In winter the house on the hill rested like a crown on a silver-haired queen – its columns, shining spires – its lights, glittering diamonds. All the girls of the Asylum dreamed of living in it as we toiled to earn our keep. It was owned by a Knickerbocker named Karl de Peyster, who had lately returned from the late war to become Chairman of the Board of Elders running (and under-funding) the Asylum. Elder Karl was rumored to be the illegitimate scion of a Manhattan de Peyster and an upstairs maid he had set up in a mansion just off of Park Ave. No one dared say this aloud. Still, he had served honorably in the war with Mexico and earned the rank of captain.

Soon I would finish my 16th year and be on my own – something I relished and feared. Miss Wright had warned us of the fate that awaited girls, and boys, who could not make their own way. I had studied as hard under Miss Wright’s tutelage as I had under Agnes’s, for I desired to fit myself for the position of nanny, or even governess, in a respectable house.

I was well experienced in the care of infants. Like Margaret, I had tended the nursery, but, unlike her, I had also wet-nursed more than a few infants. This is how that came to pass. I was near my fifteenth year, sitting outside Mrs. van Hoff’s office, waiting to tell her of the need for more napkins. Inside, she was prevailing on the Elders to hire a wet nurse. I heard little of what was said, but I did hear Elder de Peyster say, in a clear voice, “The Asylum was hardly bereft of buxom lasses who could be pressed into such service.”

You may wonder why I was chosen. I am plain: big-boned with a square, mannish face. However, my black cohosh potion had made large of bosom – though in proportion to my frame. After the Elders left, I went in to tell Mrs. van Hoff of the shortage of napkins. She looked at my chest for a moment, and informed me of my new duty. I was assured that wet-nursing was an honorable calling, and that she had found nursing her own children quite gratifying. (Eventually, I found it delightfully so.) I rejoined that I had no milk, but she assured me that nature would provide. Later that day, I consulted Agnes, who taught me the required potion. From then on I provided this service whenever required.

Having thus fitted myself for a number of honorable callings, I looked forward to my departure with but one regret – Little Edward. He was not, as you may suspect, a boy of my age, nor did I have romantic feelings for him. My feeling for him entirely maternal. While I was soon to be a woman of 16, Edward was approaching the end of his 11th year, though his figure gave little indication of it.

Eddy was hopeless as a boy – mercilessly rounded upon by his peers. He was small of stature, “ran like a girl,” and could not hold his water at night. For the last reason, he was still assigned to the nursery. Margaret, who had to deal with his wet napkins each morning, judged him unready to be breeched and kept him in dresses – the oldest in the nursery. This was as much a punishment for the work he caused her as for anything else.

This came to a head in the Fall when he was plugged or soaked three times in a single stick ball game (such is how a player running the bases is “put out”). He had suffered a contusion upon his thigh, two broken ribs and was staggering from a plug to the head before Mr. Smyth roused himself intervene. I was in tears to look upon him, and, with the support of Miss Wright, prevailed upon Mrs. van Hoff to move him out of the nursery to my room. Mrs. van Hoff objected that a boy in my room might threaten my virtue. I had little interest in boys, but Miss Wright saying that that Little Edward hardly counted as a boy got laughing agreement from Mrs. van Hoff.

As chance would have it, I had weaned my previous charge the week before. Poor Eddy could not stop weeping, both from his injuries and his despair. I dosed him with willow bark tea, and held him on my lap and rocked him, but he was not consoled. Meanwhile, my bosoms ached from pent up milk. Miss Wright had taught that one should not seek two solutions when one would do. So I gave the poor dear my teat. After some reluctance, he took it and suckled contentedly until sleep overtook him.

After a few days of my ministrations, Miss Wright saw him to be thriving, and suggested that he remain in my care. He followed me everywhere but to the privy – often clinging to my hand or skirt. I arranged his locks in sausage curls – making him a pretty dolly indeed. The other boys made remarks, but none dared assail him as long as he was with me. Eddy himself was as content to be my pretty boy as I was to have a living dolly.

As he basked in my maternal affection, Eddy’s nocturnal soiling became so infrequent that he no longer required night napkins. I was very proud of him indeed. Still, I was fearful that he would be the target of his peers when I departed. I weaned and breeched him – events that made him both proud and sad – for he delighted in his dresses, curls, and, I think, napkins. Still, he accepted the necessity of this.

As the end of my service approached, I placed notices seeking employment in the Yonkers and Manhattan broadsheets. I received two letters of enquiry, but no firm offers. In this uncertain state I was called to Mrs. van Hoff’s office on my last Sunday at the Asylum. Elder de Peyster was with her.

“Miss Winston, Mrs. van Hoff has kept me informed of your splendid progress here – in particular your accomplishments with Master Edward, who was placed in your care. I have observed him, and you, each Sunday at services. At first I was afraid that he had developed a disabling dependence upon you, but last week and even more today, I saw a new independence.”

I was in shock that Elder de Peyster had attended to me, let alone Little Edward. I could not imagine where this was leading, so I responded with a noncommittal, “Yes?”

“Yes, indeed! Miss Winston, I believe you uniquely qualified for the care of my nephew, Master Alexander de Peyster, whose disposition is not unlike that of Master Edward.”

The offer of a position was in the air! Miss Wright had cautioned against an undue show of enthusiasm. “I see. Could you expand on Master Alexander’s situation?”

“Yes, but I prefer to do so privately. … Mrs. van Hoff, I wonder if you would grant us the privacy we require? I assure you her virtue is in no danger.”

I could see the disappointment in her eyes. Perhaps she was hoped for a crumb of advantageous scandal. Still, she withdrew gracefully.

“You see, like Master Edward, my nephew has an infantile and epicene character, which my brother-in-law finds an intolerable embarrassment. The poor lad is shortly to be sent to a strict boarding school. My sister and I agree that his temperament is unsuited to such a situation. As an alternative, I have offered exile to the Yonkers hinterland, where I am prepared to have him nurtured in a manner more congenial to his nature – whatever it may turn out to be. That nurturing I propose to put in your unique and capable hands, Miss Winston.”

“How old is the lad?”

“He has recently completed his 11th year.”

“I see the delicacy of your case, Elder. And, how would I be compensated for my ‘unique and capable’ service?”

“I am proposing room, board, $40.00 per month and Saturdays free. Of course, there would be no housework. I have staff for that.”

$40.00 a month was a princely sum – far more than I had hoped. Still, Miss Wright had advised us never to take up the first offer. “Surely a woman as unique and capable as myself is worth $50.00 – with an advance so that I may acquire a wardrobe befitting my new position?”

The Elder smiled, seemingly pleased at my self-assertion. “Shall we say $45.00, and the advance?”

“We are agreed, Elder. When shall I begin?”

“Why not tomorrow? You could acquire your wardrobe and supervise the furnishing of the nursery. Then, on Friday, we shall take the New York and Harlem to bring my nephew to his new home.”

“If Mrs. van Hoff is willing, I have no objection to Monday. I do, however, suggest that I take the train to Manhattan on Monday to purchase my wardrobe, and visit your sister on Tuesday. I wish to gain her insights and meet my charge. Then I will better understand the requirements of his nursery.”

“Splendid! As for Mrs. van Hoff, it is already arranged. Your suggestion inspires me with confidence, Miss Winston. I will provide you with expense money and make arrangements at a respectable hotel near my sister’s home. You need only provide me with an accounting on your return. Can you come to my residence at seven of the clock tomorrow morning? I will have all you require then.”

After we parted, I went to Miss Wright to discuss my plans, for I had never been on a train, purchased a dress, or stayed in a hotel in my life! She warned that Manhattan could be dangerous. Not only were there Nativist, German and Irish gangs in various precincts, but the new Municipal Police Force was corrupt. On no account was I to be out alone after dark. As a parting gift, she gave me a formidable 6” hat pin.

I arrived at the house on the hill with my belongings in a well-worn carpet bag just as the clock struck the hour. A handsome gentleman of military bearing greeted me. This was Sergeant O’Neill, late of Company G, 1st U. S. Dragoons. He showed me to Elder de Peyster’s library.

“Cap’n, Miss Winston.”

“Good morning, my dear. ‘Miss Winston’ is quite formal for a member of my household. I wonder if I may call you Nancy?”

“Of course, Elder de Peyster.”

“In return you may call me Karl in private,” he smiled.

“Thank you, … Karl,” I said hesitantly.

“Now as to your arrangements. Here are your train tickets, a purse with your advance, a journal for your accounts, and a letter of introduction to my sister, Mrs. Emily van der Leyden. I have telegraphed the Waverly House, a modest but respectable hotel at 56 Broadway – not far from my sister’s home. They admit unaccompanied ladies, which most do not.”

He unfolded Williams’ Map of New-York and Brooklyn. “I have marked everything on this map. A horsecar follows the line I have marked in red. There are a number of shops along the way which should accommodate your needs. The hotel concierge can be most helpful, so I suggest you check in as soon as you arrive and consult him on your requirements.”

“Thank you,” I said – a bit overwhelmed.

“Sergeant O’Neill will show you your room and answer any questions you may have. Then, you must hasten if you are to catch your train. Have an productive and enjoyable excursion, Nancy.”

