
Stephen W. Leach, Musical Director, Buffo Singer,
Actor in San Francisco in the Seventies and Eighties _faces page_ 228
Joran Quartette, 1883: Lulu, Pauline and Elsie
Joran and Mrs. Blake-Alverson _faces page_ 246
PORTRAITS OF PUPILS
FACES
PAGE
Akerly, Mrs. 240
Allison, George 244
Ames, Lucille E. 268
Avan, Clara 224
Bassford, Mrs. Mayme 236
Beam, Edith 196
Beam, Mary R. 204
Beretta, Chelice 208
Bishop, Biddle 196
Bisquer, Marceline 272
Blake, Mrs. William E. 212
Bonske, Hazel 272
Bouton, Cloy 208
Bradley, Dolores 256
Brainard, Birdie 196
Brainard, Carrie 196
Brainard, Mrs. Hattie 196
Bruce, Florence 240
Bruce-Schmidt, Mrs. Winona 244
Bruce-Wold, Mrs. Ruth 240
Bullington, Marie 272
Caldwell, Mrs. O.B. 240
Case, Mrs. J.R. 220
Caswell, Mabel 208
Champion, Rose 236
Christofferson, Jennie 236
Cianciarolo, Lucia 268
Collins, Dr. Addison 208
Collins, Mrs. Minnie M. 208
Cooke, Grace 260
Crandall, Harry 236
Crew, Josie 212
Crossett, Louisa 212
Culver, Susan 220
Cushing, Lillian 224
Davies, Alice 256
Deetkin, Marjorie 268
Derby, Hattie 224
Dickey, Lorena 244
Dobbins-Ames, Mrs. Grace E. 220
Dowdle, Everett S. 212
Dowling, Gertrude 252
Dowling, Leo 260
Drake, Mabel L. 244
Faull, Rose 196
Faull, Sophia 196
Ferguson, Dolores D. 244
Flick, George 240
Foo, Lee Tung 164 and 166
Garcia, Louisa 240
Gerrior, Maud 256
Glass, Mrs. Louis 204
Graves, Bessie 196
Graves, Gussie 204
Greer, Yvonne 272
Griswold, Geneva 256
Harrold, Elizabeth 204
Harrold, Mary 204
Hermansen, Christine 260
Hitchcock, Ruth A. 260
Hunt, Elsie Mae 236
Jackson, Geo. 256
Jones, Ethel 212
Jones, Ilma 260
Jory, Lilian 208
Keith, William H. 80
Kiel, Stella 252
Kimball, Lorena 244
Koch, Ada 220
Kroh, Blanche 256
Kroh-Rodan, Mrs. Mary 252
Krueckle, Anna 252
Lahre, Freda 240
Lanktree, Elizabeth 236
Lanktree-Kenney, Mrs. Sue 240
La Rue, Grace 212
Lessig, Mrs. Chas. 212
Louderback, Mrs. Caroline 252
Louderback, Jean 244
McMahan, Bernard 244
McMaul, Juliet 244
Monnet-Swalley, Mrs. Emma D. 224
Mulgrew, Margaret 272
Munch, Mrs. Emma A. 268
Nagle-Pittman, Mrs. Ethel B. 240
Newell, Bessie G. 220
Noonan, Elsie 236
Oakes, Margaret 212
Osborn, Anita 260
Peterson, Geo. G. 220
Peterson, Minnie 224
Peterson, Pauline 224
Pollard, Daisy 208
Pollard, Etta 208
Ramsey, Peter 256
Rayburn, Mrs. Cora 236
Riley, Mrs. Edna 268
Riley, Ruth 268
Sanford, Alice M. 268
Sanford, Edw. H. 256
Shaw, Lauretta 220
Shultz, Sarah 272
Sroufe, Georgia 196
Sroufe, Susan 196
Sroufe-Tiffany, Mrs. Dollie 196
Starkey, Irma 268
Stewart-Jolly, Mrs. May 204
Stewart, Sue 208
Teague, Mrs. Walter E. 272
Thomas, Edward 224
Tregar, Mme. Annie 204
Valentine, Inza 252
Valentine, Stella 252
Van Winkle, Ada 196
Victory, Arthur 236
Whitney, Mae 204
Wood, Dr. J.B. 224
Woodworth, Leslie E. 256
Worden, Nettie 204
Zimmerman, Charlotte 224
CHAPTER ONE
ANTECEDENTS AND CHILDHOOD
As far back as I can remember my life was associated with music.
Father and mother were both highly gifted. In our family were three
boys and seven girls, and each possessed a voice of unusual
excellence. The looked-for pleasure every day was the morning and
evening worship at which the family gathered in the sitting room to
hear the word of God explained by my father, Rev. Henry Kroh, D.D. The
dear old German hymns, Lobe den Herren, O Meine Seele, Christie, du
Lamm Gottes and others, were as familiar to me as the English hymns of
today, such as Nearer my God to Thee and All Hail the Power of Jesus'
Name. We were not blessed with children's songs, as are the children
of today, but sang the same hymns as the older members of the
congregation.
Father was descended from a royal Holland family. One of his ancestors
was the favorite sister of Admiral Theobold Metzger, Baron of Brada,
Major-General of all the Netherlands, who died of paralysis in the
sixty-sixth year of his life, February 23, 1691, in the house of the
Duke of Chamburg. He had gone with other lords and nobles of the land
to Graven Hage to swear allegiance to William III., King of Great
Britain, who had just come over from London as the regent of the
Netherlands. Even the physician in ordinary, who was sent by the King,
was unable to save him. By order of the King his body was placed in a
vault in the church on High Street in Brada, March 19, 1691, with
extraordinary honor and ceremonies. He had acquired large possessions
and wealth, therefore the King ordered that the large estate of the
deceased should be taken care of, and placed it under the care of
William von Schuylenburg, council of the King. At the same time notice
was sent to all princes and potentates in whose countries there was
property of the deceased to support His Majesty in this undertaking.
Three weeks before his death he had made his will and had given the
name of his parents and his five brothers and two sisters.
His sister Barbara was my great-grandmother. After the death of my
granduncle some of the family came to America. They were not aware of
the death of their distinguished brother and the heirs did not claim
the vast fortune, which amounted to 20,000,000 guilders at that time
and now with compound interest should be to 200,000,000 to 300,000,000
guilders, and is still in the possession of the King and in the
treasuries of the Netherlands. The heirs have been deprived of it all
these years, although they have from one generation to another fought
the case. At the same time the authorities of Holland are not a little
in doubt and are embarrassed for reasons to justify keeping the
Metzger von Weibnom estate for Holland.
But the reason of all their decisions, answers and refusals is the
unmistakable intention to keep the estate for themselves, even at the
cost of truth, justice and honor. The will has been suppressed. We
have proof that General Rapp in 1794 at the occupation of Brada had
taken the will, dated February 2, 1691, from the city magistrate to
carry it to Strassburg for safety. The will has never been executed.
I purposely made this break in my narrative of my childhood in justice
to my distinguished father who should have occupied the place that
belonged to him by right and title, as he was one of the original
heirs mentioned in my uncle's will--the grandson of his favorite
sister, Barbara Metzger von Weibnom. My father was a minister. He was
Christ-like with his people, and it was beautiful to behold with what
reverence the people approached him. He had the mild blue eye the
poets write about, his voice was soft in its tenderness when
addressing any member of his flock. His bearing was dignified and
reverent, and he was a delightful person to know. He was always
hopeful, no matter what difficulties arose in regard to the finances
of the church. In the true sense of the word he was a father to his
people and his family. His elders were all devotion and with them his
word was law. In all the years of his ministry I cannot recall any
unhappy situation with his congregation. Sadness came only when
parting, to be sent to work in another church. He was a great pioneer
founder of churches, and the Synod sent him first in one direction,
then another.
In consequence of these changes I traveled a great deal in childhood.
No sooner had father succeeded in getting a church started and in
good running order than he would be sent to some other section of the
country. In Virginia, where he was born and bred, he was ordained at
the age of twenty-five and soon had a promising charge in Berks
county, Pa. From there he was sent to Evansville, Ind. It was while he
was filling the pulpit at Womensdorf, Pa., that he met Miss Mary
Stouch, to whom he was married in the year 1819. Six children were
born to them while at this pastorate. The church in Evansville had
been without a pastor for over two years and father was called to fill
the position. The parting between the pastor and his people was
particularly sad. My mother had to leave her girlhood home for the
first time in her life.
Oh, what a sad journey it was for them. It was made by stage and boat
and my parents had six young children. Many a time in my childhood I
heard the sad tale repeated. And the reception at Evansville was still
sadder as the church had been closed and the building almost destroyed
by the vicious element and unconverted people who desired no religion
to interfere with their ungodliness. Many attempts had been made to
restore the building, but those who attempted it were stoned and
driven away. When father arrived the people of the congregation who
remained advised him not to do anything with the church, for he would
meet the same fate as his predecessors. But father was not daunted. He
visited the church and the sight of God's house in such a condition
made him more determined to do the work for which he had come. After
calling several members together he gave out the announcement that he
would open the church on the following Sabbath at all hazards. He
asked all of the faith to come to his home Saturday evening. About
fifty responded, and during the business meeting of the evening seven
elders were chosen. When all was satisfactorily adjusted, pastor and
people spent the hours in prayer until midnight.
Next morning the faithful people gathered and father, with the Bible
in hand, led them in procession until they arrived at the church. In
the distance could be seen a line of men, women and boys on both sides
of the steps. The elders tried to persuade father to give up the
attempt and go no further. He turned to them and said, "I came to
conquer for the Lord, and if you do not come with me I shall go
alone." When the rabble saw them coming, they began to shout, "Here
they come. Here come the saints." A boy approached--more bold than
the rest--and as he came father took him by the hand and said, "Good
morning, my little man. I am glad to see the young as well as the old
to welcome me." Then he spoke to the people and said, "You make me
very happy, my dear friends. I did not expect such a large
congregation to meet me, a stranger," and took each by the hand. In
one hand they held sticks, stones and staves. As he spoke kindly to
them, they dropped their missiles and extended their hands. His
bravery had awed them and his kindness and magnetism had won them. At
last he gained the upper step in front of the church and, like Paul,
he cried, "Hear ye the word of the Lord. For today shall peace and
righteousness dwell among you. Hear what the Lord God speaketh to you.
