January 18, 1865

Dear Diary,

I suppose it will not be the roughest trip I ever take in my life, but it is hard to imagine any rougher. If my chums or my uncle could see me now, they'd truly think I'd gone daft. For, Dear Diary, I am writing this in a mule stall. Yes...a mule stall. When the Shamus O'Flynn set sail and we discovered we'd be sleeping in filthy stalls, naturally the girls were furious. So...some decided to mutiny! Candy Pruitt even found a gun somewhere. And they demanded that the boat return to New Bedford immediately.

Of course Jason Bolt, with his fine and fancy words, managed to turn things around. He gave one of his stirring speeches about how we women shouldn't be complainers and how, once we arrived in Seattle, we'd be so tired after a hard day's work that we'd be grateful for any place to lay our heads.

Oh, thank you so much, Mr. Bolt, thought I. You said nothing of hard work or tiredness during the meeting in New Bedford, did you? For 'tis true...in that meeting Jason spoke only of the beauty of Seattle and the tall, strong, wonderful men who awaited us there. It wasn't until the ship was far from shore that he mentioned work, or anything else unpleasant!

In spite of all this, I had not been favoring mutiny. I was all for buckling down, cleaning out the stalls and just getting on with it. I'm rather glad the mutiny fizzled out.

January 19, 1865

Life on the ship continues. We girls have been working to make our surroundings as livable as possible. I have even begun cross-stitching a picture that will say "Stall Sweet Stall." One must have a sense of humor, I always say. I have set my mind to enjoy the voyage as much as possible, despite the conditions and despite the fact that Miss...I mean Amanda reminds all within earshot, every chance she gets, that I used to be her maid.

January 20, 1865

A few of the girls seem determined to catch husbands even before we arrive in Seattle. Some are making absolute ninnies of themselves, throwing themselves at the Bolt brothers and the sailors. I will admit Jason Bolt has a certain charm-- had he not, would we all be here?-- but I refuse to make a fool of myself over him! No, not me!

January 25, 1865

As I write this, most of the girls have retired for the night. It is quiet and dim in the hold. The girl in the stall opposite me is putting her hair up in crimpers. The one to the right of me moans pathetically...whether from seasickness or homesickness, I am not certain. The one on the other side weeps softly.

No, it will not be an easy journey. But I have put my hand to the plow, and there is no turning back. What I will not do for a husband!

Dear Diary, good night.

February 4, 1865

Our lives aboard ship have settled into a routine. In the afternoons, we girls gather on the deck to knit and talk. It is so warm for the time of year, compared to New Bedford! It feels almost like summer.

Lately I have begun to suspect that one or more of the children on board are being pesky little jokers...probably out of boredom more than naughtiness. Yesterday Sunny Gates and Angie Catlett and I spent hours washing our clothes and hanging them to dry. Later we returned to find that all of our clothing had been mysteriously removed from the rigging! After a long and frustrating search, finally I heard Sunny call out, "Here it is!" She had found our laundry stuffed into one of the lifeboats and covered with a tarpaulin! Sunny and Angie and I spent hours sorting through the wet clothing and unmentionables, figuring out which items belonged to whom, washing everything again, and re-hanging it. Then we took turns watching it from a distance as it hung to dry, hoping to catch the culprit...or culprits. No luck...but oh, if I find out who did it, I will box their ears for certain!

February 8, 1865

I checked the list today. There are only 12 people ahead of me for the bathtub! Oh, what heaven it will be to take a nice, hot bath!

February 11, 1865

Today I got up very early and was strolling through the ship when I spotted Jeremy Bolt standing at the rail. I joined him, knowing that he is painfully shy, hoping to engage him in conversation. I neglected to mention before, he speaks with a stutter, and I am certain that is why he is so withdrawn and quiet, unlike his brothers.

When I bid him good morning, he just nodded at first. After some small talk, during which he responded with only a few words at a time, he finally said, by way of explanation and apology, "I s-s-stutter."

