[When the Krehbiel family came to America in 1851 his father, Johannes, was 49 years old, and his mother, Katharina, was 46. With them were ten of their thirteen children. Their second child, Elisabeth, had died just before her third birthday and the 10^th child, Peter died by drowning in Kleinschwabhausen at the age of 1 1/2. Not listed as a passenger is the 11^th child, Theodore, who was born Dec. 8, 1845. He likely died in Bavaria as well. The oldest child was Jacob, age 21, and the youngest, Peter, was five months old. Valentine, who was the 9^th child, was 8 years old.

The family had lived in Bavaria on the farm Waspelhof near Kleinschwabhausen, Community Ainhofen, in the District of Dachau, Germany for seven years when they decided to come to America. Letters from relatives who had already come to America told of the possibility of purchasing land at a low cost as well as having freedom of religion and no compulsory military service for the young men. These advantages led them to decide to make this important move. They first returned to Weierhof, Germany (in the Palatinate), where the family had lived previously, to bid goodbye to other family members and their long time ancestral home. According to Christian Krehbiel’s account of the trip they left the Weierhof, Germany the end of May 1851 and arrived in the United States near the end of July.

It appears that Christian was relying on his memory as he does not give specific dates. According to the record of the ship Splendid’s arrival in New York it arrived on August 5, 1851. The date of departure is not given. Christian wrote that they were on the ship for 35 days. Thus they left Le Havre, France on July 2. Editor]

Chapter 2 America After a Splendid Trip

The family departure [from the Waspelhof in Bavaria] was long delayed by unexpected obstacles. The substitute [for Jakob’s pending military service] could not immediately leave his work, so that my brother could not get his clearance papers without which the government would not give him a passport. Then Wolff, the former owner of the farm, accused Father of still owing him 100 gulden, even though Father had a receipt for every penny paid.

Because of this delay, Henry Ruth (son of Jacob Ruth of Harreszell) and I were sent on ahead to the Palatinate for a visit. At Munich we crossed the railroad tracks at the wrong place. A railroad guard ran after us threateningly, but was appeased when we followed him obediently. By train and by coach we came to Ulm and then Würtemberg. In Baden we had a pleasant welcome on a large and beautiful estate, the home of a man named Musselmann. We were alarmed shortly after our arrival by the visit of an official who we feared might consider it his duty to examine our passports. On telling our host of our problem I was reassured that the man was his personal friend, and he soon became our friendly entertainer.

In Mannheim we again were alarmed. A Palatinate soldier on leave from duty in Munich, who was on the train with us from Heidelberg, took us to the bridge which crossed the Rhine. The sentry on guard asked to see the soldier’s pass. Fearing that question, we stole quietly away, returned later and crossed safely without questioning into Ludwigshaven. This town, named after Ludwig the Wise, was quite small, although larger and fairer than when we had seen it seven years before. Great holes outlined the old trenches along the Rhine. Before lovely homes and elegant streets could appear, these had to be filled up. On a rumbling wagon, and then on foot, we at last arrived in Friedelsheim at the home of my uncle Adam Schowalter, where we met his father, my grandfather.

[Adam was a half-uncle as his father, Jakob Schowalter, was the second husband of Elisabeth Kägy who was first married to Christian’s grandfather Johann Jakob Krehbiel. Elisabeth was his true grandmother and she was still living at that time.]

On one of these pleasant days we accompanied Uncle Adam and several young Mennonites to the Dürkheimer Forest to get large logs for the sawmill. These logs, high up on the mountains, were rolled whizzing and thundering downhill to the valley where they were loaded onto wagons. Hard work, but fun, for these vine growers, whose delicious product made the work more pleasant.

I had visited Friedelsheim at Christmas when I was ten years old. The old minister Jakob Ellenberger had a Christmas celebration with his pupils. The schoolhouse was filled because this school had a superlatively trained Mennonite choir whose beautiful singing moved me deeply. While the pupils opened their packages, the lights were extinguished. In a brightly lighted niche appear the nativity scene. Surprised, the children stared – and so did I. Too bad that with progress the simplicity of the Christmas story has been lost, particularly in the United States where a profane theatrical performance has replaced it!