I came not to make war upon you, but bring you the message of peace.
As this building is not in condition to enter, I will give you the
divine message from the door of the temple." After a short sermon he
told them his mission was to rebuild the church, and he was going to
ask them all to help. A short prayer followed his remarks, and the
benediction closed this remarkable epoch in the history of the church.
Before the year was past the church had been restored. The membership
increased, the Sabbath school grew and the church nourished beyond the
expectations of the oldest members.
Two and a half years later we went to Mt. Carmel, a small town on the
Wabash river. Conditions were more favorable, yet it was not to be
stationary, for only two or three years. During that time I was born,
June 12, 1836. I made the eighth child--six girls and two boys. When I
was a little over three years old, father left Mt. Carmel to fill the
vacancy of the church in Jonesborough, Union county, Ill., in an
unsettled portion of the state, among good Christian people who had
begun to settle on farms and stock farms. Acres of grain and corn
fields stretched far and wide. Jonesborough was a very small town
where these people got their supplies in exchange for their produce.
The women wove their cloth and linen and spun their yarn and did the
dairy work, while the men cleared and planted and built log houses,
barns and cribs. We were heartily welcomed by these good, primitive
people. They had waited so long for a shepherd to lead them that many
of the congregation were in waiting and the elders and trustees were
on hand to see to the conveyance of the household goods, which were
quickly put in waiting wagons.
[Illustration: JEWEL WORN BY LADY BARBARA METZGER
Great-grandmother of Mrs. Blake-Alverson]
It was the Indian summer of the year. The foliage was bright and the
air crisp and cool. Although a child, the impression made upon me was
one that I have gone over in my mind many times, and I can see every
inch of the road, the kind people, the beautiful scenery, birds of
bright plumage, and rabbits darting across the road at the sound of
our wheels. It was late when the journey was ended, but we were made
welcome and comfortable by more pleasant faces and willing hands. The
parsonage was a large, barnlike-looking place, built partly of logs
and "shakes." There was one large room and two small ones adjoining
and a shed that extended the length of the house. In the large room
was a fine, spacious fireplace, into which had been rolled a large log
and a bright fire was blazing which sent a glow of warmth and lit up
the logs and rafters and the strips of white plaster, used to close up
the cracks and keep the warmth within the room. The floors were made
of oak and were white and clean. Several old-fashioned split-bottom
chairs graced the room, a long table was placed in the center, upon
which was spread a snow-white linen cloth of homespun, and woven by
the women. While the wraps were being removed the women had placed
upon the table the best that could be prepared for the pastor's
welcome. I'll never forget the delicious roast chicken; baked sweet
potatoes, baked in the ashes, for cook stoves were not known; the fine
hot corn pone baked in the Dutch oven, hot coals heaped upon the lid
to brown and crisp; fresh sweet butter, pickles, preserves. Generous
loaves of bread, biscuit and cake filled the pantries.
When father entered the room and saw the preparation that had been
made he was overcome with the tender hospitality of the women of his
new charge. He could not restrain his tears. As they all surrounded
the table, he raised his hands in prayer and besought God's blessing
upon the people and the charge he had once more accepted. The
congregation was scattered far and wide. Many miles separated the
neighbors and once a week was the only time when gatherings were held.
On the Sabbath the log church was filled with solemn, substantial
people, men and women in their homespun garments, healthy and robust
the men and rosy and buxom the women. Families came in their
conveyances, wagons, carts and old-style buggies; some came on foot,
others on horseback, when they did not own a wagon. Rain or shine,
the faithful assembled for two services. After the morning service the
families gathered and seated under the trees or in their wagons
lunched of the food brought along. A fire was built and a huge caldron
of coffee was made of parched wheat ground and boiled. Coffee in these
days was only for the rich who lived in the cities. Delicious cream
and milk was in abundance for all the younger people. After the noon
repast the children gathered for the Sunday school. The second service
began at 3 o'clock and closed at 4. This work continued for seven
years. During that time the log church was replaced by a fine frame
church large enough to accommodate six or seven hundred worshipers.
During the years of this pastorate my oldest brother, Rev. Phillip
Henry Kroh, was graduated from the theological seminary in Ohio and
had returned an ordained minister. He was at once made an assistant by
my father, the field being too large for him.
In 1841 father returned from the eastern Synod with the sad tidings
that he had been appointed to go to Cincinnati, Ohio. We had lived so
long here, we expected it was to be our future home. We had a
comfortable house, a maple forest, gardens and stock, and the news
came as a severe blow to my poor mother. We had been so happy among
the fruits, flowers and country freedom, we were loath to give it up
for the city. It was with a sad heart that father parted from these
good and faithful people. The only balm for this separation was to
leave brother Phillip with them as his successor. He had become
endeared to them and had done such good work among the young, they
prayed father to leave him if the family must go.
After a journey of three weeks we arrived at the parsonage. The
congregation had purchased the old Texas church in the western
addition of the city, and the parsonage was attached to the church in
the rear. It was a comfortable place of six large rooms. The furniture
had preceded the family and everything looked homelike and
comfortable, so mother had not the sadness of coming to a bare,
cheerless, empty house. We were cordially greeted by the elders' wives
and families, and when we arrived dinner was upon the table for us.
This welcome was more homelike because of our own things having
preceded us. And then we were such a busy family that we had little
time to waste in repinings. We were all put in the harness--the
Sabbath school and choir. We made visits with our parents to the sick
and the poor. Because we spoke nothing but the German language, we
were obliged to go to school. My oldest sister, Mary, was soon
established in the German department of the public school. She was
graduated from the Monticello Seminary, St. Louis, before coming
there. She taught during the week in the public school and on Saturday
taught English in the synagogue. On the Sabbath she played the
melodeon in our church. It was there that, as a child, I learned the
grand old German hymns of the church under her guidance and which
helped to make me the singer I am today.
We had now been seven years in Cincinnati and the church had
flourished so greatly that a second German Reformed church was the
outcome of father's ministry. It was built on Webster street for the
purpose of housing the overflow of the first church on Betts street.
In all this prosperity California gold and missionary fields were
opened and discovered in November, 1847. Father was chosen for
California, and the only way to go was over the plains. What a sad
family was ours while preparations were made which would take father
and brother George, who was now 17 years old, away, as we thought, to
the other end of the earth. At last the hour came and the tie that
bound pastor and people, father, mother and children was severed. My
brother George told me the story of the trip as follows:
"The party left Cincinnati down the river on the steamer Pontiac about
May 10th, 1849, arrived in St. Louis four days after the fire, May
18th, and remained four days at Weston. We purchased a yoke of oxen.
At St. Joseph, Mo., we purchased two more yokes. On the 28th we went
up the river and crossed over on flatboats. Here we camped for the
night. As far as the eye could see it was one level stretch of land.
May 29th we started on the long journey across the plains to
California. Our first mishap came in crossing over a bridge made of
logs, called a corduroy bridge. In crossing over this bridge one of
the oxen was crowded too near the edge. He was crowded off into the
water below and was drowned before we could give aid. After traveling
for seven days more, the first days in June, we came to Ash Hollow. At
this place the party came in contact with a whole tribe of Sioux
Indians. They were peaceful, and we traded with them and gave the
squaws some necklaces of bright colored beads. After passing the
Indian tribe, about five miles away, we camped for the night. We
reached Fort Laramie by noon the next day. Here we purchased a fine
cow to take the place of the drowned ox. She worked well. She supplied
the party with fresh milk as well. Fort Laramie consisted of only the
fort and a blacksmith shop. We continued next day and made several
stops before we came to Fort Bridger, occupied by the man Bridger and
his family. He had a squaw wife and six children. When he learned that
father was a missionary, he brought his whole family to our camp and
they were all baptized. This was father's first missionary work.
"After leaving here we traveled for days before we got to Salt Lake
City, passing through Wyoming. At Salt Lake City father and Brigham
Young had a long and heated argument. A number of men and women joined
in. Among the women were several who did not believe as they were
compelled to, and they were on the side of the missionary. We remained
here a week, and we drove the cattle to feed and the Mormons stole
them two different times and compelled the company to pay fifteen
dollars each time as find money. Rather an expensive stay for one
week. When the party left, the women who favored us came out with
baskets filled with fresh vegetables, pumpkins, sweet potatoes and
squash. With tears in their eyes they said farewell. When we left we
employed the services of a Mormon guide. He purposely led us on the
wrong trail for sixty miles. It was necessary for us to return and get
the right trail. When we started once more he misled us the second
time and directed us into a deep canyon. In order to get out of this
difficulty we were obliged to take the wagon to pieces and piece by
piece we carried them out into safety. His object was to tire out our
oxen and get us to desert them so he could appropriate them. At last
we discovered his treachery and dismissed him at once. Then we
continued our journey along the Santa Fe trail. This was Kit Carson's
trail from Salt Lake to Lower California. We continued our travels
until we reached Big Muddy river and camped there. The Indians yelled
and whooped at us all night long. We could not sleep, for they were
the troublesome Piutes. We did not know how to act as they kept
concealed and were in great numbers. Two of them, more bold than the
others, being also curious, crawled through the willows. We
immediately shot at them. In the morning the oxen were rounded up and
one was missing. He was driven away by the Indians and killed. We
found him several miles further along, with seven arrows piercing his
body. Our next camping place was at the foot of the Sierra Nevada
mountains. The snow was eighteen inches deep and there was no food for
the cattle. After going a mile further the cow gave out. That left us
without any means to haul the wagons. Father left his wagon and we
packed our goods on a horse, this being the only animal remaining in
father's possession. We were compelled to leave many useful things
behind. Father's feet were frozen at this place and we were obliged to
cut off his boots to assist him out of his misery. Our sufferings were
great and we nearly froze on the trail. We kept going at a slow pace
and with great difficulty until we passed the snow belt, and when we
came to the green fields or plains our joy knew no bounds. But
misfortune overtook us here, for we turned our horse out with the
cattle and that was the last we ever saw of him. We came at last to
Cottonwood Springs and we camped there for two days to let the
remaining cattle rest and eat of herbage.