"I know," I said, thinking it best to be matter-of-fact about it. "Have you tried shouting?"

"Sh-shouting?" He looked at me as though I was daft, as well he might.

"Yes. People do not stutter when they shout. Did you know that?"

He merely shook his head, his expression the same.

"Try it," I urged. To demonstrate, I leaned over the rail and yelled at the top of my lungs. "PETER PIPER PICKED A PECK OF PICKED PEPPERS!"

Jeremy laughed a little, then did the same.

"See?" I told him. "You didn't stutter once."

"B-but I c-can't go around sh-shouting all the time!"

"Why not? Some people do!"

We laughed.

"I don't s-stutter when I sing, either," he said shyly.

"Is that a fact?" said I.

He nodded. "My f-father noticed it when I was small...that I didn't s-stutter when singing, that is. So...he encouraged me to s-sing after that. My brother J-Josh helped. We'd sing together...doing harmonies." Then he stopped talking, looking as though he couldn't believe he'd said so much.

"I'd like to hear you and your brother sing sometime," I said.

I rather liked him. Some of the girls have been saying that Candy Pruitt seems all wrong for him. I don't agree. She's much bolder than he, so I think they probably balance each other out nicely. I'm happy for him that he's found her. And I'm flattered that he spoke to me so much today. Usually he speaks only to Candy, and he acts as though we other Brides are fearsome creatures to be avoided at all costs.

Just then Joshua came running up. He looked terrible...rumpled, and his eyes all red. I suspect he had a much better time in Rio last night than did his younger brother.

"J-Josh! What's wrong?" Jeremy asked, sensing the alarm.

"It's the Brides!" Josh exclaimed. "They're demanding a meeting. They're pretty steamed. Jason sent me to find you."

"What is it this t-time?" Jeremy inquired.

"They want to go ashore. I'm afraid they might try to mutiny again!"

At that, the brothers excused themselves and ran off. That was the first I'd heard of a meeting. But my guess is that Candy Pruitt is behind it! Well, this time I say good for her. I'd like to see Rio myself!

February 14, 1865

Thanks to Candy and her demands, I have seen Rio! It was so amazing my eyes could scarce take it all in. It was a different world. Whites and Negroes intermingle and even marry each other! No one seems to think anything of it! And everyone seems so free. People openly stared at us girls in our carriages...there is no reserve or restraint, as in New England. There are peddlers all over, people singing, laughing...it is wondrous! The narrow, crooked streets are loaded with shops...the signs in French and Portuguese. I tasted chocolate cake for the first time! It was heavenly. All night long, in our stalls, we girls talked and buzzed about it and could not sleep. What an adventure!

February 17, 1865

Today I met our new passengers, the Reverend Mr. Simonton and his family, on deck. Mrs. Reverend was rather vexed about their accommodations, even though the captain has given up his very own quarters for them. She did nothing but complain.

The reverend asked me all kinds of questions about my past, and why I wish to "sell myself" by running off to Washington Territory to marry some man I do not even know. When he asked my religion, and I replied "Catholic, sir," he informed me that the Catholics are idol-worshippers. I had to bite my tongue to hold back a sharp reply.

The daughter, Martha, is a spoiled, whining creature who orders everyone about impertinently and was not even admonished or corrected by her folks for doing so.

The only one I liked was Thomas, the son. He seemed respectful and rather shy. I felt sorry for him and wondered how he managed to turn out so well. But I suppose every family has the "odd" one!

Well, my hand is quite sore from writing! Dear Diary...good night.

April 13, 1865

Our captain is very upset with us. Some of the girls have been flirting with his crew, he says, causing the men to abandon their posts or to do a poor job. Rumor has it Captain Clancey thinks we Brides are a bunch of shameless tramps who must be restrained! I confess I find it very amusing.