“Thank you, Karl.”

I found the Sergeant seated in the entry, chuckling over Washington Irving’s The Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon. On seeing me, he rose, “Miss Winston.”

“You may call me Nancy.”

“That would not be proper, Miss. A governess is a member of the family. Cook, maid and I are not. You are to be Miss Winston to us.”

“I see, Sergeant. Pardon my error. I am not used to such formality.”

“It’s alright, Miss, you’ll learn the drill soon enough. Let me introduce you and show you your quarters.”

“That would be lovely.” I met Mary O’Grady and her daughter Constance, who served as cook and maid respectively. Constance was about my age. I hoped to find a friend in her, though she seemed quite shy.
My room was on the second floor with the family quarters. It was well furnished and had a thrilling prospect of the Hudson and of the Jersey shore beyond. The Sergeant showed me a cunningly concealed compartment in the wardrobe for my valuables -- had I any.

A door led to a large adjoining nursery. Constance was still cleaning it. It had been furnished by the Elder’s late wife to receive an infant, but her child was stillborn. I would have to refurnish it in a manner suitable to an older child. I wondered aloud what my budget would be. The Sergeant responded, “The master leaves that to your discretion. The rule is: ‘Quality without extravagance.’”

I placed the clothes I would not need in the wardrobe and most of my herbs and potions in the concealed compartment. Then, I returned to the entrance hall. Meanwhile, the Sergeant had harnessed Becky, the mare, to a sporty trap. The air was mild, and I enjoyed the ride to the railroad station enormously. He offered precautions for my safety illustrated with anecdotes from his service in the late war. Most important was a confident demeanor, even in challenging circumstances. Second was vigilance of my surroundings.

The train ride was less enjoyable. Rattles and screeches assailed my ears and bones the whole distance. It was a marvel the carriage stayed on the track. Further, the rank smell of the unwashed and cheap tobacco assailed the nose, while opening the widows admitted plentiful quantities of smoke and cinders. Such is modern travel.

The steam line ended at 32nd St. I descended to the platform wearier than I had anticipated. So, I determined to hasten to Waverly House to refresh myself.

I had looked forward to seeing the city, but it was not the jewel I anticipated. Never had I seen so many people in one place – half a million I was told. Each was set upon their course in virtual oblivion of the others. None exchanged greetings or returned mine. Gentlemen did not smile or tip their hats, though a number fixed their gaze upon my bosom. The women, though fewer, were more noticeable. The veritable rainbow of their garb and narrow waists minded me of my dull grey frock and want of corseting. (The Asylum Elders frowned on luxuries.) My figure was quite mannish in comparison.

While a sulfurous haze perfused the station, beyond its portals I was greeted by the rank odor of excrement. I marked several men whose sole occupation seemed to be the removal of horse offal. As a ward against this foulness, I purchased a rose from a young girl. Near her, two doxies, scandalously clad, plied their trade with passing men. A nearby policeman was oblivious. Meanwhile, my ears rang with the clatter of wagons on cobbles, punctuated by steam whistles and the curses of teamsters. I recalled the Sergeant’s advice, assumed an air of confidence, and made my way to the horsecar line.

As the Elder said, innumerable mercantile establishments, selling every imaginable ware (and a few I would never have imagined) lined the way. The other women in the car exhibited a complete indifference to the more egregious displays. I affected to do the same.

A few stops down a petite lady of striking delicacy boarded and chose to sit next to me. She could not have been five feet tall. I said “Good day,” with no expectation of a reply.

To my mild surprise, she responded. “Good day to you, my dear.”

I smiled back.

“I wish to compliment you on your eschewal of feminine convention. So many women dress to attract the gaze of men. You do not. Still, you cut a handsome figure.”

I was unsure what response to make. I had never been called “pretty.” I supposed “handsome” to be a complement. Doing so warmed me. “Thank you. You are possessed of an admirable beauty. Your golden curls are particularly fetching,” I said, responding in kind.

“You are very gallant. I am Caroline Bloome, lady’s companion.”

“Nancy Winston, governess,” I said, extending my larger hand.

We chatted of weather and the shops we passed until we neared her stop.

“Perhaps you would like to share lunch?”

“I would, but my schedule is full. Could we arrange another time? I expect to be free on Saturdays. If you give me your address, I will dispatch a note.”

“I look forward to it.” Caroline gave me her card and got off at the next stop.

After registering at the hotel, I refreshed myself with coffee and cold mutton – at an exorbitant price – in an dining saloon reserved for the fairer sex. I then asked the concierge to recommend a reputable establishment for women’s apparel. He directed me to a nearby seamstress. On my way out, a charwoman stopped me, saying he was paid to refer me there. Better prices were to be had at Mrs. O’Malley’s in the next street, and, if I did not mind used goods, I could find serviceable items some blocks further. I gave her a penny for her help.

In passing the shop recommended by the concierge, I saw a satin and lace gown in the window. It was neither to my taste nor budget. The shop recommended by the charwoman was better suited to my needs and means. I would have missed it but for a small sign above its door: “Mary O’Malley, Seamstress.” Upon entering I was greeted by a middle aged woman. She was red-headed and had a tape measure draped around her neck.

“G’day, may I be of assistance?”

“I am to be a governess and need a Sunday dress and at least one other for daily wear, of sturdy fabric and moderate cost.”

“Of course, but I note that you do not follow the fashion of wearing a corset. Did your mother not start you?”

“Unfortunately, I am an orphan. My mother died when I was but 8.”

“I am so sorry, darlin’! That explains it. Most train their daughters to the corset beginning at 11 or 12. We must begin with a corset, or my measurements will be useless. Fortunately, you are still young enough to train your figure.”

“Must we?” I said, recalling Mrs. van Hoff’s and Miss Wright’s complaints regarding their corsets.

“’Tis the fashion, darlin’.”

“Very well.”

Ten minutes later I was laced so tight I could not breath and still had two or three inches to go.

“This is intolerable! I refuse to do it!”

“But, darlin’, I can’t make you a fashionable dress if you don’t wear a corset.”

“I’d rather endure a lack of fashion than a lack of breath. Some think me quite handsome as I stand,” I said, recalling Miss Bloome’s compliment.

For some reason a strange look crossed Mrs. O’Malley’s face. “If that is what you want, darlin’ … but the gentlemen prefer a tiny waist,” she said in a last effort.

I wanted out of the infernal contraption. “I care not for gentlemen or what they prefer!”

She got a look I did not quite understand, but gave me my head. “Very well. Let’s get you unlaced, and I’ll measure you as God made you.”

“I am sure the Lord will appreciate that.”

She chuckled and her mood changed. The rest of our business went easily. I ordered two dresses for $12.00 -- $7.00 for the Sunday dress and $5.00 for the everyday dress. I would pick them up Friday.

I proceeded to a district crowded with second-hand shops. I found a decent pair of lady’s boots for $1.00, but, given my height and lack of corset, no dress to fit me. I was returning to the hotel when I saw a sign in a narrow street, “The Special Woman, Larger Sizes, Alice Cunningham, Prop.” Racks of larger dresses, none with wasp waists, lined its walls. Hearing the bell, the shopkeeper came from the back where she had been helping another patron. Both were large of stature. As she came into the light of the shop window, I was astonished to see that, despite her hair and dress, Alice was a man – a two spirit, I supposed.

“May I help you?” she said in a passably feminine voice.

I now understood that, with my mannish shape, I had stumbled upon a shop for two spirits. I reflected that Little Edward and possibly my new charge might one day patronize it.

“Why, yes … thank you, madam. As you can see, I have an unusual figure. I am looking for one or two dresses. Do you have anything suited to my occupation of governess?”

“I am not sure what is suitable to a governess.”

“I am,” said the refined voice of the other patron. “I was raised by a governess. She was the only one who accepted me as God made me, Alice.” This patron was a two spirit as well, but far more feminine than Alice. “Would you like me to show you a few?”

“Yes, I would. Thank you very much. I am Nancy Winston,” I said, extending my hand.

“Paula van de Graaf, nee Paul Anderson,” she said, shaking my hand in the feminine manner. A wedding ring adorned her left hand.

Paula found a lavender and a rose dress. They were not of a style I had seen in the torn copy of Peterson’s Magazine Margaret and I shared, but they fit me well enough. Alice asked $3.25 each, but after a dour stare from Paula, said $5.00 would do for the pair. Another $2.50 went for small clothes.

After paying, we exited and I thanked Paula for her assistance. “Paula, I wonder if you might be willing to help me further?”

“In what manner, Nancy?”

“This is my first service as governess, and my case is rather unusual. My charge is said to be particularly epicene. He is such an embarrassment that he is to be sent away. As an alternative to a boarding school, I am to take him to Yonkers. You said you were raised by an understanding governess. I beg your advice.”

“Then our meeting is providential, for I would do anything to spare a child the suffering I endured. Would you be comfortable accompanying me to public house frequented by androgenes such as myself? It is in the Village. I assure you, you will be safe.”