The seventy-year-old Grandfather [Jakob, who had married his grandmother] Schowalter took charge of us, marching with us to Biedesheim where we spent the night. There our cousin Christian Eymann showed us his new home. When he came to the parlor, he said, “This really sparkles,” and then turning to me added, “Ask cousin Jacob whether they build such houses in America.” At that time I was impressed. Now I would reverse the question. The next day we marched to the Weierhof. Even today I wonder how the old grandfather outwalked us boys.

Once again at the Weierhof, the dear old home. Greeting again the youthful comrades, the mothers and fathers and grandparents, and experiencing their warm affection, and again hearing the beautiful choir selections under the direction of my cousin Michael Löwenberg–this was indeed a great joy. Less uplifting were the war songs sung by the friends of my youth in anticipation of the war of 1879. Still less so, the bowling in the inn at Bolanden where my brother Daniel (who had come to the Weierhof a few weeks earlier with Heinrich Krämer) lost as many kreuzer as I won. But the Hollerbrunnen [the spring that supplied the village with water] by the old oak tree gave me the same old thrill. Here I saved my cousin Barbara’s life when she fell into the water.

Still vivid in my memory is the delightful trip I took on the Donnersberg. [The highest hill in the area.] I recall, too, the visit with the Strohms at Offstein. We young people went walking, the girls carrying parasols. But in the church we attended they donned small white caps, which they quickly hid when we left the church.

The Trip To America

[According to Christian, the family left the Weierhof around the end of May, but it appears that it was around the end of June, 1851.]

In the meantime my father’s difficulties had been partly resolved. Money was being used up rapidly, and although Brother Jacob’s passport was not yet ready, it was necessary to leave without it. He encountered no difficulty, and the passport probably still lies in some official’s desk drawer, dusty and forgotten. The family gathered at the Weierhof. Too soon it was time to bid farewell. It was an emotional moment, for none of us expected to meet again on this earth. Many dear friends accompanied our party of twenty-five to Worms. Here, gifts were exchanged. I still have a snuffbox which a tender hand gave me, but I know not whose. The stay in Worms was short. The steamer came; tearful farewells were said; then we boarded the boat. As we slowly steamed down the Rhine, we saw the pier white with waving handkerchiefs. And then we turned our faces to the unknown west.

Presently we passed by Mainz, Colblenz, and then Cologne where the towers of the beautiful Dom [cathedral] were still unfinished. And then Rotterdam in Holland. There we were crowded like so many herring into a dark emigrant house where a butcher from Würtemberg maintained they served us horsemeat. All the food, according to our taste, had a strong sea-water flavor because Rotterdam lies on the North Sea and all its streets contain sea water canals with carry sea-going ships. “The food stinks,” we protested, but our landlord assured us that the Dutch were very cleanly. Even the drinking water was unpleasant. My brother Jacob finally rented a boat, rowed into the middle of the Rhine, and there filled a barrel with water. Compared to our spring water, the Rhine water had seemed most brackish; but now, how delicious it seemed!

We were crowded into a steamer bound for LeHavre, France. But we had barely reached open water of the North Sea, when all of us had our first experience of seasickness. Everyone had assured me that I would not be seasick. This was true only as long as I stayed on deck. My father, however, sent me into the so-called cabin, more truly a foul pit, to look after my mother. Here all were sick. Suddenly, as though struck by lightning, I joined the choir of misery. Then came a round I shall never forget–vomiting, numbing of the nervous system, headache, chills despite my leaning against the warm chimney, complete dejection so that I was ready to die of homesickness and misery. “If only we had stayed in that lovely Germany,” I moaned, “then we wouldn’t have to lie here like dogs.” But the cup of coffee the steward brought me revived my spirits, and I could step off the boat at LeHavre with renewed courage.

The emigrants with all their baggage disembarked. French stevedores hurled the bags on huge trucks, many pieces dropping down on the pavement, bursting open and scattering their contents in all directions. An obliging Frenchman tore a basket from one of the emigrants and was about to pitch it on the piled luggage. My mother, seeing this, screamed, “My child! my child!” My youngest brother Peter, only a few months old lay in that basket. The man, hearing her terror, stopped, looked into the basket and hastily returned it. This was eloquent testimony of what mother love so displayed even in a strange land and in a strange tongue can accomplish.