April 16, 1865

Well, the girls are fairly up in arms, buzzing and chattering in the stalls. Clancey, still angry because women are flirting with his sailors, has now imposed a curfew on us! We are required to be below by 10:00 at night, and we must stay there until breakfast the next morning! I'm certain I don't care...I have no desire to roam the ship after 10:00 p.m., anyway. But it is the principle of the thing. Several of the girls have vowed to defy him.

Sally Hill, especially, is furious. She is the pretty blonde who lived down the street from the Forresters in New Bedford. She has a beau amongst the sailors. Truth be told, there are about four sailors who think they are her beaus, but one in particular, who works nights, is her especial favorite. As I write this she is ranting and raving. She says she will not be kept from her sweetheart...thinks Clancey is heartless and cruel...and she fears her young man will throw himself overboard if he cannot see her when he goes on his shift this evening. She is crying rather dramatically in her stall right now, and is being comforted by several other girls.

Oddly enough, Candy Pruitt does not seem to have any desire to get behind this cause. She doesn't understand why anyone would want to roam around the ship late at night, flirting with sailors. So several of the girls have come to me, asking me to think of a solution. I admit I am baffled, but I will try to come up with something.

April 17, 1865

Well, now things have truly gone too far! Ruby Maxwell dared to be on deck later than 10:00 p.m. last night, having lost track of the time, and Clancey quite rudely escorted her back to the hold, like a naughty child. Then, around 10:30, Rachel Miller, Biddie Cloom and Ann Mitchell tried to sneak out, only to find that Clancey had posted one of his men at the top of the stairs to prevent us from leaving! He chose Owen Pritchard to be our guard...a stoic, stern-faced man who never smiles. Well! This is the final straw.

April 18, 1865

I believe Mr. Owen Pritchard now regrets the day Clancey chose him to guard us! If ever a poor man's life was made miserable by a bunch of females, it was his. And I cannot say that I regret it, or feel the least bit sorry.

Mr. Pritchard was posted at the top of the stairs again last night, just as he was the night before. So I sent Sally to flirt with him, thinking she could distract him so that some of the other girls could escape. I believe Sally was more amazed than anyone when she had no luck at all! Mr. Pritchard seemed totally oblivious to her charms, remaining stone-faced and unyielding.

So we tried another tack. At my urging, Franny and Abigail pretended to have an argument, fighting over an imaginary beau. "He's mine!" "No, he's mine!" they shouted. They raised such a ruckus that Mr. Pritchard finally came downstairs to break it up. While he was thus occupied, Sally, Linda, and Mary Ellen escaped up the stairs! Success!

A half hour later, Lulu Bright approached Pritchard, claiming to be ill. "I must have a breath of fresh air, or I will swoon," she begged. She did quite well -- I do believe she could have had a career on the stage. Pritchard appeared suspicious, but when Lulu acted as though she was going to topple down the stairs in a dead faint at any moment, he dared not ignore her. He escorted her to the deck, "just for a minute," which was long enough for Cathy, Jane, and Becky to leave the hold and run off in three different directions!

And so it continued. We cried. We fought loudly with each other. We feigned sicknesses, or injuries. We did whatever we could to distract Mr. Pritchard, or simply to drive him mad. We had him running up and down the stairs all night, fetching and carrying for us, scolding us, and trying to keep us in line. In the process, about 20 girls managed to escape. Clancey tried to round them all up and escort them back to the hold, but he could not follow or catch up with all of them. He must realize now that he has a battle on his hands! Surely he will drop this ridiculous curfew!

April 19, 1865

Early this morning I was told that Clancey wished to see me. One of the sailors escorted me to the pilot house, where I found our captain in quite a state of agitation.

"What in the name of the Great Horn Spoon is going on down there?" he loudly demanded. "It's not bad enough you...you...you daughters of sea witches have been flirtin' with me men...so's they can't even do their jobs proper...but now yer defyin' me orders!" He shook his finger at me. "And what I been hearin' is that yer the schemin' little she-wolf what's behind it all!"

