Collier. Craig.
If I have any courage I owe it to my grandmother. I will perhaps be pardoned if I say that all my girlhood life was spent with my Grandmother Bronson, a very small woman, weighing less than ninety pounds, small featured, always quaintly dressed in the old-fashioned Levantine silk with two breadths only in the skirt, a crossed silk handkerchief with a small white one folded neatly across her breast, a black silk apron, dainty cap made of sheer linen lawn with full ruffles. She it was who entered into all my child life and who used to tell me of her early pioneer days, and of her wonderful experiences with the Indians. In the War of 1812, fearing for his little family, my grandfather started her back to Connecticut on horse back with her four little children, the youngest, my father, only six months old. The two older children walked part of the way; whoever rode had to carry the baby and the next smallest child rode on a pillion that was tied to the saddle. In this way she accomplished the long journey from Cleveland, Ohio, to Connecticut. When she used to tell me of the wonderful things that happened on this tedious journey, that took weeks and weeks to accomplish, I used to wonder if I should ever take so long a trip. I take pleasure in presenting the dearly loved grandmother of eighty-one and the little girl of ten.
While my dear little grandmother dreaded the Indians, I did the treacherous Filipinos; while she dreaded the wolves, bears and wild beasts, I did the stab of the ever ready bolo and stealthy natives, and the prospect of fire; she endured the pangs of hunger, so did I; and I now feel that I am worthy to be her descendant and to sit by her side.
Trials of Getting Home.
Chapter Twenty-Seven.
The first stages of my return home were from Iloilo to Manila, and thence to Nagasaki, the chief port of Japan. Upon leaving Iloilo for Manila, my son accompanied me as far as Manila; he heard incidentally that he was to be made a staff officer; as I procured quick transportation as far as Nagasaki, I told him to return to his duties and I would get along some way. Upon reaching Nagasaki, the difficulties began. I went immediately to the various offices of steamship lines and found there was no passage of any grade to be had. Many were fleeing from the various ports to get away from the plague and all steamers were crowded because of the reduced rates to the Pan-American Fair. Thinking I might have a better chance from Yokohama, I took passage up there on the North German Lloyd line. I had a splendid state-room, fine service, the best of everything. I told the purser I should like to engage that same state-room back to Liverpool; he replied he could not take me, that I would not live to get there. I assured him that I was a good sailor, that I was very much emaciated with my long stay in the Philippines, that I would soon recover with his good food and the sea air; but he refused to take me. When I reached Yokohama, I immediately began to see if I could not secure sailing from there; day after day went by, it was the old story, everything taken. When the Gaelic was returning I told the captain that I would be willing to take even third cabin at first class rates, but even thus there were no accommodations. Within an hour of the ship’s sailing, word was brought to me that two women had given up their cabin and that I might have it; it was two miles out to the ship, with no sampan—small boat—of any kind to get my baggage out, so I tearfully saw this ship sail away. I then decided to return to Nagasaki to try again from that port. The voyage back was by the Empress line of steamers flying between Vancouver and Yokohama. Upon reaching Nagasaki again I appealed to the quarter-master to secure transportation; he said I could not get anything at all. Officers whom I had met in the Philippines proposed to take me and my baggage on board without the necessary red tape, in fact to make me a stow-away, but I refused. I cabled my son in New York to see if I could get a favorable order from Washington. I cabled Governor Taft, but he was powerless in the great pressure of our returning troops. In the meantime, I was daily growing weaker from the excitement and worry of being unable to do anything at all. The housekeeper of the very well-kept Nagasaki hotel was especially kind. She gave me very good attention and even the Chinese boy who took care of my room and brought my meals realized the desperate condition I was in. One day, with the deepest kind of solicitude on his otherwise stolid but child-like and bland face, he said:—