"In the evening of the second day we started to cross the great
desert. We succeeded in crossing by midnight and reached the mountains
on the other side. I was so tired I fell asleep beside the trail. The
team passed me as I slept. I did not awaken until 2 in the morning. I
followed the trail and found the team, a distance of four or five
miles ahead of where I took the nap. On reaching camp, father and the
company were anxiously awaiting me. We rested for the night. Next
morning we started through a deep canyon which eventually opened into
a beautiful valley where we saw houses made of adobe. The fields were
covered with cattle. This was the first civilization we saw since
leaving Salt Lake. Starvation had almost overtaken us and we besought
the owner to sell us an ox and we had a feast and appeased our hunger.
We had lost all accounting of time until we came here. We camped for
the night, and next morning we started for Los Angeles. We arrived
there November 18, 1849. The Spaniards had taken a strong liking
toward father and wanted to make him their Alcalde, but he refused the
honor and told them he had come to preach the gospel and had to go
further. On his going they presented him with a fine horse and saddle
as a token of their esteem for him. At that time Los Angeles had only
a few adobe houses and a Catholic mission. Commodore Stockton had dug
trenches around the place as a means of defense. We slowly wended our
way for another month when we met a man who had bought a thousand head
of cattle. He told father he could earn his way up the coast by
helping drive the cattle, but he was not able to do this spirited
work, so father and son exchanged places. Father turned the horse over
to me and he drove the supply wagon. For the first time in my life I
was a real cowboy.
"We followed the coast through Santa Clara and Santa Cruz, crossing
over to Livermore and San Joaquin valley, this being the end of the
cattle drive. Here we were paid and dismissed and our employer said we
were about forty miles from Stockton and about the same distance from
the mines. We plodded slowly along, following up the Stanislaus river.
The first place we reached having a name was Knight's Ferry. We were
out of money and clothes when we arrived at this place. The ferryman
took us across without pay and bade us remain all night. Up to this
time we wore buckskin trousers. I went out hunting and the rain came
down in torrents and my trousers got drenched. They stretched so long
I cut them off so I could walk. When they dried they had shrunken
above my knees. At this place we met Mr. Dent, a brother-in-law of
General Grant. With him also was a Mr. Vantine. When these men saw the
unfortunate condition we were in, they gave us each a pair of overalls
and a hat. So we were once more a little more civilized and passable.
On our way up the coast we encountered a heavy storm. We had prepared
to camp under a fine tree, but a large dead limb hung directly over
us. I told father that we had better move as there was danger. But he
thought it safe to remain where we were. But I insisted that we move,
and finally he listened to my pleadings and we each took an end of the
bed and lifted it over to the other side of the tree, away from the
dead limb. We had hardly gotten settled into the bed before the limb
came down with a crash, immediately across the spot from where we took
the bed. Had we remained, nothing could have saved us from instant
death. The next day we left Knight's Ferry without a dollar and
reached the mines that afternoon about 4 o'clock. One of the miners
gave me a claim. The next morning I started my first gold mining.
Father was obliged to rest after all this dreadful experience of nine
or ten months. I bought myself a rocker and began to work my claim.
The first day I had washed out $9.50. In eight days I had gotten out
$650. After getting the gold father went to Stockton and bought a
supply of groceries and started a grocery store at Scorpion Gulch. I
took up another claim and in ten days' time I had taken out a
collection of nuggets and small gold to the amount of $1,600."
This was sent home to the family in the East with the message for us
to come to California as soon as we could get ready.
After father started for California we were obliged to vacate the
parsonage for the family of his successor. So the church was raised
and a fine story made under the church for our use while we remained
there. We were all obliged to work and help mother in some way. The
older ones were teaching and we who were but children sewed a certain
amount each day before our play hour came. My sister Mary now played
the organ in the Presbyterian church and Mr. Aiken was the director of
the choir. I was about ten years old at this time, and with the new
minister other changes came in our church and we left the choir to
others who came after us. Shortly after this I remember going one
Sabbath to the church to hear sister play the pipe organ. While in the
choir loft Mr. Aiken came in. He came over and asked me how I came
there. I told him I had come with my sister. "Who is your sister?"
"Miss Kroh, who plays the organ." He looked surprised. Presently I saw
them conversing. When sister came to her place she said to me, "When
the choir arises to sing you go over and stand with the alto." I
demurred and she said, "Go and sing as you have been singing in our
choir. You know the music." After that Sunday I sang with the choir
five years, until we came to California. I was then fifteen. That is
how I became a choir singer when ten years of age. Mr. Aiken used to
pick me out from among the children of the public schools and place me
in the front row in every school I ever attended while he taught the
music.
Mr. Aiken became musical instructor in the schools in 1848. It was
then I was selected to join the choral class. There were fifty boys
and girls picked from the different schools and we had a fine drilling
each Saturday afternoon in the basement of the church. One of the boys
had a high soprano voice and we all admired his singing to adoration.
He was as courteous as his voice was beautiful--unspoiled by praise.
We had one chorus we all loved, of which he was the soloist, and we
were not satisfied with the rehearsal until we had sung, and the
young master had so beautifully rendered the obbligato to the song,
"Shepherd, from your sleep awake, Morning opes her golden eyes, etc."
How well I remember the words of the song and the beautiful boy singer
that left the impression of his voice in my life, and I can see the
picture as plain as if it hung on the wall of my studio today. From
that voice and the correct guidance of my sainted sister Mary I have
been able to sing and please the many thousands of people who have
listened to me in my years of song wherever I strayed--in the East or
West.
In speaking of Professor Junkerman's work in the schools of
Cincinnati, a coincidence happened in 1906 which recalled my childhood
days with all the vivid coloring traced upon my mind fifty-two years
ago. In the number of _The Musician_ for May, 1906, I saw two pictures
that were familiar and I looked without seeing the names printed
beneath them. To my utter astonishment they were the likenesses of Mr.
Aiken and Professor Junkerman, whom I had not seen for over fifty
years and yet I knew them at sight--the moment my eyes beheld them. In
reading the article and what it contained in regard to the music and
its development, I was able to go over the whole ground of Mr. Aiken's
teaching as if I were once more a school child. All three of these
persons were in the schools--Professor Junkerman, in languages, organ
and piano; my sister, Mary Kroh, his pupil on both organ and piano,
also teacher of English and German, and Mr. Aiken, the teacher in the
public schools for voice and the movable "do" system. Was ever such a
windfall of good fortune as this proved to me? I had tried to recall
the name of the dear old professor to use it in my narrative, but my
memory was at fault. We all loved him so well. He was a thorough
musician and thoroughly appreciated by all who had the advantage of
his knowledge, either in languages or in instrumental music. _The
Musician_ contains a complete detail of these two men who were
instrumental in promoting the best music in the early years of 1839
and later in 1842 and continued until 1879 for Mr. Aiken, and
Professor Junkerman closed his public career in 1900.
[Illustration:
Rev. Phillip Henry Kroh
Geo. Z. Kroh
Olevianus Casper Kroh
Mrs. Emma Jane Kroh-Knight
Rev. Henry Kroh, D.D.
Mrs. Mary Stouch-Kroh
Mrs. Mary Matilda Kroh-Trembly
Mrs. Elizabeth C. Kroh-Flagler
Mrs. Margaret R. Kroh-Blake-Alverson
Mrs. Sarah Rebecca Kroh-Harrold
Mrs. Ann Lauretta Kroh-Zimmerman
REV. DR. AND MRS. HENRY KROH AND FAMILY
Stockton, 1852]
CHAPTER TWO
OUR TRIP TO CALIFORNIA VIA THE ISTHMUS, AND EARLY DAYS THERE. FIRST
CHURCH CHOIR IN STOCKTON
At last the long-looked-for letter came that father and brother had
arrived in the mines of California, and in the letter were several
small flakes of gold wrapped in a bit of paper. We had so long hoped
against hope that the sight of the familiar writing caused the
greatest excitement. Poor mother could hardly hold out any longer and
the news was too much for her weak body, for she was just convalescing
from weeks of sickness brought on by hope deferred and waiting and
watching each day for a word from the wanderers. We were obliged to
refrain for her sake, but we were all like as if news came from the
dead--ten long months and no word. After we were somewhat quieted
sister Mary read the letter aloud. It was like reading the last will
of the departed, we were all so unnerved. At the close of the letter
we were informed to get in readiness and that the money was already on
the way for us. It had taken over two months for this letter to come
by steamer, and we counted the days for another with the gold to take
us away to California. What a consternation this news made in the
congregation! They had hoped that father might return if things were
not favorable, but the letter and the gold in the letter and the money
coming to take us away were too true. There was no hope now that he
would return. The successor of father was a young minister, Rev. Henry
Rust. He heard the news with a sad heart, for he and my sister Mary
were betrothed. Father's message was for sister Mary to take his place
as help to mother, who was not able to take the family alone over the
two oceans with all the uncertainty of travel. The weeks of waiting
were spent in preparation. Many busy fingers plied the needle (for
sewing machines were not known at that time). Young as I was, I was no
stranger to the use of the needle, for that is part of a German girl's
education, with knitting and crocheting. I was born in the time of
weaving, spinning and carding. Much brass and pewter household
articles were to be kept bright and shiny. Children in those days were
little housewives and took as much pride in having the family silver,
copper and brass polished as the older ones. The oaken floors were
made white with soft soap and sand, and the comfortable rugs of rag
carpet were woven with special care. The high-posted bedsteads with
the valance around the bottom of white linen, the canopy above draped
with chintz of the daintiest tracings of figures and flowers, and oh,
the feather bed well beaten and made high, and immaculate white quilt
finished a bed fit for a king to rest his royal body upon. While we
had not a grand home, it was a place of order, taste and refinement.