I paused to reflect on the dangers I had been warned to avoid. Trust in so singular a stranger would be high among them. Against this was duty to my prospective charge and a profound sense that Paula was a kind and honorable person. “I trust your judgement, Paula.”

To my surprise, Paula whistled shrilly once and, after an interval, again. Shortly, a cab appeared. The cabbie hardly gave us a second glance. As we entered, Paula gave the driver an address and we were off.

The shop was in a tenement basement, but surprisingly well-appointed. In late afternoon, there were few other patrons. At one table was woman of about 30 in a shirt and trousers chatting with a stylish older woman. At another was a well-dressed man of affairs holding the hand of an androgene like Paula.

I ordered coffee and Paula a pint of stout. She began by asking what I thought of “the city” (as though there we none other – and perhaps there is not its like in the world). I recounted my experiences and impressions, many of which caused a chuckle. When I described my encounter with Caroline, Paula asked my how I felt about it. I said I was glad to make a friend, and she made me feel special.

“Did you have an intimate friend at the Asylum?”

“No, I always felt plain compared to the other girls and shared not their obsession with boys.”

“I see. Well, Nancy, Caroline may see you as a potential beau. You would as be handsome in a shirt and trousers as our friend yonder,” she said glancing at the woman so dressed. “The disciples of Sappho often call strong women such as yourself ‘handsome’ or ‘gallant.’ Heaven knows, there is nothing wrong in being so desired or enjoying such attention. Still, it is good to know what one is about.”

I blushed. “Thank you for telling me. I am not sure what to think now.”

“Did you enjoy her attention?”

“Frankly, I did.”

“Would you like to kiss her?”

I felt a strange stirring. Caroline was beautiful and made me feel esteemed. “Perhaps. I do not know.”

“In time you will know yourself better. Just take care not to break her heart if there is no chance with you.”

“I will.” It had not occurred to me to place myself in Caroline’s position.

“So, Nancy, have you had experience with an epicene boy.”

“I think so, but I am uncertain.” I described my experience with Little Edward.

“Well, Edward probably a strong streak of lavender.”

“A streak of lavender?”

“You, know a womanly inclination – like me.”

We turned then to Paula’s history.

“I always felt unlike the other boys. I did not like their rough games. I preferred playing family with my sister. We took turns playing mother as it was the role we both liked best. Mother accepted our play, but father beat me, and sometimes mother, whenever he caught me. When I was 14, I told mother I was a girl. She told father and I was beaten and banished from our home.”

My eyes filled with tears on hearing her sufferings.

Paula went on, her eyes directed at the table. “After that, I starved on the street until I discovered that certain men would pay for my favors. In time, I was taken into a Molly house. All this was in Albany. That is where I met John. He took me back to New York with him and introduced me as his secretary.” At this point he looked up and saw my tears. “Don’t cry Nancy, for all ended well. Last year I married John.”

“Really?” I was stunned.

“Yes, in church before a priest of John’s faith. I wore a lovely dress and had three bridesmaids. My sister was Matron of honor. Our marriage is even registered at the Hall of Records.”

“I am so happy for you. How was it arranged?”

“The priest is also an androgene. As for the registration, John is a well-connected. So he made me an
honest woman at last!” she said with a wry smile.

I leaned across and hugged her to my bosom. “I am so happy for you!”

“Thank you Nancy. I feel a true friend in you.”

“I feel the same.”

“I should see you back to your hotel. Here is my card, should you wish to correspond.” It read “Paul Anderson, Confidential Secretary to John van de Graaf, Esq.”

I looked a bit puzzled, for I had come to regard Paula as fully a woman.

“Such is how the world knows us, dear. Usually I dress as you see me, but in business, I wear male garb.”
“I understand.”

I had a light repast at the hotel, and retired to the lady’s lounge, where worn copies of Godey’s Lady’s Book and Peterson’s Magazine were to be found laying on a sideboard. Finding nothing of interest in them, I climbed the stairs to my small chamber, made my ablutions and went to bed.

The next morning I rose with the sun, put on my new lavender dress, and went for a brisk walk. I passed a victualing-house where shop girls and men of business were breaking their fast. I asked a girl my age what she was eating.

She had her mouth full, but pointed to a sign: “Bagels and Lox … 5c.” “You order at the counter,” she mumbled.

I thanked her and ordered bagels, lox and coffee for only 8 cents! I was quite delighted and determined to dine so again.

After finishing, I took a stroll, gazing into the shops. An apothecary with a sign, “Cosmetics for Ladies and Gents,” drew my attention. I had seen many respectable city women with rosy cheeks and reddened lips – Caroline among them. Feeling adventurous, I desired to imitate them. A girl my age was arranging displays. Her presence ended my remaining hesitation. She explained how the effect was achieved, sold me lip balm and rouge, and helped me apply them. She cautioned that over-use would make me appear a fallen woman. Looking in a mirror, I fancied myself prettier, or at least more mature.

Hearing the clock strike 8:30, I hastened to the hotel and settled my account. They would hold my bag until I finished my business. I took a cab to the brownstone where Elder de Peyster’s sister resided and knocked just as the clock struck 9:00. A formally attired butler opened the door.

“Miss Nancy Winston to see Mrs. van der Leyden.”

“Follow me,” he said in an affected an English accent. Leading me to a parlor, he knocked, opened the door, and announced me.

“Thank you, O’Leary.”

I was shocked that Mrs. van der Leyden looked quite unwell – her eyes dark and sunken. She waited until the door closed, then beckoned me closer. “You are come from my brother?” she asked quietly.

“Yes, here is my letter of introduction,” I said, extracting it from my purse.

“No time for that. In what regiment did my brother’s man serve in the late war?”

“The 1st U. S. Dragoons, Company G, as I recall.”

“Good!” She relaxed ever so slightly. “You must take Alexander to Yonkers in all haste. He is in danger.”

“What?”

“The tale is too long to tell, but it is true. Are you willing?”

“Of course.”

She pulled the tassel of a broad brocade strip hanging from the ceiling. I heard a distant a bell tinkle. Meanwhile, she handed me a sealed document for her brother, which I put in my purse. “That makes my brother Alexander’s guardian.” A maid appeared.

“Prudence, would you bring Master Alexander to meet his new governess?”

“Yes, mistress.”

Turning again to me, she instructed: “Say you are taking him to the park. I will give you both scarlet capes. When no one can see, reverse then – they are lined in grey – and exit the park on the far side. Go to immediately to the depot. The hotel can send your baggage after you. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

At that moment Prudence reappeared with a reedy child in a brown velvet skirt and jacket, white cotton trousers with lace trim, silk stockings and a lace chemise. His head was covered in elaborate curls and his waist seemed unnaturally thin. He ran to his mother and exchanged earnest kisses and hugs.

“Here is my pretty boy now … Alexander, this is Miss Winston. She is to be your new governess. You are to obey her in all things, as you would me. Do you understand?”

“Yes, mummy. Good day, Miss Winston,” he said with a little curtsey.

“I have an idea. Miss Winston, why don’t you take Alexander to the park so that you two may come to be acquainted.”

“That would be delightful, but I fear that there is a chill in the air and my baggage is not to arrive until later.”

“You can wear my wrap! … Prudence, would you fetch the scarlet capes for Miss Winston and Master Alexander?”

“Yes, mistress.”

When we were alone again, she hugged Alexander hard, kissing him many times. “Remember, you must do whatever Miss Winston says. Promise?”

The child looked puzzled, but said “I promise mummy!”

Prudence reappeared and helped us with our capes.

“We’ll be back in about hour,” I said as Prudence escorted us to the door.

“See you then!” Mrs. van der Leyden called out.

I strolled at a leisurely pace, holding Alexander’s hand tightly. At the end of the block I looked back. No one was behind us. At the end of the next block, I saw a man in a grey suit 100 yards back. He kept pace with us as we entered the park. I took a curved path through a stand of high bushes.

“Alexander have you ever played hide and seek?”

“No, Miss Winston.”

“Let us do so now. These cloaks make us easy to find. Let us wear them inside out and hide.”
In a few moments the man in grey appeared. After a brief glance around, he hastened on.

“He is one of stepfather’s men,” whispered Alexander.

“He is the one we are hiding from.”

“Oh,” he said with trepidation.

I went back the way we came, then took another path out of the park. On the far side I whistled as Paula had. A cab stopped. As we entered I saw the man in grey some distance away looking up and down the street. In the city traffic it was impossible to see if anyone was following us, but there was no sign of our pursuer when I paid the cabbie.

As I purchased Alexander’s ticket, he asked, “Why are we going to Yonkers?”

“You are to live with your uncle, where I will take care of you, sweetie.”

“And mummy?”

“She will visit when she can.”

His eyes moistened, but he said nothing more.

Our train would not leave for forty minutes. I stopped in the telegraph office to send a message informing the Elder of the change in plan. Having done so, we went to a shop selling coffee and oly koeks, which some call “doughnuts” – though they taste nothing like nuts. We took a booth in the back from which I could see whomever passed. Alexander had never had an oly koek, and enjoyed two. After 10 minutes the man in grey looked in. I lifted my cup, obscuring my face. He passed on. My heart raced.

Alexander saw me become tense. “You look scared. What’s wrong?”