I smiled sweetly. "Why, Captain," I said. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

"Oh, don't play innocent with me!" he shouted, red-faced. "I told Jason Bolt there was no such thing as ladies...only Jezebels! And this proves it! Prowlin' me ship at night, yez are...vampin' me men...makin' it so's they can't even think straight, much less work! I was right when I told Jason you females should be boxed up and shipped to Seattle in crates!"

"Hmmph," I said to that. "What about the men? Shouldn't they be able to control themselves and concentrate on their jobs no matter what?"

At that, Clancey could only stammer in disbelief for a moment. "What?" he finally howled. "How the divvil can they concentrate, with youse...youse shameless hussies sashayin' about, flauntin' yerselves all over me ship? Now, you listen here, Missy...from now on, I expect you women to obey me curfew...and you tell the others I said so, too!"

I folded my arms. "Absolutely not," I replied stubbornly. "Why, you are treating us like children!"

"Treating like children, ya say?" he bellowed. "Well, if yas are gonna act like children, maybe it's a spankin' yez all need! And furthermore, I ought to..."

Well! At that point he began to rant and rave, shouting and using the sort of language one would expect from an angry sea captain. I will not even attempt to reproduce his words. But I was not about to meekly endure it! No...I merely shouted over him, giving him insult for insult! Though of course I did not use quite the same language. But I outlasted him, and to my surprise, he suddenly began to laugh.

"Ah, dearie! Yer Irish, ain't ya?" he asked with a cackling laugh.

"Aye," I replied with a grin.

"I thought so. Now, listen, darlin'," he says, sweet as pie now. "Can't ya go to them other girls...ask 'em not to flirt with me men anymore? There's a good girl."

"Well, Captain, I will tell you what. If you will abolish the curfew, I promise to talk to the ladies."

"Ah, yer a girl after me own heart! Ya got yerself a deal, dearie!"

By the end of our conversation, we had discussed what parts of Ireland we were from, and many other things, and now I believe we are fast friends. Fancy that!

The girls were quite relieved when I told them there was no more curfew. But I suspect no one was more relieved than Owen Pritchard.

April 26, 1865

Well, I have seen San Francisco! As you know, Diary, I have never cared much for cities. But San Francisco is beyond words. Two sides of it are framed by the San Francisco Bay, and the third side is the Pacific Ocean...or the Sundown Sea, as the Costanoan Indians called it. (I learned that from Captain Clancey!) Charming homes are scattered on the many hills, as if a giant dropped them here and there. It is so beautiful, so bright...it almost does not look real.

Well...I must admit not *all* of it is beautiful. First we walked down Pacific Street, where almost every building is a saloon. Joshua Bolt told me that sailors come ashore after months of being at sea, go to Pacific Street, and by morning they have spent all of their wages. If by some miracle there is anything left in their pockets come sunrise, a thug will gladly rob them of it. Perhaps Joshua was teasing me, or trying to frighten me. But I was very glad it was daylight when we walked there, and that there were so many in our party!

Then some of us climbed Telegraph Hill or, as my British friend Hazel in New Bedford called it, "Tellygrahft 'ill." I will have to write to Hazel now and tell her that I have seen it and even climbed to the top! I was glad I'd worn my most comfortable shoes. The view was breathtaking and well worth the climb. The hills across the bay were gorgeous, the sky clear and without fog, and there were little whitecaps on the water. I could have stayed all day.

April 28, 1865

Today we had the thickest fog I've ever seen. The foghorns bellowed loudly on the ferries and ships anchored in the bay...such a low, mournful, and almost frightening sound. But I could not remain melancholy...Jason Bolt had arranged a surprise for us...carriages to take us to Cliff House!

Once we reached the city and our carriages rumbled over the cobblestone streets, I tried not to gawk at everything and everyone. But I could not help it. The streets were filled with vehicles of every sort. I saw a double-brougham driven by a coachman and pulled by two magnificent black horses! Some finely dressed ladies and gents rode past in a carriage made of glass, so they could see and be seen. I nudged Rachel sitting next to me and pointed it out. "Oh, yes," she told me. 'People are making huge fortunes in San Francisco!" I believe it.