Each one was taught to feel responsible for the good or bad
impressions from strangers who visited us from time to time.
Consequently we all took pride in keeping order, which was the law of
the home, and as young as we were we felt justly proud of praise from
strangers. After school we had so much to sew, mend or knit. When that
was done, we were allowed to play until six. The evenings were spent
in preparing the lessons for the next day. My early years were spent
in work and play. Law and order was the rule, but none of us were
unhappy by the restraint. It was an education that has made the men
and women of our family what they are today. We were home keepers as
well as entertainers.
Having traveled so much during our lifetime, changing from one city to
another, we were not afraid to take this last long journey. The
difficulty was what to take, especially of many of the heirlooms that
mother still retained from her girlhood home. After inquiry and
instructions from the steamship company, we found to our dismay that
no furniture could go, as there was no way of getting it over the
Isthmus. All our long-cherished household furniture must remain
behind. Only things that could be taken up in small boats were
allowed. Kind friends of the congregation made their choice and took
them as keepsakes in remembrance of us when we were far away. This act
of kindness was much appreciated by mother, who suffered much anguish
of mind to see the familiar things of her girlhood scattered here and
there and her claim to them forever gone. She had heretofore been able
to go willingly to different places because the familiar things made
it homelike when settled in new surroundings, but this time all must
be left behind. California was too far--she was going out to the
great unknown world, far from civilization, not knowing what was
before her. If everything else had to be left, she still retained the
affection of her children, and we were as watchful of her happiness
and comfort as if we were her keeper. Her hopes of meeting father and
son, and her children with her, gave her the courage to begin the long
journey.
It was now the year 1851. Mary had been teaching in the public schools
and synagogue; sister Emma was sewing. They kept the finances from
running low, as father's salary had to go to his successor and we had
no other means of support. With good management and many friends we
all came safely through the ordeal. After the first letter we had
received no other word and the second year was passing, although we
had been ready for months with the disposal of our household goods.
The sisters kept their positions, so all went on as usual. In the
latter part of May a rap was heard at the front door and sister Mary
answered the summons and before her stood the express man of Adams
Express Company, and he handed her a canvas sack filled with gold and
a letter addressed to mother from California. Father had sent us
$1,600 and orders to come as soon as possible. He would be awaiting us
in Stockton, California. After our surprise was over, what was to be
done with all this money--we could not keep it here safely. So sister
Sarah was dispatched to one of the trustees of the church who had a
safe in his office. The money was placed in a covered basket and she
was sent with all haste to get to the office before closing time, but
fate was against her and Mr. Butler had closed the office and gone. So
she was obliged to bring it home once more. It was dark before she
came back and there were two men who followed her at a distance all
the way going and coming. What to do to protect this great amount of
money was a vital question. We occupied the first story under the
church and the front rooms faced on Betts street, as did the entrance
of the church. The original parsonage had not been occupied since we
vacated it because the new minister had no family. We still retained
the key. After our plans were made, myself and sister Sarah were sent
out on the sidewalk as if we were playing, to see if any strangers
were lurking around. Mother stood in the front door and talked with us
while sister Mary, accompanied by my small brother, took the money and
went up to the other parsonage and let herself in, then into the
church. It was still daylight. So as not to use a light, she quietly
slipped into the church, removed one side of the pulpit steps and let
my brother crawl over to the other side and put the gold beneath the
steps there. After depositing it, she quietly put everything in place
and returned to the house. Then we retired for the evening.
None of the neighbors knew of the money being received. It came at an
hour when no one was coming home or happened to be on the sidewalk.
The shutters on the first floor were solid wood so no one could molest
us. We had been clearing the house and packing things away. We were
all tired and slept well. Mary and Emma occupied the front room and
for some unknown reason left the wooden bar off that made the door
secure, and these two men came in so quietly that no one heard them.
They had unlocked the doors to escape in case they were discovered.
Mother was awakened during the night and said, "Mary, are you up?" No
answer. After a short silence she heard another sound and she called,
"Are you ill, Mary? If you are, I'll get up and help." Receiving no
answer, she reached out to light the candle, but hearing nothing more
she thought she had been mistaken and went to sleep. She arose early
and found the shutters unlocked and the side door ajar. Then she went
into the parlor and all the chairs had been taken from the front door
where they had been piled. She immediately realized that there had
been robbers in the house searching for the gold. She awoke the girls
and told them of what had happened, and you can imagine our
consternation. As long as we remained in the house we lived in fear of
a second attempt. The next morning sister Sarah was sent with the gold
to our friend, Mr. Butler, who was surprised and simply amazed at the
amount sister gave him to keep. He immediately put it into safer hands
at the mint where the gold was weighed and the value given in money
and placed in the bank subject to mother's order. When Mr. Butler was
told of the attempted robbery he immediately arranged to have the
house watched each night until our departure, which came the first
week in June, 1851. We left Cincinnati for New York and were welcomed
on our arrival by friends with whom we remained for a week. On the
following Monday we secured passage for California on the steamer Ohio
bound for Aspinwall. I was too young and also too ill to know just the
route taken, but after a month we arrived at Aspinwall, and when
our belongings were properly taken care of we started on our journey
across the Isthmus of Panama.
[Illustration: Blake
_Virtue Alone Ennobles_
THE FAMILY COAT OF ARMS]
We were nine days going up the Chagres river in flatboats. This trip,
girl as I was, I can recall perfectly and it was an experience which
has served in after years as an education which I have used in many
ways. We, as children, had access to father's great library and
magazines from which we learned so much of foreign countries and
people. I had artistic tastes and I used to find the tropical pictures
and scenes much to my liking and asked many questions in regard to the
different people among whom the missionaries worked. I had never
thought ever to see or realize such a picture in the tropics as this.
We had a large boat assigned to our family alone. Our belongings were
deposited and two great, black natives were placed at each end of the
boat or scow. They were without clothing, save for a short, full skirt
of white cloth fastened around their waists on a band. Each used a
long pole to propel the scow. We were the only family of women on
board the steamer. There was Mr. Biggar and his wife and a bride and
her husband, besides several colored women and their husbands coming
out to take positions on the Pacific steamers. All the other
passengers were men, coming to hunt their fortunes and go back rich.
There were about eight or nine of these scows. The railroad was not
finished, but it was being built at that time. The surveying was being
done and small cabins were built for the surveyors' use at the
different stations where we camped for the night. The captain had
provided us with food in cans and packages, toasted bread and other
things for our comfort and utensils for cooking, and we had a jolly
picnic for nine long days before we came to the place where we mounted
the burros to take us the rest of the way to Panama.
To describe this journey needs a more romantic pen than mine, but I'll
endeavor to tell you of some of the features and things that we saw
which were so strange and wonderful to me. After we had said our
good-byes to the captain and officers who were so gallant to us and
did all they could for us during the long month on the rough Atlantic,
we climbed into our boat and these natives took charge of it, one at
each end, with a guttural grunt from both. They lightly took their
places and we began our journey up the Chagres river. It was a warm,
bright morning, and a light haze in the atmosphere made it appear
like spring. At first we felt afraid of our boatmen, but soon we were
drinking in all of the panoramic effects of the changing scenes of
trailing vines, tropical flowers and other splendors. The chattering
of monkeys and parrots, the alligators lying upon the opposite shore
like great gray logs, some sleeping, some with their great mouths wide
open to allow the insects to gather on their tongues, were things
never to be forgotten. I observed that when a large number of flies
had gathered the alligators would close their capacious jaws,
satisfied with the sweet morsel, and roll their eyes with apparent
enjoyment. Then they once more slowly opened their ponderous jaws and
quietly waited for another meal. We had gone on our way several hours
without speaking, there was so much to see and it was all so new. The
quaint song of the natives amused us. They never seemed to weary of
the same "Yenze, yenze, _ah_ yenze." At the third "Yenze" the boat
would shoot up the stream twice its length. It was nearing noon and
the sun was getting torrid and the air close and stifling. Without any
warning the rain showered upon us and we were obliged to remain in our
places and let it come down upon us, regardless of results to our
clothing. The rain was of short duration, however, and we rather
enjoyed the cooling effect. Presently the sun shone in all its glory
and in an hour we were once more with dry clothing. This mixed weather
continued the whole ten days of our journey.
At noon of each day we disembarked and prepared our meal, generally
stopping at one of the stations of the railroad. We found quite a
number of white men and Mexicans at each place. They gladly received
us and offered us some of their fare. In exchange we gave them soup,
made in a large kettle, and had several things they were strangers to
in their life in the forest of vines, flowers and fruit of the tropics
where they subsisted on rations of pork, bacon, hardtack, etc. They
gladly accepted our fare and we partook of theirs. Before we started
again the men came to the boat with baskets of fresh cut oranges and
bananas and plantains. They were for us to take on the steamer and we
could enjoy them as they ripened on the way. We received marked
attention from the men at every station. Women coming to California
were a novelty, and when they learned we were all of one family of the
American Padre, they were still more gracious. So we journeyed for ten
days, each day bringing forth some new feature. At night we left the
boats and slept in the bungalows perched high in the air, and to
reach them we climbed steps cut out in a large log placed at the
opening. There was only one large room and we all slept on the floor,
rolled in our blankets. We got but little sleep because of the noise
from below made by Americans and Spaniards playing cards and smoking
cigarettes and Spanish girls dancing as the men thrummed on the
guitars. The Spaniards carried long knives at their sides and pistols
in their belts, wore wide straw hats and red sashes, black trousers
slashed down the side and trimmed with rows of bright buttons.