“The man from the park is here. I think he means to harm you, but there is no need to fear. I will take care of you.”

“What can you do? You’re only a girl!”

I pulled my hat pin out of my hair.

“Oh my. That would sure hurt!”

“Yes, it would – so do not fret,” I said with a confidence I did not feel.

We left the shop with just enough time to board our train. There were few people about and no sign of our pursuer. I held Alexander’s hand firmly as we hurried along. Midway down the platform, the man in grey stepped from behind a pillar and yanked Alexander from my grasp. Alexander resisted, giving me a chance to trip the man. He stumbled. While he was recovering his balance, I drove my pin through his arm, making him release Alexander. I pushed the lad behind me. The thug righted himself and pulled a knife. I did my fierce visage. It succeeded only to the point that he took a single step back to square off against me. In doing, so he stepped off the platform in front of an arriving train.

I looked around. No one had seen what transpired. The squeal of the train’s brakes covered any scream. Alexander, clinging to the back of my skirt, had missed the sickening scene.

“Where is the man?”

“He is gone.”

“Good! He really scared me.”

Alexander had a puddle about his feet, but his skirt was dry. Taking a last look, I saw the man’s knife on the edge of the platform and took it.

I sat in the back of the carriage where I could observe all. A woman and a girl about Alexander’s age sat several rows up – the girl fidgeting on the hard seat. Finally, she got up and wandered the aisle.

“Excuse me mam, but would your daughter would like to play with me?”

“Why don’t you ask.”

“Would you like to play? We could play Cupid’s Coming or Taboo.”

Alexander looked to me, perhaps hoping I would forbid him. “Go ahead, you could use some fun.”

With little choice, he said “Alright.”

The children took a seat a couple of rows up. Soon they were both giggling. The mother looked back.

When she saw me alone, she came back and introduced herself.

“Anne Cummings,” she said, extending her hand.

“Nancy Winston,” I said, taking it.

“That’s my daughter Peggy playing with your … Is the girl your sister? You look too young to be her mother.”

“No,” I laughed, “I am his governess.”

“Oh, excuse me. I am so sorry! I thought him a girl.”

“It is quite understandable. He has soft features, is not yet breeched and his mother likes him in curls.”

“I see. … I must say you look a little shaken.”

“We had quite a scare on the platform.”

“A scare?”

“Yes, we barely escaped from a ruffian.”

“Oh, dear! The police aren’t very diligent in pursuit of purse snatchers.”

“I wouldn’t know, as this is my first time in the city.”

“So, you are a governess? I’m a potter in White Plains. It was my husband’s trade, but since he passed, it’s mine. I’m returning from selling my wares.”

“A successful trip, I hope?”

“Yes, quite. When I return, I shall hire an apprentice.”

“If you have no one in mind, may I suggest you look at the Yonkers Asylum for Orphans, where you will find bright and willing girls.”

“Thank you, I will.”

We chatted on. Meanwhile, Peggy and Alexander were happily playing with her doll. As the train neared Yonkers, we exchanged addresses.

The Sergeant met us at the depot with the trap.

“Where is your baggage?”

“Left in Manhattan. I will tell you all, but first we need to visit the dry goods, as Master Alexander has had a mishap and needs dry trousers.”

“Of course,” he said smiling kindly at Alexander.

At the dry goods, I was surprised to find boys’ trousers in several sizes, shirts and even waistcoats, so I bought what was needed to dress him in a masculine manner.

On the way home, I told the Sergeant my tale.

“Show me your toad sticker – you know, your pin.”

I did.

“It takes real grit to face a knife with that.”

“I did not know of the knife.”

“Still, if you’re not a real Bill Newcome, I’ll be damned! … Oh shit! … Pardon my language, Miss.”

“Your language is but a pip to the rest of the day, Sergeant.”

“I s’pose it is at that!”

“Now, who is Bill Newcome?”

“A smooth-cheeked lad who soldiered with us in New Mexico. Turned out Bill’s given name was Elizabeth! … Then there was Sarah Bowman, the heroine of Fort Brown. I don’t care what they say ’bout her. She could stand her ground – just like you Miss!”

“Thank you,” I blushed.

“Put you in tongs, and you can fight along side me any day!”

“Tongs?”

“You know, trousers.”

“Oh.” I blushed more. It was the second time in 24 hours that someone suggested I wear trousers.
We rode in silence for a while. “I forgot to say, you look nice with a bit of color, Miss.”

“Thank you.” All I could do was blush that afternoon.

After a while, I said, “I almost forgot, I took the man’s knife.”

“May I see? … Hmm, ‘Sheffield.’ These are English made. A couple of lads in my company had them. If you press here, it folds to go it in your pocket – or purse … and if you press on the pen blade – like this – it springs open. Press again to unlock it to fold.”

“That is very cunning!”

“How did your attacker hold his knife? Close to his body or not?”

“Close to his body, pointing out – like this,” I illustrated.

“Then he knew what he was doing. That is the best – most dangerous – way. … Fold it and put it in your purse – spoils of war for you.”

I did.

Alexander was asleep when we got to the mansion. When the Sergeant handed him down, I saw the seat of his skirt was newly wet. He woke before we got to the door and blushed at his infantile state.

“Come along and I will take care of you.” I led him up to the nursery. He followed with apprehension, but relaxed when I placed him on the infant table. He was too long for it, but there was no other place to clean him. It would take an hour for Mrs. O’Grady to heat a bath. When I removed his chemise and skirt, I found him laced into a corset.

“Why do you wear a corset, Alexander?”

“Stepfather told me pretty boys need to be trained to the corset, Miss. So Miss Grundel, my last governess put me in one.”

“Pretty boys?”

“Yes, step says I am a pretty boy, or sometimes a gal-boy.”

“And are you a pretty boy or gal-boy?”

“I must be. Miss Grundel always said how pretty I was. Even mother says I am pretty.”

He was indeed prettier than most girls his age. “We will take you out of your corset while I consider your case.”

“Thank you Miss, it is awfully tight.”

Once he was undressed, I was sorely distressed to find his derriere criss-crossed with bruises, red welts and blood blisters.

“Who treated you so?”

“Miss Grundel gave me ten of the cane whenever I did not hold my water. Since I wet twice, I would have twenty by now.”

“I will not do that – I promise. Wet day or night, I will not cane you.”

“Thank you ever so much Miss,” he said – his eyes moist with grateful tears.

I anointed his nethers with mixture of rose oil and tincture of laudanum.

“What are you doing, Miss?”

“Doesn’t that smell and feel nice?”

“Yes,” he blushed, confirming in words what was evident from his petite appendage. “But why are you doing it?”

“To help heal you and prevent a rash from wet napkins.”

“Napkins! I’m not a baby, Miss.” He started crying.

“Are not napkins better than canings?”

“I suppose,” he sniffled.

“When you no longer need them, you will no longer wear them. For now, you are my baby. No one will mock you. Do you trust me?”

“Yes Miss.”

I finished pinning him. “Now that feels nice, does it not?”

“Yes, Miss,” he said in a small voice. His appendage had only grown harder.

“Good. You have no night clothes, so you can wear one of my chemises. Then no one will see your napkins but me.”

“Thank you, Miss.”

“There is no proper bed for you. Can you curl up in the crib for now?”

He did so without complaint. A few minutes later, he was sleeping with a thumb in his mouth and his other hand on his napkins.

I gave Constance his soiled clothes to be laundered, then knocked at the library door. Karl and the Sergeant were conversing within.

“Nancy? Come in. … I am ever in your debt – and ever so sorry! If I had known the danger, I never would have allowed you to go. Sending you alone was unforgivable!”

“They say, ‘all is well that ends well.’”

“I fear it my not have ended. I owe you a complete explanation. Please sit. … I have reason to believe that Alexander’s stepfather plans to do away with both him and my sister Emily, but I have been unable to convince her of this. She trusts her husband and believes only that he finds Alexander an embarrassment. Her actions today may indicate that she is coming to accept my suspicions.”

“Pardon me, she also gave me this document for you.”

He broke the seal and read it. “This is most helpful. It may even save Emily’s life! ... It makes me Alexander’s legal guardian and … I must tell you more so that you understand. Our father set up trusts for Emily and me. Under Emily’s trust, if she dies, her money passes to Alexander, not his stepfather. Van der Leyden only inherits if both she and Alexander die before the boy comes of age.”

“I see. So that is why the man in grey pursued us and tried to take Alexander?”

“That is my theory, and if it is so, the danger to Alexander continues.”

“Will van der Leyden not try to kill your sister?”

“Making me Alexander’s guardian lessens her peril. The trust provides her with a stipend upon which van der Leyden depends. Now that I am Alexander’s guardian, if Emily dies, her allowance would come to me for the boy’s benefit.

“That brings me back to you. Being Alexander’s governess has placed you in mortal danger. I release you from all obligation. I will give you six months wages and an excellent reference. I may even be able to find you a new position.”

“Karl, I am not one to run and hide. Alexander needs my care. His last governess beat him mercilessly. I have given him my pledge it will not happen again!”

“I told you she was a real Bill Newcome,” volunteered the Sergeant.