When we arrived at the Cliff House, some Chinese men who worked there immediately appeared and helped us ladies descend down the stepping blocks. Then we were taken to a magnificent foyer. Beyond it was a banquet room with a huge chandelier, a long, long table, and windows facing the sea. I walked to one of the windows and looked out. I could see the Seal Rocks -- and sea lions! -- and the vast, vast ocean. We were lucky to be able to observe the sea lions, Jeremy told me, as they will only remain until May.

"Where will they go in May?" I asked him.

"Well...you know."

"I don't know. Tell me!"

Finally he admitted that they go to their breeding places in May. Poor Jeremy was a bit shy to say "breeding places," and he stammered over the words!

Some of us went to the balcony of the Cliff House and looked at the water. We saw groups of people on the beach, and some were wading. The water looked so inviting! I yearned to take off my shoes and stockings and wade myself!

And oh, Diary, the people we saw! One lady wore a daring, clinging, deep red velvet gown. Another wore a dress of all white -- how luxurious! -- and a long coat that I think was ermine. And the diamonds! Oh, how difficult it was not to stare like a complete ninny! I needn't have worried, though. Most of the people had their noses in the air, and appeared rather haughty. It seemed to be beneath their dignity to notice me, anyway, so I looked to my heart's content.

At one point Biddie Cloom began chatting with a young man who seemed to be a cook for the hotel. He exited briefly through the swinging doors to the kitchen, came out and handed Biddie a little plate and tiny spoon. Filled with curiosity, Ann and I approached her.

"What is that, Biddie?" Ann asked. On the plate was a small lump of something black and...bumpy. "I was talking to one of the cooks," Biddie explained. "I flirted with him just a teensy bit, and he gave me this. He said it's a very expensive delicacy!"

Ann wrinkled her nose. "What is it called?"

"Caviar!" Biddie said. "Try some."

I was the only one brave enough to taste a tiny bit. It was horrid...salty and slimy. "What is it made of?" I asked, making a face.

"Well," Biddie said calmly, "the chef told me it's fish eggs."

Fish eggs! I barely managed to avoid spitting it out and making a complete spectacle of myself. We had quite a laugh over that.

We left the Cliff House, boarded the carriages again, and this time we were taken to the beach for a picnic. It was relaxing and lovely as the waves pounded against the rocks and gulls screeched overhead.

Now that I am back on the Shamus O'Flynn and have read what I just wrote, I must admit that I have not done it justice at all. So much beauty...so much adventure...I feel inadequate to describe it.

"Didn't we have a perfectly splendid time?" Franny, the girl who shares my stall with me, asked me. "I think I could get used to living in San Francisco. And wouldn't it be scrumptious to be as rich as some of those people we saw?"

I told Franny I would have to think about it. "What is there to think about?" said she. "It would be wonderful!" She sighed in a contented way, then began writing in her own journal.

I am not sure I agree with Franny. The more I consider the matter, the more I believe I would not like to live the wealthy life. I am poor, yet didn't I enjoy the loveliness of the beach just as much as those sour-faced women with all of their jewels? Yes, and probably more! I would rather be little me...plain and happy.

While chatting with Jason today, he told me not to expect Seattle to be anything like San Francisco. I am glad.

May 10, 1865

This morning I awakened to the squeals of several other girls. "Seattle! We're here!" they shouted. As they all scurried around me, quickly dressing and laughing and chattering, I suddenly found myself frozen, unable to move. This was it! This was what I had been waiting for. I realized that up until then, Seattle hadn't seemed real. But soon I would be seeing it...my new home...the town where I would probably be living the rest of my life! My stomach was all fluttery and there was a lump in my throat. This was the day I would learn whether I'd made the right decision in coming to Seattle...or whether it was the biggest mistake of my life.