High-heeled boots and spurs finished the unique garb. The women wore a
white chemise and white petticoat and slippers. Their black hair,
plaited in two braids, and a silk shawl thrown gracefully over their
heads and a fan, which is an indispensable article to a Spanish lady,
completed the toilet. Nothing but troubled sleep came to our relief
during these days. Fear of the Spaniards and the movements of the
lizards on the rafters and walls, with now and then a tarantula, made
rest almost impossible. At last we had only one day more, the tenth
day. We had gotten familiar with the different scenes, the waving
palms, the trailing vines where the monkeys climbed or hung by their
tails and chattered in their own way. The scarlet lingawacha, or
tongue plant, hung in graceful lengths and brightened the varied
colored green in the background. Innumerable families of parrots
talked and screamed from the branches. Bananas and orange trees
everywhere interspersed with tall cocoanut palms, the large and small
alligators basking in the sun on the sand were pictures never to be
forgotten. The natives in their peculiar dress, the fandango at night,
the graceful twirl of the Spanish waltz put the life touch to the
picture that comes to me today at the age of seventy-five as it was in
those days when I experienced, a girl of fifteen, all the discomforts
of travel from Cincinnati to California.
It was about 4 o'clock on the tenth day when we arrived at the small
village where we were to remain for the night and next morning, then
ho! for Panama. We had better accommodations here, a large adobe
house, kept by a Spaniard and wife and daughters, under the
supervision of the steamship company, which also controlled the scows
that we used on the river Chagres. Our goods were transferred from the
scows to the pack mule train. After everything had been safely lashed
upon their backs, our burros were brought and we all mounted astride.
It was well for us we were no strangers to riding. My youngest
brother was too small to ride, so a large native bamboo chair was
brought and strapped upon the back of a large native and in the chair,
safely tied in, sat the brother, as contented as a lord. He was such a
handsome child, mother did not want to have the native take him for
fear he would steal him, so she had the slave start first and she came
behind and rode with him in sight all the way, but she was
unnecessarily alarmed, for he was most faithful. The day before we
left for the steamer he came with an offering of fruit and nuts for
the boy and the madre and senoritas. Mother gave him an extra dollar
and he was greatly surprised and smilingly picked up brother and
carried him to the steamer and assisted us in every way until we were
safely transferred to the steamship Tennessee, Captain Totten,
commander. The ride on the burros over mountains, hills and dales was
an experience never to be forgotten. Slowly, step by step we wound
around the mountain trail. These burros had gone the road so many
years that their tiny hoofs had worn places in the rocks. All we had
to do was to sit tight in the saddle as we ascended or descended the
steep places. The pummel of the saddle was high and we held on to
that, and enjoyed the novelty of the situation. Once or twice we
merged into a plain of a mile or so, then began the rocky ascent. We
refreshed ourselves from time to time at cooling springs that dripped
out from the rocks into a rustic stone basin. The scenery was very
attractive, but it became monotonous as we sat in our saddles while
the burros, step by step, ascended or descended the path they had
traversed so often. Toward night the mountains became more like
rolling hills and there was more open space and sky to be seen. By the
time darkness overtook us we were near the outskirts of Panama and
hoped soon to see the lights of the city. About nine o'clock we
stopped before an adobe building, long and wide, two stories high,
with a large enclosed place for the burros. This was also under the
steamship company's control. This time the proprietor was a white man
and we were able to obtain desirable beds and comfortable fare. He
gave us the best rooms, large and clean, more homelike than anything
we had seen since leaving home. We were so weary it was with
difficulty we got off the burros, having ridden all day long. I could
hardly feel the earth under me and I staggered many times before we
were comfortable in our rooms. After resting for an hour we were
summoned to supper. It was now ten o'clock. Late as it was, we found
the supper so appetizing we forgot the hour and really enjoyed the
first good meal in the ten days we were on the way. The host and his
good wife saw that everybody was made comfortable during the time we
remained there. The steamer Tennessee had arrived two days before and
had all the cargo in and fruits and fresh vegetables on board, so we
were able to sail the next afternoon at three o'clock.
[Illustration: STEAMER "AMERICAN EAGLE," SACRAMENTO RIVER, 1852
HOME OF REV. DR. AND MRS. HENRY KROH, STOCKTON
Built in 1853. Still standing and occupied. Its material came around
the Horn.]
It was almost five when the signal was given for "all ashore," and in
an hour we were steaming along the coast and out of sight of Panama.
The sea was calm and the steamer was steady and I supposed I would
fare better than I had during the first part of the trip. But as soon
as I smelled the smoke from the stacks and the odor of the cooking
food, I was as miserable as before. The rest of the family fared
better and were able to go to the table when the sea was calm. There
were about fifty cabin passengers, and during this voyage we made
several lifelong friends of some of the most prominent men who came
here to make their fortunes. We received the most courteous treatment
from every one. It was like one large family. Captain Totten and First
Officer A.J. Clifton were like fathers to us. Mr. Clifton claimed me,
as I was the age of his daughter left at home, and I used to sing for
him and then I was his "Nightingale." We had learned a song to sing
for our father when we expected him home, and as he did not come we
related the incident to the captain and Mr. Clifton and our friends on
board, and nothing must do until we sang it for all on board. It was
on a moonlight night and we were going smoothly, consequently I was
not ill, and Captain Totten proposed that we should sing the song.
Everybody was on deck enjoying the delightful evening. Everything was
still; only the puffing of the smokestack and the plash of the wheel
were heard. We all clustered around mother and began our song.
"Home again, home again from a foreign shore,
And O! it fills my soul with joy to meet my friends once more.
Here we dropped the parting tear to cross the ocean's foam,
But now we're once again with those who kindly greet me home.
Home again, home again," etc.
Mother, Emma and Sarah sang the soprano; Mary, Margaret and Lauretta
sang the alto. Mary's voice being a deep contralto, she improvised the
third part. The plaintive song, with the sentiment of home
surroundings, touched the hearts of all the passengers and turned
their thoughts homewards, and many an eye glistened with tears.
After the first night of song there never was an evening that there
was not singing of some kind. Sister found some good voices among the
men and we formed a chorus. In a short time we were without an
audience, for everybody gradually found he had a note or two to use,
and whenever it was good sailing we sang. We had two severe storms
when I, for one, was not visible on any occasion. I must confess the
sea and I are not at all friends. We had one storm passing the bay of
Tehuantepec. The steamer rolled and the sea dashed high for two days,
but the boat was faithful to her trust and we safely steamed into the
beautiful bay at Acapulco the last of the week. I had been ill all the
way, going without food, and when we arrived Captain Totten said I
should have one fine dinner. After the passengers had gone ashore we
were taken off in the captain's boat and had our dinner at the hotel
where the captain had ordered it in advance. We remained on shore all
day visiting this Spanish town while the steamer was loading food and
coal. We visited some Spanish homes where the captain had friends, and
we were entertained by these Castilian ladies, who sang their songs to
us. In return we sang for them and they appreciated our music. About
three o'clock we said good-bye and they gave us beautiful mementos of
shell flowers, nuts and fruits and accompanied us to the boat with
their servants to carry our gifts for us. Such a beautiful day of
happenings and surprises for us who had never seen people of this kind
before left lasting impressions in my heart of courtesy and kindness.
By nine in the evening we had left the bay and our newly made friends
far behind and we were steaming toward California as fast as the
steamer could carry us. We had come nearly half the way and were
nearing Lower California when we encountered rough weather off Cape
Lucas. Oh, how the ship tossed and rolled. I thought morning never
would dawn. The wind was against us. The masts strained and creaked. I
really feared we would not reach California. The sea was rough nearly
all the time until we passed Santa Barbara, when it became calm and we
could once more feel that we might reach our destination. We had been
now three weeks on the way and we were longing for sight of land. We
strained our eyes daily, hoping to see the hills, but not until we had
come within two days of the Golden Gate did we see any sign of land.
Fog and distance prevented our distinguishing anything but an outline
of the shore, but as the fog lifted we saw more distinctly the hills,
and each hour brought us nearer to the long-looked-for harbor within
the Golden Gate. And yet we saw no city, only sand hills. We steamed
past Telegraph Hill, then we began to see here and there low wooden
buildings and tents and shacks. Was this then San Francisco? Oh, how
disappointed we were; there was no place to go. We remained on board
until the Stockton steamer arrived. There was no accommodation for
women anywhere. The steamer, American Eagle, came in about 1 o'clock,
and our things were transferred on board, and Captain Totten cared for
us as though we were his family and had everything arranged as far as
possible for our comfort. He explained to the river captain that we
were to be met in Stockton by father. But the captain also had
instructions from Rev. J.H. Woods not to expect father, who had been
ill in the mines, but we were to go to his home until father could
arrive from Scorpion Gulch, where he and brother had a store, and it
was slow travel with the six-mule "schooner," over hills and dusty
roads to Stockton.
It was quite a change from the great steamer Tennessee to the little
stern-wheel boat as it slowly puffed across the bay through Carquinez
straits and up the slough, turning and winding along, sometimes being
caught by a sharp turn in the stream and one or two stops on the sand
bars if the water was too low. We did not sleep much because
everything was so strange and small. We were always in fear of some
accident. The hours dragged slowly until morning, when the boat came
to a stop about seven o'clock. At eight o'clock the small cannon was
fired, informing the people that the steamer had arrived. The captain
came about nine o'clock for us and we breakfasted with him and the
officers. We were the only female passengers, as we had parted with
the other friends at San Francisco, they having gone to Sacramento and
Marysville, with their husbands, to the mines. It was like the parting
of a large family. We had been together two long months, sharing the
changes and rough traveling and the happy evenings on board where the
genial officers did all they could to make the voyage comfortable with
the means they possessed. Before we came only men traveled and they
put up with any inconvenience to get to the gold fields. About ten
o'clock our friend, Rev. Mr. Woods, met us and gave us the message
sent by father, so it was arranged we should go to the reverend
gentleman's home and await his and brother George's coming. Mrs. Woods
was a Southern lady, from Alabama, and met us with warm hospitality.
She was glad to see us, being the only white woman in Stockton at the
time. And we were glad to meet another woman. These good people had
several boys but no girls. We were seven girls and one boy. As
ministers' families, we had much in common. The Woods' cottage was
pretty well crowded, but we managed well, as every one was able to be
a help instead of a burden. A tent was put up in the lot and bunks
were soon made, and we put the men in the tents and the women and
children indoors. We were not yet acclimated and suffered with colds
for several weeks.