The basket again played an interesting role. Tobacco was much cheaper and of a much finer quality in Rotterdam. Many of the smokers laid in a goodly supply for the voyage. While my mother was cleaning the basket-we were lodged in the Emigrant House in Rotterdam–she discovered a bundle of the Dutch tobacco. Somebody wanting to smuggle tobacco over the border probably dropped it into the basket when he saw the customs inspector making his rounds, intending to claim it when we got to France. Since by reporting the incident we might have had considerable embarrassment, we kept quiet and our smokers contentedly smoked the fine tobacco as we crossed the ocean. But that basket with its precious load was guarded more carefully. Several days in the clear air of LeHavre with the enjoyment of spring water, good red wine, and excellent food not only revived our bodies, but our courage as well. Finally the day came when we wero embark on the Splendid, a small sailing vessel carrying about 350 passengers. They marched us up the gangplank single file like geese. The French police perfunctorily examined the passports. Father and Uncle presented theirs; the officials made a superficial count and then called out, “Good, avancéz!” Forward we marched, including the brother without a passport. Without a passport was also the young Würtemberg butcher mentioned before who on the seas confided, “Today I should be in Stuttgart joining the dragoons.” How many more passportless deserters were smuggled through with our group I do not know.

“All aboard! Sails up!” This sudden stentorian command we landlubbers hardly understood, but it electrified the crew which answered with a brisk and jubilant “Heave ho!” The anchor was raised, and majestically our fast sailing boat slid down with the tide, seeking to join the high seas. But alas, it also separated us anxious emigrants from Europe’s lovely shores without, however, estranging us from the dear ones left behind.

As steerage passengers we were placed on the one steerage deck this ship had. By mistake an Austrian in regimentals was also assigned to this deck. Long and bitterly he complained, “I’m a soldier, and I’m not going to stand for this,” until at last he was given a cabin. Our double-decker bunks were pretty far back in the ship. When the weather was nice we had plenty of fresh air from the opened portholes. The promenade deck was one stairway up. Here, too were the sailors’ cabin. Moving around here the steerage passengers could observe the wonders of the ocean. Aft were the cabins, and above them the captain’s bridge, the helm, and the promenade for cabin passengers.

Of our group only a few were seasick, but those who had come overland to LeHavre began to suffer. Many of the people also suffered from an inflammation of the eye, myself among them. An English doctor cut the tiny veins in the eyeball, and recovery followed quickly.

Large fish, particularly dolphin, played about the ship. The sailors harpooned one of them. Another day a whale surfaced near us, spouting water first, then showing its long back, finally its tail, and then the monster disappeared.

On Sundays, according to English custom, the sails were hung slack and the ship floated almost motionless on the sea. Several days of the journey the sea was very turbulent, the ship plunging up and down, ready to bury its nose in the next great wave. At the same time it sloped sideways so that from the kitchen door we looked directly across the ten-foot railing into the waters. But only once did we have a really severe storm. It came up in the night, breaking a crossbeam on the rigging. All the portholes were closed, and even the doors to the gangways were locked. In the hold of the ship the trunks bounced back and forth like so many toys.

Steerage passengers had to do their own cooking. Since the kitchen was very small, there often was friction even in our own group. One day an arrogant Würtemberger took our cooking vessel off the stove. Bavarian muscles flexed quickly and soon taught the young man a lesson he did not forget.

Our second helmsman was a mulatto with a thick skull. He enjoyed bumping into the passengers with his head. One day he butted a strong young man seated on the stairs. The latter coolly took off his wooden shoe with iron nails and returned the blows with interest, whereupon the hornless “goat” scampered out of the way. One day a learned German scholar on the upper deck gave a lecture to which some of the steerage passengers were invited. He ridiculed the Bible story of creation. A young farmer finally asked the learned man if he could tell us where we actually came. “That” he replied, “is the great problem on which we are now working.” [Might the young farmer have been Christian Krehbiel himself?]

“Well, if you cannot explain our origin,” said the young farmer, “I will thank you for your explanation, but I will hold fast to the Bible story, for it tells us whence we came.” Crushed by the laughter, the learned doctor left the company. [This was 9 years before Charles Darwin published “The Origin of Species.]

The New World

Thirty-five days after leaving LeHavre, our ship, the Splendid, arrived in New York harbor with all passengers well and safe.

To be continued...