“Yes. ... I see. Then you may stay. … Still, I must consider how to provide for your safety,” he added reflectively.

“Thank you.”

“Now tell me all that transpired since you arrived at my sister’s home.”

I repeated my story to him. When I finished, I broached a new subject.

“Alexander was being trained to the corset. When I asked him about it, he said it is because he is a pretty boy or a gal-boy, but I do not know if that is his nature or it has been forced upon him. I would like to discover his true nature, and rear him accordingly – whether he be masculine or epicene. Do you have any instructions in this matter?”

“Nancy, I know nothing of these things. In retaining you, I placed my trust in you. Raise him as you think most conducive to his happiness. I give you a free hand.”

“Thank you, Karl.”

Before retiring, I checked Alexander and found him shivering in wet napkins. “Are you cold?”

“Yes, and scared and hungry, Miss.”

I changed his napkins and gave him my last chemise.

“Feel better?”

“Yes, but I’m still scared. I dreamed that man was hurting me. Why did he grab me?”

“It is a long story, but you are not to worry. I know how to take care of little boys. Would you like to sleep with me?”

“Ever so much, Miss!”

I put him in my bed, and crawled in next to him in my chemise. The poor thing was sucking his thumb, shaking with fear. I opened my chemise. His eyes went wide.

“My teat is ever so much nicer than a thumb.”

He soon latched on. We both slept well.

I woke with the sun. Alexander’s napkins were still dry. I roused him and put him on the chamber pot before he could embarrass himself again.

“I am very proud of you for keeping your napkins dry. You deserve a reward.” I opened my chemise.

“Come and get it, then.”

He blushed furiously but came straight to me.

I put him next to me and guided him to my teat. I sang to him quietly as he nursed.

When he finished, I asked, “Do you feel scared this morning?”

“Not with you, Miss.”

“Good. I think one reason you soil yourself is that you have been scared. Is that not so?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“Would you like to tell me what scared you, sweetie?”

“Well, of being caned – but not just that. Miss Grundel and step did other things too. I did not like them.”

“What else did they do?”

“She told the children at the park I could not hold my water at night, so they laughed at me. She gave me horrid medicine to make me sleep. It made my feel all funny and sick. Last week I woke up cold and wet. Step was on top of her. Her dress was up and they were making animal sounds. When I told mummy, she discharged Miss Grundel. Later, stepfather caned me. Monday he said since I had Miss Grundel sent away, I should do her service. He started undoing his trousers when mother came in. Then he stopped.”

“I see,” I said in a state of shock. “… I need to ask you another question. You said you are a ‘pretty boy.’ Do you want to be pretty?”

“Oh yes, Miss. People like you better if you are pretty – except street boys – they call me names.”

“I am sorry they do. Did you mind being thought a girl yesterday on the train?”

“No, Peggy was nice and meant no harm.”

“I mean, would you be a girl if you could?”

“Step said I am a gal-boy. Is that what you mean?”

I was making no progress. I thought of taking him to the dream world, but he might take my questions as suggestions. So, at an impasse, I changed the subject. “Your clothes from yesterday are not yet dry. I bought you new clothes at the dry goods, but I need to know if you sometimes can not hold your water during the day?”

He looked at the napkins under the infant table. “No, Miss – just when I am scared. Please, I do not need napkins during the day.”

“Very well, but if you get ‘scared’ too often, you will be wearing napkins until you can hold your water.”

“Yes, Miss.”

After I dressed him, he complained, “These clothes are rough, Miss. I like my silkies better.”

“Most boys dress as you as you are now. If you do not want other boys to round on you, you should dress so. If you want to dress as a girl, I can get you chemises and skirts. Which would you prefer?”

“Boys should dress as boys, but silkies feel nicer and look prettier.”

After breakfast, Karl said he would teach Alexander chess. I was to receive instruction from the Sergeant for my safety. Unsure what the Sergeant would teach me, but always anxious to improve myself, I followed him.

Opening a drawer in the entry hall, he withdrew an enormous gun. “This is a revolver, Miss – a Colt Walker. See here? There are six charges in this cylinder, so it can be fired six times without being recharged. You need to know how to use it.”

“What!?”

“Yes. That is what the Capt’n decided. As you saw yesterday, the danger is real. Of course, this is my pistol, and if something happens, I will be the one to use it. Still, if one falls, another must come behind. It may come to you, Miss. Come outside, and I’ll show you the drill.”

We walked some distance to a row of bottles sitting on a log. The pistol was as heavy as it looked. Four and a half pounds – a horse pistol, not a side arm – the Sergeant explained. Patiently, the Sergeant showed me how to hold, cock, and fire it. I was to hold it with two hands, line the sights up with the target, and slowly squeeze the trigger. On my first try, I hit just below the bottle I was aiming at. The ball went clear through the log – it was a foot thick, at least – but the main effect was I was knocked on my rear. My shoulders ached and my arms reverberated, but I did not complain.

The Sergeant laughed heartily. “I should have warned you to brace yourself.” He helped me up. “Here, try getting down on one knee.”

I did.

“You shot low because you yanked the trigger. Just squeeze it gently,”

I did. This time the bottle burst into hundreds of shards without me ending on my seat. Still, my arms and shoulders fared no better.

“That’s wonderful, Miss – better than most troopers their first day. I’m sure you’ll only improve.”

“I would, if my arms could take more, but I fear they can’t!” I said, rising. My hand was also bruised.

“Look, your dress is muddied! I should have put more thought into it, Miss. I’m sorry. Let’s call it a day.”

Back at the mansion, Constance promised to do her best to get the stains out of my dress. I apologized for the extra work I caused her.

After lunch I took Alexander to town, ordered a new bed, and bought him another shirt and trousers. I spent the rest of the day starting him on French.

That night, put the horror at the station returned to haunt me. The best way to get it out of my mind was to think of Caroline Bloome. I could imagine no one more beautiful. What kind of friendship did she desire? What kind did I? The prospect meeting her again filled me with a physical excitement I had not experienced before. I found my hand exploring my womanhood. In this state I wrote her, saying I would be at the Waverly House Lady’s Dinning Saloon Saturday at noon, and would be pleased to have her as my guest.

In the morning, the Sergeant was gone, and the Elder quite busy. When I had my pistol lesson the day before, I had observed wild berries in season. Alexander and I spent the morning gathering (and eating) them. He appreciated his sturdy tongs as a ward against the thorny canes. I wished I were similarly clad as my dress snagged repeatedly.

That Friday, I completed my sixteenth year. Having left the Asylum and obtained a position, my dreams for the day were already fulfilled. I was very surprised when Mary brought out a cake, and all sang in honor of my birthday. Karl led us into the library, and presented me with a silver comb, mirror and brush set in remembrance of my birth. I could not help but cry. (Some Bill Newcome!) The Sergeant presented me with tongs and a shirt so that I need not soil my dress when my lessons resumed, and Alexander gave me a bouquet he had picked himself. Karl also indicated a polished wooden box on the mantle I was to receive later.

We spent most of the day in celebration. Karl astonished me by playing airs on the pianoforte. I learned several new songs and was complimented on my dramatic contralto – very rare among women, according to him. Also, I had my first wine – a delicious Madeira. Being a novice, I drank more than I should, and became lightheaded and silly, but no one criticized.

After dinner, I was recovered. I put Alexander in his napkins and laid him in the crib. When I returned downstairs, Karl and the Sergeant were in the library, sipping brandy and smoking cigars. They poured me a taste, but did not offer me a cigar (nor did I want one – for they smelled foul indeed).

“Nancy, the Sergeant told me how well you did with the Colt Walker, but that it was not proportioned to your strength.”

I nodded in silence.

“Yesterday, I sent him to Manhattan to find something more effective than a hat pin to defend yourself – and Alexander – with. In this box is a Colt Patterson pocket revolver. It is .28 caliber instead of .44 – giving it much less kick than the Sergeant’s Walker. Also, its barrel is only an inch and a half, so you can carry it in your purse. Once you learn to use it, I want you to carry it whenever you are out with Alexander until we are sure the danger has passed.
”
“Of course.” I looked in the box. In addition to the pistol, there were many accessories. Most I was not yet familiar with. One, however, was an extra five shot cylinder.

The next day was Saturday. Constance agreed to mind Alexander in my absence. I said I needed to go to Manhattan to get the dresses I had ordered.

The Sergeant was kind enough to take me to the depot. Before we left he showed me how to harness Becky, and, on the way, how to drive the trap. He sat by me, but his closeness was not displeasing, for he was a perfect gentleman. In fact, I quite enjoyed it.

Having made the train journey before, I arrived without incident. At Mrs. O’Malley’s shop I tried my new dresses. The work was exquisite, so I added a generous gratuity. She was quite grateful, and called Molly, a homely girl, from the back to receive my compliments. Then she gave Molly the whole gratuity. I quite was pleased at this liberality, and pledged my future custom to her shop. I left in my new Sunday dress – violet cotton with lace accents. I arranged to have the rest delivered, as the boxes were quite bulky.