We patiently awaited father's return, but three whole weeks passed
before the meeting was granted us. We were sitting in front of the
cottage, chatting and sewing, when about four o'clock in the afternoon
we saw several men approaching and, as we observed them, my quick eye
recognized father. With one spring from the porch I cried, "Father,"
and as fleet as a rabbit I was off before any one realized what was
the cause of my sudden exit. They watched my flying feet and by the
time they realized what I was doing I was in the arms of the dear old
daddy, coming slowly with Mr. Woods, brother George and two friends.
It was our habit, as children, to always meet father when he came home
at night, and when we all ran to meet him the youngest always received
the first attention, being taken in his arms, and the others clung to
his coat and skipped alongside, chatting as fast as we could until we
entered the house. Words cannot express the joy of the meeting after
more than two years' separation. When mother realized that father had
come at last she was like one dazed and could not move. The children
in their happiness were surrounding the long lost wanderers. At last
father spoke, with tears of gladness in his eyes, "Where is Mary, your
mother, my children?" We had monopolized his attention and poor mother
was neglected for the moment. As soon as we had realized the oversight
sister Mary beckoned us all away and we gradually disappeared and left
the two to enjoy their happy reunion. After a half hour had passed,
and while they were softly conversing, we gathered in the main room
and, clustering around sister Mary, we began the song--
"Home again, home again from a foreign shore,
And oh it fills my soul with joy to meet my friends once more."
Rev. Mr. Woods and family were more than surprised to find such voices
among us, and their appreciation was so genuine we gave them one of
our dear old German hymns, a favorite of father's also.
[Illustration: First Presbyterian Church, Washington street, Stockton,
California, built in 1849, the first Protestant church in California.
Mrs. Blake-Alverson, as Miss Kroh, was contralto of the first choir,
organized in 1852.]
The singing seemed to give new life to his long struggle in the
ministry. His was the only church in Stockton at that time, besides a
Catholic church, and it was uphill work to get the men to come to
service. A new thought came to him that perhaps music in the church
might be an incentive for men to forsake one day thinking of gold. So
the choir was established and a large melodeon was secured from San
Francisco from one of the music stores which had been established.
Joseph Atwill began the music business on Washington street in 1850,
just one year before we arrived in November, 1851. It was soon noised
about that the family of Rev. H. Kroh were singers and that by the
first of the month there would be a choir in the Presbyterian church.
A melodeon was to be purchased. Miss M. Kroh was to play the organ and
direct the music and the sisters were to sing. During the time the
melodeon was on the way we had become acquainted with William Trembly,
a fine tenor; James Holmes, bass; William Cobb, tenor; Will Belding,
bass; Samuel Grove, tenor; and William H. Knight, bass.
[Illustration: Pioneer home of the family of Rev. Dr. Henry Kroh, the
father of Margaret Blake-Alverson, Stockton, California, December,
1851.]
Father had returned to take charge of his store and we had moved into
the only house to be found, a story and a half high with eight rooms
and a canvas kitchen. We would call it a barn today, but we thought it
a palace. It was originally built for a small hotel, cloth and paper
on the walls and ceiling, roughened wood floors, everything of the
most primitive make. The rent of it was $80 a month and it cost $1,100
to furnish it. We had matting for carpets, the most common kitchen
chairs in the best room, kitchen table for a center table, and our
dining table was made of two long redwood boards joined together and
placed on four saw horses. Having had so much to do in making the best
out of nothing in the many places before, we had not lost the art of
arranging the furnishings of this house. Fortunately we did not
sacrifice all of our bedding, linens and quilts. We were allowed them
in the freight. The stores kept nothing but the brightest colored
prints and some bright damasks for the use of the Indians who came
down from the mountains and traded for such things. We could get white
cotton cloth, so we were able to have curtains at the windows combined
with red damask. We covered boxes with the same damask, and with
castors screwed on the corners we had some very comfortable stools.
Then a square of damask was properly finished off and made a table
cover for the center table. When all was done we began to feel we were
once more at home. There was yet something lacking. We had no piano
and we were lost without the usual music that made our home so happy.
Dear sister Mary, how we all pitied her. We knew she was suffering
daily from homesickness, the separation from her sweetheart, the loss
of her organ and piano and no companionship with musical people.
Although she never murmured, we could see that her mind was where her
heart was. But her duty was here. She was bravely battling day by day.
We all saw it and hoped against hope to change the condition.
Finally the choir had been formed and the melodeon came. That was soon
compensation for her loss. So the rehearsals began, and on the first
Sunday of the month we gave the first service. We had anthems from the
old Carmina Sacra and familiar hymns and our new found friends all
joined the choir. It was a great service. It seemed that everybody
from the pastor to the choir was inspired. Such an outpouring of men!
Mother and Mrs. Woods in the congregation and five of us in the choir
composed all the female portion of the congregation. The rest
consisted of men of mature years and young men away from home and
entering a church for the first time perhaps in this new country. When
the hour arrived for service the church could hold no more. Those who
could not enter stood outside the door during the whole service. The
evening service was a repetition, and those who could not get into the
church obtained boxes and laid boards upon them and kneeled before the
windows which were opened so they could hear the sermon and the
singing. It was a strange sight for the men to see women and
especially young girls. The miners would come to Stockton on Saturday
to frequent the resorts. Drinking and card playing formed their
diversions. Many a young man turned away from the gaming table to
listen to the music and hear the sermon.
We arrived in Stockton the latter part of November. 1851, and remained
with Rev. James Woods until we obtained this house, where we remained
two years. During that time we had formed the acquaintance of the
foremost merchants, bankers and professional men. The first
Thanksgiving we invited the following gentlemen to dinner: William H.
Knight, Samuel Grove, William Belding, William Gray, Austin Sperry,
Frederick Lux, C.V. Payton, James Harrold, William Trembly, David
Trembly, James Holmes, Thomas Mosely, Charles Deering, Gilbert
Claiborne, Mr. Shoenewasser, Mr. Thompson, B.W. Bours, Charles
Woodman, William Cobb and Charles Greenly. Brother George still had
his team of mules and the large schooner and made his regular trips
from Scorpion Gulch with his friend, Fred Lux, who also was engaged in
the same business. On their way down for this occasion they killed
enough wild game to serve bountifully the needs for this first
Thanksgiving dinner, as the usual turkey was not to be obtained. Wild
geese, rabbits and squirrels were plentiful and our hearts were
gladdened to see such a display. How we worked and baked and planned!
By many willing hands the dinner was prepared and the guests began to
arrive. Including our family, there were thirty in all. Our home had
but two rooms on the first floor. A large parlor, hall and stairway
faced upon the main street, and the dining room led out from the hall
and was large enough to seat many guests. The kitchen was made of
canvas and led into the dining room. There were three fine windows in
the dining room, so it made a pleasant and cheerful place. Although
everything was of the plainest sort, the long table with the white
cloth and greens from the pine trees the boys had cut as they came
along, and the wild flowers we had gathered and placed in bowls to
grace the tables with the greens which were arranged tastefully in
wreaths and festoons, gave a homelike welcome to these men who for
months had not eaten a home dinner or enjoyed the society of women. As
the darkness came on, we lit up the room with candles, having no other
lights. We had not forgotten to bring our brass candlesticks among our
household effects. Mother could not part with them, so they were
carefully packed among our clothing in the trunks and served us
beautifully on this occasion. They got an extra polish of whiting from
sister and me, who were the decorators on this occasion, and we had to
attend to the tables while mother and the older sisters made the
cakes, pies and prepared the roasts and meat pies and other necessary
additions for a dinner of this kind. Father, mother and the older
sisters sat with the guests, and sister Sarah and I waited upon the
table. As young as I was, the impression was a lasting one. Some of
the gentlemen looked sad, some dignified, others joked and others
related stories of home and their experiences in different places
in California until the dinner was over and we adjourned to the
parlor.
[Illustration:
Richard Condy
Judge H.B. Underhill
Mary Jane Lloyd
Mrs. Anna Bowden-Shattuck
Lizzie Fisher
Carrie Heinemann
Mr. Schnable
Ellen Lloyd
Mrs. Taylor
ASSOCIATED MUSICIANS AND SINGERS
1853 to 1879]
The dinner made such an impression that before the guests departed
they had it all arranged that we were to take them all as boarders.
After such a feast of things they had longed for so many months, they
were not willing to go back to the old way of batching it, as they
termed it. We were young and used to housework and we wanted a home of
our own some day. Father consulted us and we agreed that on the
following Monday they might begin to come. We were assigned our parts,
and for two years we worked until we were able to secure our own
house, which stands today in Stockton as one of the earlier homes and
our homestead. While in this house there were times when we still
longed for home and the old surroundings. Sister Mary wanted her
instrument which she supposed she would never have again. Our friends,
knowing this, quietly consulted father in regard to securing a piano
as a birthday offering. But as Christmas Day was the date of her
birth, it was too late for the year 1851. We had already entered upon
the year 1852, and it would take almost a year to get a piano here, as
Mr. Atwill had not imported any instruments as yet. Our friends were
good business men and they immediately set about to learn if a piano
could not be obtained. All this was unknown to any of us but father.
William Trembly and James Harrold, while in San Francisco, inquired at
the different musical stores as to arrangements to obtain a piano.
Kohler & Chase did not import at that time. They dealt in notions,
fancy goods and toys. They were not wholly in the music business until
later in the sixties. Mr. Atwill was at the time on Washington street.
He did not import largely, and when Messrs. Trembly and Harrold came
to him he gladly entered into the plan to get a fine Chickering here
by December 25th of 1852. The cost was to be $1,200, delivered in good
order. The piano order was given, and how it came to California,
whether by steamer or around the Horn, I am not able to say.