I finally managed to get myself moving, dressed and on deck. I have learned that Jason Bolt sometimes exaggerates, but there is at least one thing he was truthful about...the beauty of Washington Territory. The scenery was inspiring, with tall, feathery trees and snowcapped mountains.

As the ship pulled in to the crude wharf, the residents of Seattle...mostly men...gathered around to meet us. They craned their necks, waved madly, and cheered with excitement! I felt as though I was in a dream.

The next few hours are a blur. One of the first people I was introduced to was a Miss Hatfield, a friendly lady who runs the only saloon in town. I am pretty sure she was wearing cheek rouge, and I do not think her hair color was real. But she was very warm and kind, and I liked her very much.

I must have met each and every resident of Seattle, too many to remember them all, but a few stand out in my mind. There was a man...his name was Aaron...Temple? Or Stemple? I cannot recall. Anyway, he owns the sawmill. He was dressed like a dandy and was obviously the most important person in Seattle. He was rather good looking, but not as friendly as the other townspeople. There was a schoolmarm, who was introduced to me as "Miss Essie," and she seemed very nice. We brides were welcomed with such kindness and enthusiasm by everyone, and the loggers and mill hands fell all over themselves to show us attention. Not being used to such treatment, I was quite dazed.

One of the loggers I met had the odd name of "Corky." I asked him if he would please point out where the brides' quarters were, as I was curious to see where we would be living. For some reason Corky became quite flustered at that point, although he had been very friendly and talkative up until then, and he quickly excused himself and hurried away. So I still have not seen our living quarters. But they must be quite a ways from town, as I saw no buildings that looked as if they could house 100 women. However, no one else seems worried about it, so I will just wait and see.

Although they couldn't have known exactly when our ship would arrive, the Seattle people managed to throw together a party for us. People brought food and drinks from their own pantries, enough for quite a feast. Those with musical instruments brought them and played, and we all danced. As it was a fine night, the party was held outside, in front of the saloon.

Dear Diary, never have I felt so popular! I danced until my feet hurt as gent after gent asked me to dance. The same was true for all of the girls. Biddie Cloom appeared to be in heaven.

I danced with a very nice logger named "Billy Sawdust" -- another odd name -- then some men whose names seemed to describe where they are from..."Canada," "Dutch," and "Big Swede." The latter was so tall I had to crane my neck to look up at him. It wasn't hard to see how he got his nickname.

Just when I was beginning to wonder if any of the loggers had normal names, another young man approached me. He looked like a drawing or a painting of a typical lumberjack, with his red beard and flannel shirt. He removed his hat and stood before me. "May I have this dance, Miss?" he asked.

I had planned to sit that one out, my feet being tired, but something about the man's politeness and earnestness caused me to change my mind. His eyes had a pleasant twinkle. I danced with him.

It turns out his name is Rob Graham. After we danced, we found a quiet spot away from the rest of the party and just talked. Rob told me that his family migrated to America from Scotland in '49, then they came to California during the Gold Rush in '50. The rest of his family still lives in San Francisco, but Rob has traveled about, trying different jobs, and he finally ended up in Seattle, working for the Bolt brothers. The Bolts are good, fair men to work for, according to Rob. He says he is eager to settle down in this beautiful land, and wants to raise a big family. I enjoyed talking to him, and I found myself telling him quite a bit about my own life. He didn't seem to mind at all that I had been a maid.

At last the party was over. Rob promised that he would see me tomorrow. I am so glad.

We girls headed back to the Shamus O'Flynn. I thought that I would fall asleep as soon as I reached the stall, but I find I am too excited and anxious to write about my day! So...here I am.

A few minutes ago, Biddie poked her head into our stall. "Aren't you surprised at how LITTLE Seattle is?" she complained.

"It certainly is," Franny agreed. "Jason never mentioned anything about that, did he?"

"Why, it's positively teeny!" Biddie griped. "And so muddy, too!" With a final "hmmph!" she moved on to the next stall.

I smiled to myself. "I think it's beautiful," I said, to nobody in particular.