As noon was approaching, I walked to Waverly House. A stand in the lobby displayed a weekly broadsheet headlined “Man Dies Under Locomotive.” I paid my penny and read an account of Tuesday’s events. Other than a man in a grey suit being killed, the story bore little relation to reality. It suggested suicide and embellished the scene with the screams of horrified on-lookers. Since no one had claimed his body, my assailant was buried in a pauper’s grave – without benefit of clergy. I must admit to enjoying the image this conjured of him roasting in hell.

Just before noon told, Caroline entered the lady’s lounge and beamed a smile at me. We joined in a warm embrace, then retired to the lady’s dining saloon. A gratuity to the hostess ensured a quiet table overlooking an indoor garden. Caroline viewed me with evident admiration.

“What a lovely spot for luncheon, Nancy. I have only eaten in victualing houses open to the street. Have you eaten here before?”

“Yes, I dined here last Monday. The prices are extravagant, but I thought you might enjoy it. Consider it a celebration. I have a new position, and the anniversary of my birth was yesterday.”

“Congratulations on both counts! May I ask of how many years you are?”

“Yes, I am 16.”

“Really? I am 18, but admire you as a woman of strength and maturity.”

“That is very kind.”

She was about to go on when the serving maid asked our order. Caroline looked at me in some puzzlement, so I ordered for both of us: salads, cold mutton and parsley potatoes, and, by way of celebration, two glasses of Madeira.

When the maid left, Caroline whispered, “What is Madeira?”

“A lovely wine. I had some yesterday to celebrate the anniversary of my birth. You will enjoy it.”

“Wine? I never had wine. Being with you is such an adventure, Nancy!” She paused. I could see timid reluctance in her eyes. “I want to begin our friendship in honesty. I am of low birth. I would understand if a governess, such as yourself, would rather not associate with me.”

“There is no need for that. I like you as you stand.”

“Still, you must hear me out.”

“Of course.”

“I am the natural daughter of a banker and a maid of his household. My father has always shown mother and me kindness, but has not acknowledged me. Still, when I came of age, he secured me a position as companion to Mrs. Sarah Wells, a widow of advanced years.”

“I care not about your birth! I am orphan, and while my parents were wed, many I called ‘friend’ were foundlings.” I embraced her as a sign of acceptance.

She returned my embrace with affection. “Thank you!” Spontaneously, she kissed me soundly on the lips.

When we were recovered, she said “Tell me of your new position, and of your previous occupation.”

I told her of briefly of my family and orphaning, of my service as a nurse at the Asylum, and of being retained as a governess – ending that I began my new occupation the very day we met.

Caroline wanted to know more, and asked about my first week. I had received little attention until recently, so her interest was gratifying. As I recounted my tale she was gripped with concern and peppered me with interjections of anxiety and admiration.

“May I see your armory?”

“My armory?”

“Yes, your hat pin and knife.”

“Oh, here is my pin, … and my knife.” I pushed the pen blade and the stiletto sprang open with a click.

“Oh my! The man in grey threatened you with that?”

“Yes.”

“You are truly amazing Nancy! I would feel safe with you anywhere.” Her eyes were filled with esteem.
I chose not to mention my new Colt, fearing it would test her credulity.

We dined well and enjoyed our wine (though I found it inferior to that Karl had given me). When we finished our mutton and potatoes, the attendant asked if we desired a dessert. She supplied each of us with a card listing Ice Cream, Sherbets, and Roman Punch made by the chef d’ cuisine – who claimed to be from Paris.

They were terribly expensive, and Caroline urged me to decline. I wanted to impress her, so I ordered Roman Punch – having no idea what it was. The maid brought us goblets containing a dollop of toasted meringue floating on a golden elixir of lemonade, orange juice, Champagne and rum. We were both quite silly when we finished.

We left arm in arm. Caroline had a strange, languid look in her eyes and urged me to accompany her to her rooms – where she assured me we would have the utmost privacy. Despite a feeling that I was behaving unnaturally, I was drawn to her, and about to agree when I realized that the last train to Yonkers would leave in thirty minutes. Caroline was devastated that I declined. She pulled me into the doorway of a shuttered shop, pulled my lips down to meet hers, and gave me such a kiss as I had never experienced – pressing her body into mine and invading my mouth with her tongue. My breathless excitement made departing all the more difficult. Still, I pulled away, promising to spend more time with her the following week. My voice was unexpectedly hoarse.

As I hurried to the horsecar stop, I received bemused stares from passersby. My reflection in a shop window revealed the reason – my face was smeared with red lip balm.

The Madeira and Roman Punch had their final effect on the ride back to Yonkers. I fell asleep and would have missed Yonkers had the conductor not woken me. My turbulent dreams had been filled with images of Caroline and me, some in a state of undress. Thus, my face was flushed as I alighted.

The faithful Sergeant was there with the trap. “I must say, Miss, you are so flush that, did I not know better, I would swear you were returning to camp after a spin with a doxie.”

“I fell asleep on the train – besides I do not have the equipment for it, Sergeant!”

He chuckled, but continued to gaze at me, finally picking a golden hair from the shoulder of my dress.

“And here is the proof!” he said jovially.

I blushed. “I dined with a new friend. … Sergeant, you are such a tease!” I was ever so glad I had repaired my lip balm.

“I meant no disrespect, Miss Nancy. It is just how it struck me. I had a couple of pints while I was waiting.
I should o’ kept my yap shut.”

“I am not offended, Sergeant – after all, we are comrades in arms,” I said lightly.

“Yes, good ones,” he said embracing me with one arm as he drove.

When I returned, Constance told me Alexander had been quite anxious at my absence – to the point of wetting himself. Having soiled himself twice, he ended the day in napkins. I was sad to hear this, and resolved to keep him from services the next day to avoid any public embarrassment. Since the O’Gradies attended Sunday Mass at 6:30, Mary volunteered to mind Alexander while the rest of us attended Protestant services at 9:00.

As the Minister droned on, I spotted Miss Wright amongst the congregation. After services, I called out, “Miss Wright!”

“Hello, Nancy. Now that we are of equal station, please call me ‘Jane,’ dear. By the way, that is a fetching dress!”

“Thank you, … Jane. I had it made and picked it up in Manhattan yesterday. May I walk with you?”

“Of course, my dear. I am anxious to hear your news.”

“And I am anxious to relate it – and have your opinion.”

“The apples are in bloom. Shall we stroll by the orchards?”

“I can think of no better place.” We would be guaranteed privacy there.

I wanted neither to boast nor to raise her anxiety, so I made no mention of my harrowing encounter. I did say that Alexander was believed to be in danger and the Sergeant was training me to arms.

“Good for you! I always thought you a new model female, Nancy. I am glad my efforts to liberate you from the constraints of tradition have succeeded.”

“Thank you Jane, but I seek your advice rather than your praise.”

“How may I advise you?”

“Miss … Jane, from what you taught about relations with men – and women – I suspect you are a woman of experience … I hope my presumption does not offend you.”

“It does not as long as you do not bandy it about.”

“I would never do so. I am about to share a secret that will seal my silence.”

“Yes?”

I told her of meeting Caroline, my luncheon with her, and most especially of the excitement and confusion that she roused in me.

“Nancy, when you were at the Asylum you showed no interest in boys – aside from Little Edward. So, I have long suspected that your affections were inclined toward the fairer sex.”

“Oh!” I blushed. “Surely that is unnatural?”

“Think as I taught you, dear. God gave you your nature, whatever it may be. How can your nature be unnatural? The very idea is an oxymoron!”

“You are right … yet such affections are said to be unnatural.”

“Yes, by people who do not share them. I think you know that the opinions of society are no sure guide to virtue.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Many consider relations between women to be more spiritual than those between men and women.”

“I see. … Thank you, Miss … Jane.”

“You are welcome, Nancy.”

We strolled on in silence for a while. As we did so, I saw Constance with the blacksmith’s boy, hurrying off into the orchid. Jane had not seen them, and I said nothing. We walked on.

“I must pause. It is my time and I am having cramps.” We sat on a fallen log.

“I am so sorry, you should have told me.” I looked in my purse. “Here is a bit of witchery that may help.” I handed her a packet. “A tea of willow bark can ease pain. If you chew a bit and sit a while, you will feel better.”

“Thank you, Nancy.” After a while her countenance relaxed. “You are a wonder, Nancy. Thank you ever so much.”

“You are welcome, dear. In my room, I have a potion that helps with monthlies. I will bring some later and instruct you in its use.”

“Wherever did you learn these things?”

I revealed my apprenticeship under Agnes as we strolled back to the Asylum. There we said our goodbyes.

“Nancy, you are a very surprising young woman. It is well that you are discreet about your witchery, for many prefer ignorance to the benefit of mankind.”

That night I wrote to Caroline, praising her beauty, looking forward to our next visit, and expressing the hope of exploring our mutual affection in the privacy of her rooms. My flesh grew flush and my heart quickened as I wrote.

One of my joys was spending time in Karl’s well-stocked library. On Sundays after services and when Alexander was in his bed, I retired to the library. I particularly liked books on travel and natural history. I read the Lewis and Clark’s Journals, Irving’s A Tour on the Prairies, and Dickens’s American Notes – all imagining myself as one of the adventurers. I was appalled by Dickens’s first-hand account of slavery in the South, and recalled that it was only twenty years since the last stave was freed in New York.