All through the year we worked early and late, and our boarders had
increased until they numbered thirty-five. We could not accommodate
any more. There were no amusements of any kind. We occasionally had a
moonlight ride as far as I.D. Staple's ranch, where we were
entertained for an hour or so, then we returned. Our rehearsals went
on each week. New people were coming all the time. Mr. Grove's sisters
arrived, which was another addition to our society. Mrs. George
Sanderson and Mrs. John Millar came to join their husbands, who were
the prominent men in business. Father had secured a lot and our home
was being built, at which we rejoiced greatly, for it was difficult to
work for so many people, and the lack of necessary household
conveniences and of proper kitchen utensils were a great detriment.
Nothing especially transpired during these months. We kept busily at
our work until the season for rain was approaching. Several rough
houses were built opposite, on the corner a saloon, which was an
eyesore to us for it was a busy place where men drank and sometimes
fought with knives. Next to our house was a one-story cottage where
the family of Louis Millar lived, and a fandango house next door where
they danced and played their guitars. We lived on the corner and
fortunately had a sidewalk on two sides of the house, but the streets
were not made and the mud and slush was dreadful. Men crossed the
streets in high rubber leggings. We never pretended to go in the
street at this time, everything being brought to us. We were almost as
closely confined as prisoners. There was no drainage, consequently the
mud remained in the streets for weeks while the rains lasted.
December was approaching and of course our thoughts turned towards
Christmas and preparations for its festivities. Everybody was busy. We
had much to do, for all these men were still with us. There was mince
meat to make, raisins to seed, cakes and pies to bake. Everything we
used came in bottles and cans. There were no fresh vegetables of any
kind, excepting onions and potatoes. It was wonderful how we managed
during all this time under the most trying difficulties, and yet
prepared meals in such a way that our large family was always
thoroughly satisfied. Sometimes we could get bananas from Mexico,
cocoanuts and oranges, but not very often. Christmas eve came at last
and such a busy place, no idle hands these days. Brother George and
Mr. Lux brought with them two large sacks of the finest English
walnuts. They were a windfall to us. We never had seen so many before.
We were used to black walnuts, filberts and other nuts at home. This
was the beginning of all that came to us this Christmas. It seemed
that each one tried to get something we had not had before. Christmas
came clear and bright, but mud was everywhere. Rubber boots were
indispensable this Christmas. Dinner was served about 1:30 o'clock and
everybody seemed to be in the happiest mood. It was sister Mary's
birthday and we were especially attentive to her.
The dinner was over and the dessert was almost finished when a rap on
the front door sounded loud and rough. Father asked Mary to go to the
door as she was nearest. She obeyed and, when she had answered the
knock, a teamster handed her a letter and asked if Miss Mary Kroh
lived here. She replied in the affirmative, and taking the letter she
glanced out of the door and saw a heavy truck with an immense box or
case on it. She said, "You must be mistaken." He said, "Are you not
Miss Kroh? This is for her." By this time we were getting excited and
with one accord the guests arose to see the result. Father became
uneasy at her long silence and came out in time to see her reel
against the railing of the stairs. She had read the note and realized
that her great desire had at last become a reality and her birthday
had brought her the long-wished-for piano. This is what she read in
the note:
"A merry Christmas and a happy birthday for Miss Mary Matilda Kroh,
from her father and many friends who have appreciated her noble
sacrifice of the musical environment of her Eastern home. This
instrument is given as a partial compensation for her cheerful and
noble performance of her duty to her parents and as full appreciation.
James Harrold, C.V. Payton, Charles Greenly, David Trembly, William
Cobb, Charles Deering, Gilbert Claiborne, William H. Knight, Samuel
Grove, A.M. Thompson, William Gray, Thomas Mosely, William A. Trembly,
Henry Kroh, James Holmes, Henry Noel, Austin Sperry, George H. Blake."
When the secret was out, all was excitement. Sister made her exit
upstairs and the men took off their coats and helped with a will. Soon
the beautiful instrument was out of the box and placed in the parlor.
What a rejoicing there was! Father gave orders that Mary must play the
first air, and we awaited her coming, but she had not been able to
control herself to meet the friends and see the most magnificent gift
she ever received. Sister Sarah was dispatched to bring her down
stairs. She found her in the attitude of prayer. After much persuasion
she came down and father met her and led her to the instrument. She
stood for a moment unable to proceed. Seating herself upon the stool,
she began to play the Doxology, but her head sank upon the piano. Then
the tears gushed forth, the spell was broken and after a short time
she was able to proceed. It was now about the hour of seven, darkness
had crept on and the curtains were closed and the lights lit. We all
became more composed, music was brought out, songs were sung and it
was like a new world to us, such unexpected happiness in a far-off
city of the Golden West. Father had occasion to answer a call at the
front door and before closing he accidentally looked out, and to his
surprise the sidewalks and porch were filled with old and young men.
Along the side of the house stood scores of men in the street as far
as the eye could see and some were sobbing. On entering the room he
said, "We have an immense congregation outside. Get out your familiar
tunes--'Home, sweet home,' etc." He then drew aside the curtains and
raised the windows, "Now, my children and friends, give these homesick
sons and fathers a few songs more before we assemble for the evening
worship." We sang until the hour of nine and closed with the Doxology.
Once more father went on the porch and thanked the people for their
appreciation of the music and dismissed them with the benediction. We
closed the windows and curtains and remained with our friends a short
time, when they departed fully assured that they had brought happiness
to many souls by their magnificent gift to one who was worthy to
receive it, my sainted sister, Mary Matilda Kroh.
This is the story of the first piano in Stockton, given to sister,
December 25, 1852. This night was not the only night when men
assembled on our porch to hear the music. Later on a number of men
accosted father and told him that the music on the first night we
received the piano had so vividly brought back home surroundings and
memories of father and mother, that it was the turning point in the
path from which they had strayed and caused them to see the error of
their ways and to come back. Such is the influence of song upon the
young and the old. Anyone who has no appreciation of music in his soul
is an unhappy man or woman indeed. Music is one of the most refining
factors among young men and women. They are always the happiest where
there is music, no matter what other entertainment has been enjoyed.
[Illustration:
Jas. Harrold
Austin Sperry
Wm. H. Knight
Geo. Henry Sanderson
BUSINESS MEN OF STOCKTON, 1852]
CHAPTER THREE
STOCKTON IN THE FIFTIES. BENICIA SEMINARY. GENESIS OF MILLS COLLEGE.
DISTINGUISHED PIONEERS. MARRIAGE
After this memorable Christmas our home was the center of musical
gatherings and the new arrivals to Stockton came into our large family
of young ladies. We were universally sought, and our musical
entertainments charmed young and old. Into our neighborhood there came
a Castilian family from Mexico, the Ainsa family, four or five young
ladies and a son. These young ladies had a musical education of the
highest order. Opera music was their chief delight. Mass music and all
classics were also included in their repertoire. A mutual friendship
was formed. They could not speak English and we could not speak
Spanish. Their voices had been thoroughly trained and we spent many
hours in their society. Very soon we learned to speak Spanish and
their visits were still more pleasant. They were devout Catholics and
in the mother's room was a sanctuary. She was helpless and unable to
walk. She sat in her bed and ordered everything pertaining to the
household. An altar was arranged in the room and they had worship
every morning and evening. Sometimes we would join them and sing the
songs of their church. It was beautiful to see the devotion of these
girls to their parents. We soon learned the vespers and masses and
often sang together for the mother when it was devotion hour and the
priest would say mass. After we moved from the neighborhood we did not
meet as often. After several years they married wealthy white men.
Senator Crabb married one. Afterwards he was killed in Mexico. Mr.
Bevan married one. Mr. Eisen, the flour man of San Francisco, another.
Anita died and Leonora married a wealthy Frenchman; later the family
moved to San Francisco. Miss Lola and Miss Belana sang in the Catholic
churches there. Another addition to the musical family was Miss Louisa
Falkenberg, a most excellent pianist. She afterwards became Mrs. B.
Walker Bours. Her son is also a fine pianist. He is director of the
choir of the Church of the Advent, East Oakland, at the present time.
In the month of March, 1853, we moved into our own home on San Joaquin
street, and most of our large family went with us. Cupid had been
playing pranks in the meantime and, June 18th, my sister Jane became
Mrs. Wm. H. Knight and the first break came in our family circle.
During the year of 1853 it was decided that I should have an
opportunity to finish my education, having left school at fifteen. The
Young Ladies' Seminary at Benicia was chosen, it being the only school
in California where I could complete my studies. I was one of
thirty-five pupils of the second term of the school's existence. Mary
Atkins was the principal, one of the best educators in California.
There was also a Catholic school in Benicia at the time, St.
Catherine's Convent for Young Ladies, and an Episcopal school for
boys. The public school of Stockton was for the lower grades, and I
had had these grades in the Cincinnati schools and had had one term
with my sister, Sarah, at Walnut Hill Seminary. Henry Ward Beecher's
father, Rev. Lyman Beecher, was at the head of the seminary and
Harriet Beecher was one of the teachers. My father and Lyman Beecher
and the members of the Longworth family, who lived opposite the
seminary and were members of the same church and congregation, were
old friends. When father started for California we were obliged to
leave school, consequently my education was not completed.
During my vacation in the year 1854, October 5th, sister Sarah became
the wife of James Harrold, one of the firm of Harrold, Randall & Co.,
of Stockton, and moved to San Francisco. The first class at Benicia,
of which I was a member, graduated. Near the close of the term,
November 7, 1855, my sister Mary married David W. Trembly in San
Francisco. They had been married but a few months when sister became
afflicted with bronchitis, the climate being too severe in San
Francisco for her. They came home, and on November 8th she passed
away. I was sent for, but was too late to see her in life. She died
while I was on the steamer, American Eagle, hastening to her. This was
my first great sorrow. I loved her to adoration and I could not
realize she had passed out of life. To her I owe my proper placement
of voice and art in singing. She was ever watchful of my progress from
the earliest years of my life until the end came. While I have had
several other teachers in voice, no one ever changed my method of
placement.
