5th. Cold unpleasant morning; a heavy sea on. The wind blowing against the current of the gulf-stream, causes a spray, which rises in columns and seems to congeal in the air. We are in close proximity to several water-spouts, seeming the connecting links between the ocean and the clouds. We are under twenty-one inches of steam, but no canvas, the wind having been dead ahead for the past two days.
6th. Clear and cold; five sails in sight; ocean as smooth as a mirror. We fall in with a Delaware pilot, who reports us one hundred miles from New York. An exclamation of joy burst from the passengers, who are now all on deck. At 9 A.M., we saw the smoke of a steamer off our larboard quarter; ten sail in sight; the ocean presents a most sublime spectacle, not a breath disturbs its repose; as if jaded by prolonged agitation, it has relapsed into a quiet slumber. We are in sight of the light-ship off Delaware Bay; a pilot comes on board; Sandy Hook is in sight; the Jersey shore stretching away to the left, but just seen above the horizon. We passed Sandy Hook light-house, twenty-five miles from New York, at 7 P.M. As night draws her curtain round, we see looming up from the horizon, directly in our course, a halo of light, indicating the locality of the city. All are prepared to land, each, for the time being, absorbed in his own thoughts. What a diversity; the countenance of each portraying in vivid colors the hopes and fears within. Here, seated by one of the main pipes, is an emaciated form, clothed in rags; the head is reclining on the hand, the eye sunken, the visage ghastly, and now the whole frame writhes under a most distressing cough. A few short months have done their work. One year ago, a stalwart, robust, enterprising man, full of life and enthusiasm, left his wife and children to seek his fortune in a distant land. He reached his destination, and struggled hard, his prospects alternating between hope and fear; still he struggled on until at last he discovered that some lurking disease was undermining his constitution. The approach was gradual, but it did its work. The victim borrowed money and sailed for home. He is before me. He is destined to clasp to his bosom, once more, his wife and children, but in one short week is borne to a neighboring church yard.
This is the history and fate of more than one of our passengers; we, however, have many on board who are returning with robust constitutions and well-filled purses. Their countenances are lighted up with the fond anticipation of soon being restored to those whose greeting smile and warm embrace will heal the laceration of the past.
The excitement runs high; there is a prospect of reaching our dock by 10 o’clock. As we approach the Narrows, our steamer suddenly slackens her pace, and we hear a cry of “aground.” Our pilot has run us upon the shoals of Coney Island; the wheels are reversed, but we are fast; the lead is thrown with a cry of “three fathoms o’ the deep ho!” We can plainly see the light of the city looming up from the horizon, but the chances are against us. A new pilot comes on board, who points out the channel; our wheels are reversed, our tiller put hard down, and after several efforts, we are afloat, with the loss of part of our keel. As we pass through the Narrows, our pilot hands us the morning papers, containing a detail of the Hague street disaster. The city is now in sight, and we are steaming along with lightning speed; anxiety most intense. We near our pier, which we find much obstructed by ice; small boats attempt to come off for our hawser, but we are obliged to steam over toward Jersey City and come up again; this time we succeed, and as we are nearing the dock, the death of one of the passengers is announced. He was the last of a party of six that had embarked for, and I believe the only one of the party who lived to reach California. He lost his health soon after his arrival there, and died upon reaching his native shore.
As the steamer was being warped around, a passenger in attempting to jump to the pier, missed it, and fell through the mass of floating ice below. He soon gained the surface, but, uttering the most heart-rending screams, again disappeared. He was eventually rescued, and I jumped for the pier with better success, and stepping into a hack, was rapidly driven in the direction of Broadway. It is now midnight. Thirteen months have elapsed since I left, and for the last six, I have not had the least intelligence from home. My feelings can better be imagined than described, as I pulled the bell at No. 3 Warren street.
One word to those about to embark for California. Take the least possible amount of baggage, in a trunk of the smallest possible size. As no one can anticipate the circumstances under which they may be placed there, nor the wants of a life in California; it is recommended to buy nothing here, as purchases can be made much more judiciously in San Francisco, and other towns in California, and at about as fair rates, at the same time saving the trouble and expense of transportation. The transit charges, by the Nicaragua route, are fifteen cents per pound; this is invariably extra, even if one has a transit passage-ticket, which are issued at a charge of about $25. A limited amount of baggage is taken down the Atlantic and up the Pacific free, but not across. Passengers taking the Panama route, are now landed at Aspinwall (Navy Bay), thence by railroad to Miller’s Station, saving thirty miles of river travel; thence in a row-boat to Gorgona, where mules are stationed in abundance to transport to Panama, twenty-five miles distant. Passengers are landed on the dock at Aspinwall, free of charge, the transit charges being about the same as by the Nicaragua route.
Constitution of the State of California.
PROCLAMATION TO THE PEOPLE OF CALIFORNIA.
The delegates of the people, assembled in Convention, have formed a Constitution, which is now presented for your ratification. The time and manner of voting on this Constitution, and of holding the first general election, are clearly set forth in the schedule. The whole subject is, therefore, left for your unbiassed and deliberate consideration.