In natural history, I enjoyed the colorful plates of Audubon’s The Birds of America, but was also able to make way through Cuvier’s Théorie de la terre, which improved my French, and Lyell’s Principles of Geology. Both seemed convincing, so I was unable to decide between visions of past catastrophes and the slow, monotonous grinding of time. Perhaps there is merit in both views. Of course, Karl had read both Cuvier and Lyell, and they provided fodder for amiable and animated discussions well into the evening.

The Sergeant was a bit put off when we retreated to our “ivory tower,” but Karl and I grew in mutual admiration and fondness – he surprised at my understanding, and I at the breadth of his interests and depth of his knowledge. I was reminded of the conversations on natural history my brother and I had with my father.

In the following days, the Sergeant instructed me on my Colt. The kick of my Patterson was quite tolerable compared to the Sergeant’s horse pistol. Besides marksmanship, I learned to cast balls, to load and cap the chambers, and to change the cylinders blindfolded – no easy task as it involved disassembling and reassembling the pistol. I drilled on this until could do it in 29 seconds. I would have thought this pure foolishness if the man in grey did not still haunt my dreams.

Once I was proficient, I carried my revolver, extra cylinder, and changing key everywhere in my purse. Meanwhile, the Sergeant continued to school me in self-defense.

I wore my tongs and shirt for these exercises and put my hair up, out of the way. In the beginning, I wore my dress to breakfast, then changed into tongs, but Karl and the Sergeant convinced me this was foolish. So, I dressed in tongs on rising, and put on my dress to give Alexander his lessons. This seemed to confuse him.

“Miss, why are you a man in the morning?”

“I am not a man in the morning, I just dress like a man for my lessons with the Sergeant – I am still a woman underneath.”

“So, women can dress like men?”

“Well, many would say we should not, but yes, we can.”

“So, can boys dress like girls?”

“Again, many would say they should not, but yes they can – and some do.”

He did not carry the conversation further. I did not to press him, but left him to his reflections.

Frequently, I took Alexander on an outing – to the square to play with other children or along Hudson to commune with nature. In town, he generally played graces and hop scotch with the girls. I tried teaching him to play ball so he could play with the boys, but he could not catch or hit for the life of him. The very ball seemed to scare him – just as it did Little Edward.

One day the boys particularly rounded on him. The girls defended him, saying “Stop teasing Sandy! She’s a tomboy in her brother’s old clothes – that’s all.”

Walking back to the house, he asked, “What kind of boy is a tomboy, Miss?”

“No kind of boy at all – rather a girl that dresses or acts like a boy.”

“Oh,” he blushed.

“The town girls are not the first to take you for a girl. Peggy on the train did as well. Maybe if I cut your curls, you would not be taken for a girl.”

He looked up at me in horror. “Mummy said my curls are so pretty, Miss. I don’t want to lose them!”

“Yes, they are a most becoming frame for your face. We could go the other way.”

“‘The other way,’ Miss?”

“Yes, since the girls think you a lass, the boys would not round on you if you wore a dress. Would you like one? You have already worn a skirt, a corset and my chemises.”

It was hard to interpret his expression – perhaps a mixture of excitement and fear.

“Well?”

“I don’t know, Miss.”

While not an affirmation, this was far from an objection. “I will let you think about it.”

“Uncle Karl would be mad.”

“I assure you, he would not be.”

“Also, the seamstress will laugh at me.”

“I could make you a dress.”

“What color would it be?” These were not words of reluctance.

“You could choose. We could go to the dry goods, and you could pick a fabric for your dress.”

“I don’t know, Miss.”

“Well, just remember: you would have far less trouble with the town boys if they thought you a girl.”

That night I wrote to Paula, telling her what happened and asking her advice.

Thursday, I received reply from Caroline. She would meet the train Saturday morning and show me to her rooms, where she promised to provide luncheon.

Paula’s response came the next morning. She approved my methods and progress, saying that it is hard for epicene boys to admit they prefer dresses, and it is a kindness to “make them” be more feminine. She also offered suggestions to lessen Alexander’s embarrassment at acknowledging his nature – among them that he receive a feminine name. As the girls already thought him a “Sandy,” I decided to see how he would respond to being called “Alexandria.”

“Alexandria, let’s go into town and pick out a fabric for your dress.”

“For my dress?” He did not balk at the femininization of his name.

“Yes, as we discussed. Then I can make you pretty one. You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

He said nothing, but his face grew flush.

“Come along, then – before the day grows warm.”

We walked in silence, which was unusual for the boy, who was usually full of chatter and questions. When we got to the cottages marking the edge of town, he stopped.

“People will laugh at me.”

“Why?”

“Because boys don’t wear the same kind of cloth as girls.”

“I have the cure for that.” I took a blue ribbon out of my bag and tied a bow in his hair.

He raised a hand to feel it.

“Now there is no doubt that you are a tom boy.”

His body relaxed a bit, and he smiled slightly.

“But, I am a boy.” He said quietly.

“That is only a tiny part of you. What is more important – your body or your soul?”

“My soul.”

“And do you have a boy’s soul of or a girl’s?”

“A girl’s.”

“Finally! So, let’s forget all the nonsense and dress you as you should be.”

She smiled broadly.

That afternoon, I put Sandy back in her corset, lacing it snugly, but not tightly, and measured her for her first dress – in a style she had found in Peterson’s Magazine.

I was already abed Wednesday, when I heard a faint knock on my door. I turned up my lamp, opened the door, and found Constance in an agitated state.

“Constance, what is wrong, dear?”

“Oh, Miss! I don’t know what to do. I can’t talk to mother, she’d kill me!”

“Kill you? What ever for?”

“I’ve miss my monthlies twice now.” Tears were streaming down her face. “I must be with child.” She broke into loud sobs that would surely rouse the household.

“Come in,” I said, grabbing her by the arm and quickly shutting the door. “You must control yourself or you will wake everyone.”

“You’re … right.” Her breath was catching with muffled sobs.

“What can I do for you?”

“I … I don’t know. I just needed to talk to someone. I don’t know what to do.”

“I assume the father is Liam Pendergast, the blacksmith’s apprentice?”

“Yes. … How did you know?”

“I saw you going into the apple orchard together.”

“Oh. … Yes, he’s the only one I’ve been with.”

“Well, I could have told you how to avoid getting with child, but it is too late now. … So, have you told him?”

“No, I have been scared.”

“Well, you must. Do you think he will marry you?”

“Oh, yes! We talk of it all the time. He has finished his apprenticeship, but needs $100 for tools to set up on his own. Until he does he can't support a wife. He's only saved $47, and I $16.”

“Hmm … I do not have anywhere near enough to make up the difference, Constance.”

“I wasn’t asking …”

“I know. … Let me think. … When I was waiting for the train, I saw a notice nailed to the station. They are looking for a blacksmith at the railway shops in White Planes. The position may still be open. Maybe you could tell him?”

“Thank you, miss.”

“In the meantime, you must tell your mother. She was your age once and will understand.”

“I don’t know …”

“Be a brave girl.”

“Alright, I will.”

Saturday, I returned to Manhattan – flush in anticipation of my rendezvous. Caroline awaited me on the platform, not far from where I had faced the man in grey. We greeted each other with a warm embrace – not unusual for two women.

It was a fine Spring day. So we opted to walk rather than take the horsecar. Near where we first met, we turned onto a side street. A few doors down we ascended the stoop of a modest townhouse. Caroline used her key to enter, and led me to the parlor. I was introduced to Mrs. Wells, a woman in her seventies and perspicuously hard of hearing. Then we ascended to Caroline’s chambers – a small sitting room and a smaller bedroom.

“Oh Nancy, I’ve wanted to be alone with you since I first saw you on the omnibus,” she said as we sat on a small settee. Soon she was across my lap, teaching me to kiss as the French do. I had the most delicious feelings – first in my bosom as she caressed me and then in my nether region. As a result, my milk came down and, for fear of staining my dress, I took my bodice down,

“Oh my, you have milk! May I taste it?”

I guided my teat to her moist lips. Soon, she fell into the role of infant, calling me “mommy.” I felt drawn to the maternal role, just as I had been with Edward and Alexander – but now my maternal feelings were accompanied by a lascivious excitement. As Caroline tongued and nibbled my teat, she changed positions. Soon, her hand made its way under my skirt – progressing up between my thighs. Suddenly, I was convulsed with waves of pleasure such as I had never felt. I cried out uncontrollably as my body arched in spasms of ecstasy. Caroline looked up in seeming gratitude at my response.

When I recovered, I apologized in embarrassment for my outcry.

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Wells can’t hear a thing, and I have heard far louder cries from the neighbors – especially from Mrs. Johnson when her husband is absent and her gentleman caller has come.

“Now, it’s my turn. I have not yet come to ecstasy …”

“What must I do?”

She led me to her bed. I followed, anxious to return the pleasure I had experienced. There she schooled me in feminine intimacy.