My first Italian teacher was Prof. Paul Pioda at Benicia Seminary. He
always predicted my success as a singer and told Mrs. Atkins that out
of all the sixty pupils there was but one singer, which was proven to
her in after years when I had attained my reputation. She was glad to
engage my services each yearly reunion until the end of her life.
While I was not her favorite pupil, strange to relate, I officiated as
a singer on four special occasions of great importance in her life and
death. The Sabbath she was baptized into the faith of the Episcopal
Church, Rev. Ingraham Kip, D.D., officiating, I sang for her a special
song in the church at Benicia. When she was married to Judge Lynch I
sang for her reception. The song was Call Me Thine Own. When she
passed out of life I was called to sing in the same church where she
had become a member, and one year after, when we had her monument
placed over her grave, I stood on the platform in the Octagon
schoolroom, where I could look out of the window and see the monument,
and sang the memorial song by G.A. Scott, There is a pale bright star
in the heavens tonight. After this memorial I never went back to the
old seminary but once and that was to visit the old spot where so many
memories clustered. To illustrate this visit I will here insert a
paper that I read before the commencement exercises at Mills College
in the year May 4, 1901.
Mills Seminary is the daughter of the Alma Mater at Benicia. At the
invitation of Mrs. Susan B. Mills the alumnae of Mrs. Atkins-Lynch
Seminary attended the commencement exercises of Mills College of May
4, 1901.
The paper was as follows:
"My Dear Schoolmates: We who are still left of the pupils and
graduates of the old Benicia Female Seminary are assembled here today
at the request of our gracious hostess, Mrs. Susan B. Mills, to join
with her in the celebration of Founder's Day. As the children of the
pioneer of schools of California, it is a befitting testimonial for us
to meet in this magnificent institution which is the honored offspring
of the Alma Mater established in the year 1852. We are grateful for
the privilege she has extended us to meet again as school girls and
exchange greetings and talk over past reunions held yearly at the old
school in Benicia. I have been requested to say a few words in regard
to the school in my time. As I have only my memory to aid me, my
remarks will consist of a short historical sketch of the early years
of the seminary which I entered the second term of its existence,
early in the year 1853. Miss Mary Atkins was the principal and teacher
of all the classes of the school. The number of boarders were 35 or
40, the attendance being increased to 60 by the day pupils of
Benicia. The four years I spent at the seminary were years of struggle
for Miss Atkins, but her labors brought her the reward of seeing the
institution raised to the highest standard of excellence. The
unequaled reputation was firmly established for thorough training and
solid education. Before I left there were 75 boarders and a total of
150 pupils. More room was needed to meet the demand for admission, and
during the vacation the old buildings were enlarged and new ones
built.
"It was a special day of rejoicing, January 1, 1855, when Miss Atkins
assumed the sole management of the school. As I was the oldest pupil,
she often asked me to come to her room to discuss private matters with
her. Although I was only seventeen years old, I fully understood the
great task of establishing an institution of learning in those rough
days. The needs of all kinds were so great and the only way of getting
ahead was to work and wait. Later she had her reward in sending out
into California some of the best educated women to be found in any
land. It is with sincere pride I look back and see those splendid
girls who were, with but a very few exceptions, an honor and credit to
the school, to society and their homes, as wives of some of our most
distinguished statesmen, lawyers and merchants. In my graduating year
I was called home by the death of my oldest sister and was requested
to take up her labors in a private school of sixty pupils,
consequently my diploma was never received. However, at the last
reunion of the graduates, held in the year 1883, I, being the first of
her early pupils to gain a public reputation as a teacher and
vocalist, was unanimously voted honorary member of the Alumnae, having
attended all of the meetings except those that took place during my
residence in Boston, Mass., from 1857 until the spring of 1862, during
which time I perfected my musical education. On my return I attended
each reunion until the end. I think we all felt at the time that it
was the last. Consequently it cast a gloom over the pleasures of our
last meeting, May 30, 1883. On the 14th of September, 1882, Mary
Atkins-Lynch passed away. I received a letter from Judge Lynch,
requesting my presence at the funeral to sing the last song for her.
[Illustration:
Prof. Joseph Trenkle
Prof. Beutler
Old Courthouse
Young Ladies' Seminary
Prof. Schumacher
Prof. Paul Pioda
REMINISCENT OF BENICIA IN THE EARLY FIFTIES]
"I returned once more to Benicia to sing at a concert given by the
Methodist Church. I sang in the same old Courthouse Hall where so
often we had our closing exercises. It was in this hall, June 12,
1856, that I sang Schubert's Serenade for the first time with
Johanna Lapfgeer, soprano, afterwards Mrs. Dr. Bryant of San
Francisco. I still have the programme which today is fifty-five years
old. My return was in 1898. After the concert I hoped to see many of
my old friends of Benicia, but there were but six present of all I
knew long years ago. I marveled at the small number left. The next day
I visited the old school. As I stood at the door I slowly surveyed the
scene and my thoughts went down the vista of time and filled my heart
with sadness at the dreadful dilapidation of the school where so many
bright minds had been educated and gone forth to make names and
reputations among the most honorable women in the state. After I was
admitted and allowed to survey the place I stood in the entrance of
the old schoolroom. In my mind I could recall the faces of the girls
as they sat at their desks long ago. The decay of the school was all
so dreadful to me I could not hold back the tears. I turned quickly
away and sought the old well where we had so often quenched our thirst
as girls, when life was young and hopes high. I found the friend of
long ago, but, like all the rest of the place, it was also in the last
stages of decay. I had become so sad at all this passing away I did
not feel the pleasure I had anticipated in visiting the school again.
The teachers that were employed during my time at school were: Prof.
P. Pioda, music and language; Mary Atkins, principal; Miss Cynthia
Vaughn, assistant; Mrs. Reynolds, teacher of the younger day pupils;
Miss Pettibeaux, painting and drawing; Miss Johanna Lapfgeer, piano
and German; Samuel Gray, bookkeeping; Margaret Kroh, writing and
drawing. The directors were: Dr. S. Woodbridge, B.W. Mudge, Samuel
Gray, Dr. Peabody, Captain Walsh and J.W. Jones.
"As far as I can recall them, the names of the former pupils were:
Emily Walsh, Benicia; May Emma Woodbridge, Benicia; May Hook, Benicia;
Mary Riddell, Benicia; Josie Latimer, Stockton; Minnie Latimer,
Stockton; Elizabeth Manning, Stockton; Frances Livingston, San
Francisco; May Livingston, San Francisco; Kate Grimm, Sacramento; Mary
Bidwell, Chico; Mary Church, Chico; Rose Reynolds, San Jose; Sallie
Tennant, Marysville; Mollie Tennant, Marysville; Althea Parker,
Stockton; Miss Rollins, Martinez; May O'Neil, Sacramento; Aggie Bell,
Sacramento; Maggie Kroh, Stockton; Sophia Dallas, Stockton; Mary
Dallas, Stockton; Nellie Meader, Stockton; Mary Vincent, Sacramento;
Ella Hunt, San Francisco; May Warren, San Francisco; Georgia Warren,
San Francisco; Grace Woodbridge, Benicia; Ruth Vaughn, Sacramento.
"The day pupils were: Mary Hastings, Benicia; Virginia Hubbs, Benicia;
Lou Boggs, Napa; Percy Garritson, Benicia; Maria Barber, Martinez;
Amanda Hook, Martinez; May Hook, Martinez; Mattie Carpenter, San
Francisco; Rebecca Woodbridge, Benicia."
The Benicia girls were seated at a table especially decorated for the
occasion. Through the thoughtfulness of Mrs. Mills, eighteen of the
old class were present at this time. This was the last meeting that I
ever attended of the members of the Alma Mater, for on September 1,
1901, I was thrown from a street car and made a cripple for the rest
of my days and my usefulness was cut short for filling engagements of
any sort. Since my recovery I have confined myself to voice teaching.
Only on a few occasions have I appeared in public. This was either on
Decoration Day or the Fourth of July, when my patriotism was aroused.
I was always ready to sing for Old Glory or help our boys who fought
in 1861.
[Illustration: Captain Charles Blake
AN ANCIENT SHEEPSKIN, FROM THE GRAND LODGE OF FREE AND ACCEPTED MASONS
OF LONDON, ENGLAND, 1811, THE FIRST ISSUED TO AN AMERICAN]
In 1855 when I left the seminary I returned to my home in Stockton. My
parents were getting along in years and I felt it my duty to aid them
if possible. There were many families in Stockton at this time and
young children were everywhere. I conceived the idea of an infant
school composed of little boys and girls too small to go to the public
schools. My suggestion met with approval wherever I applied, and I
soon had thirty pupils promised. I rented a cottage of one room across
the slough from my home. On July 1, 1856, I began and soon had a
school full of little folks, numbering thirty-five. I continued
teaching until September 17, 1857, when I also followed my older
sisters' example and was married to George H. Blake, the eldest son of
Sir Edwin Blake, who was Minister Plenipotentiary to England from
America at one time. My husband was also the grandson of Major-General
Benjamin Lincoln, a heroic officer of the Revolution and a skillful
diplomat in the councils of his country. Lincoln was born in Hingham,
near Boston, May 23d, 1733. In 1775 he was elected a member of the
Provincial Congress and was appointed on the committee of
correspondence. In 1776 he received the appointment of brigadier and
soon after that of major-general. He rendered valuable services in the
trying campaign and signalized himself in the battles on the plains of
Saratoga which proved so disastrous to Burgoyne. He was severely
wounded during these battles. In the battle that took place on
October 7, 1776, he was obliged to leave the army. He did not return
until the following August, when he was immediately sent south to
assume command of the army in that quarter, which on his arrival at
Charleston in December, 1778, he found in the most miserably destitute
and disorderly condition. But his indefatigable industry and
diplomatic energy enabled him in the following June to take the field.
Such was his popularity with the army and the whole country that when
he rejoined the army in 1781 to co-operate with the southern army, he
had the high satisfaction of taking part in the reduction of Yorktown
and of conducting the defeated arm |