When we finished, we were both exhausted – and famished. We dressed and descended to the kitchen. As we passed the parlor, Mrs. Wells asked if I was enjoying my visit. When I responded, “Yes. Very much,” she winked. I became crimson with embarrassment.

“She knows. I thought you said she could not hear?”

“She can’t, but she is a woman of the world, Nancy.”

Over a luncheon of cold chicken, bread and cheese, we each discussed our week. When I told her of my wearing tongs, she became newly animated.

“Could you dress-up for me?”

“What do you mean? My tongs are in Yonkers.”

“Oh, that is no problem. Mrs. Wells has asked me to dispose of her late husband’s wardrobe, but I am yet to do so. Shall we see if his things fit you?”

They fit surprisingly well, except over my bosom, which spread the shirt buttons in an unseemly fashion.

Caroline corrected this by binding me with a length of flannel. Once I donned a waistcoat and jacket, I looked every bit a man from the neck down. Next she removed of my lip balm and rouge, rearranged my hair and covered it with a felt hat. Finally, she took a snippet of my hair and fashioned a thin moustache and goatee with the aid of gum. I was stunned by the young man staring back from her glass.

Caroline was quite taken with the new me, and I played the role of a seductive beau for some time – a role I found strangely natural and satisfying. Alas, neither of us had attended to the tolling of the hours. When I finally did, there was insufficient time for me to both return to my womanly persona and catch the train. In a panic, Caroline put my feminine attire in a shopping bag while I transferred the contents of my purse to Mr. Wells’ shoulder bag.

As I left the house, Mrs. Wells said, “Well, if you’re not the man about town! Caroline is going to have a severe scolding for entertaining a gentleman in her rooms!” Then, she doubled over laughing.

I could only blush and hurry out the door – carrying the shopping bag and wondering where I could change back into a woman. At the station the conveniences were clearly labeled “Gentlemen” and “Ladies.” Neither would serve my purpose. I reflected that the WC on the train was open to both sexes and determined to make my metamorphosis there.

As before, I sat in the last row of the rail carriage – this time not to observe, but to escape observation. Unfortunately, a man in a cheap suit sat beside me, foiling my plan. He was a most unpleasant gentleman – unshaven and reeking in both body and breath. I opened the window even though the air was far from warm and cinders would rain upon me.

Once the train started, he turned to me. “Where ya goin’?

“Yonkers.”

“Me too – never been there. You know a hotel?”

“There is a tavern with rooms across from the station. I hear the rates are good and the food passable,” I said without turning towards him.

He seemed to be waiting for me to continue the conversation. Instead, I retrieved a copy of Irving’s The Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon the Sergeant had lent me and started reading.

After a few minutes, he said, “Funny you being from Yonkers, I’m going there to look for my little cousin. Maybe you have seen him? Here’s his likeness.” He passed me a daguerreotype of Alexander.

I hoped he did not notice my initial shock. I composed myself and studied the image for a while. “Ah, yes. I recall the lad. Rumor is he and his governess went to Boston a couple of weeks back.”

“That’s hard to believe. I’s told he was stayin’ with his uncle, just outside of town.”

“I would not know. It was just something I heard.”

He grunted.

I sat silent a while, pretending to read while my heart pounded and my mind raced. I wished I could bewitch this man as I had the man in grey. Then a thought occurred. I opened my shoulder bag and took out my dream stone.

“Since you were kind enough to share the image of your cousin with me, I thought you might like to see an interesting stone I have. See … if you hold it one way if looks like a face, while another way, it seems to be some kind of beast. Here, look closely – deep into the stone. Many feel quite relaxed as they look … even sleepy. I can see you are tired. Your eyes look heavy. You should close them …”

Shortly he was deep in the dream world.

“Why do you seek the boy?”

“I was sent to look for him.”

“Who sent you?”

“Clive van der Leyden.”

“And what are you to do if you find him?”

“Grab him if I can. If not, kill him.”

“And, if you can do neither?”

“Report what I have learned.”

“You will go straight to the tavern in Yonkers. You will ask no one about the boy. Tomorrow, you will take the noon train back to Manhattan and say that you could not find the boy in Yonkers, but several people told you he and his governess went to Boston.”

I thought for a while. The story was too vague. “You will say you talked to a man on the train, the station master, the postmaster and the innkeeper. All agreed that the boy had gone to Boston. Say also that you spied the house and saw no sign of the child. … Now tell me what you will report.”
He did. It seemed credible. I had one more thought. “Give me the daguerreotype. You will not notice it is gone until you are on your way back. Then you will think it lost.” I woke him with the usual good feelings just as we were pulling into the station..
“You better wake up, we are at Yonkers.”

“Oh, thank you. I must have dozed off.”

“You are quite welcome.”

It was only when I stepped off the train and saw the Sergeant that I realized that I was still dressed as a man. There was nothing to do but make a joke of it. I walked up to him. He was looking past me for my feminine self. “Excuse me sir, could you direct me to a hotel?” I said in a deep voice.

“Try the tavern over there,” he said, pointing, while still scanning the platform.

“Thank you.”

“Say, you did not see a husky young lady with brown hair on the train?”

“No, but let me introduce myself. Bill Newcome is the name,” I said extending my hand.

He looked at me, then did a double take. “What the shit!? Miss Nancy!?”

We shook hands and both roared with laughter.

“I’ll be damned. I looked right past you. You pulled a good one!” he said, putting an arm around my shoulder as he shook in a hearty laugh. “Please excuse the barracks language, I had a few pints while waiting.”

“And I am not exactly a lady today.”

On the ride back, the Sergeant asked, “Where’d you get the duds for your gag?”

“’Duds’?”

“You know, clothes.”

“Oh, from my friend Caroline. She is the companion of a widow. These belonged to the lady’s late husband.”

“Well, they fit you good! … And the moustache and beard – how’d you do that?”

“Caroline used a lock of my hair and a bit of gum.”

“Well, you sure had me fooled!”

“I’ll change back as soon as we get to the house.”

“No, you mustn’t. We’ve got to let the Capt’n see!”

When we got home, the Sergeant announced that he’d met an old friend at the station – Bill Newcome. When I walked in, Karl looked completely puzzled. I looked nothing like Bill Newcome, but Karl could not figure out who I was.

Finally he said, “Nancy? Is that you?”

“Yes, Karl, I am afraid it is.”

We all had another laugh. Then I changed the subject.

“I have something terribly important to report.”

Since I was dressed like a man, Karl insisted that we all discuss my report over brandy. This time I received a full snifter, rather than a taste. I recounted my encounter with the man on the train. When I told of bringing him into the dream world, they seemed incredulous. "I assure you, I am telling the unvarnished truth."

"I believe you are speaking in earnest," said Karl. "Give me a moment to think. ... I recall reading something that may be related to your ‘dream world.’ Franz Mesmer, a German physician, did something like it. He called it ‘animal magnetism.’ More recently, James Braid, a Scot, called what Mesmer did ‘hypnosis.’ Nancy, I wonder if you might demonstrate it for us?”

“On whom?”

“On Constance, or perhaps Alexander?”

Thinking of her romp with the blacksmith’s apprentice and delicate condition, I said, “I would not want to intrude on Constance’s privacy. Alexander would be better.” This might be an opportunity to disclose her feminine constitution.

Shortly, Constance brought Alexander to the library.

"You're a man again, Miss ... Sir? ... with a moustache and beard!"

"It is just a bit of witchery. ... I will be a woman again later."

“Alexander, dear, I wonder if we could try a little experiment on you.”

“‘Experiment’?”

“Yes, a trial. I promise it will not hurt. When it is over, you will feel quite nice.”

“If you think it best, Miss.”

He entered the dream world faster than anyone before. I asked him about his experiences with Miss Grundel. They were far more extensive and brutal than he had told me.

Hearing of them enraged Karl. The account of van der Leyden’s betrayal of Emily and subsequent behavior toward Alexander raised his anger to high peak. I could see the veins in his forehead clearly as they stood out. It was a terrible countenance -- one that made me imagine him at war.

I gave him a moment to compose himself. Then said, “Karl, I want to show you one more thing – something Alexander would be loathe saying awake. … Alexander, remember last Friday on our way to town – you told me what kind of soul you have. What kind is it, dear?”

“A girl’s soul, Miss.”

“And what kind of boy are you, dear?”

“A tom boy, miss.”

“What name do you prefer?”

“Alexandria.”

“What happened at the dry goods, Alexandria?”

“We looked at Peterson’s Magazine, and I showed you the kinds of dresses I like. You said you would make two for me. I picked out organdy and calico for them.”

“And did that make you happy?”

“Very, miss.”

“Ok, shortly you will wake up and not remember what we talked about, but you will feel lovely and loved …”

“I need some moments to calm myself and reflect,” said Karl.

I took the occasion to put Sandy to bed.

When I returned, Karl said, “I am not surprised to learn that that Alex … Alexandria has a girl’s soul, and, as I told you, I leave it to you to rear him as seems best -- I know nothing of raising children.”

The Sergeant seemed very agitated by this. “It just isn’t right to put a boy that age in a dress.”

“Even if his mother dressed him so?”

“Well, women don’t always know …”

“Perhaps,” said Karl, “but, as Alexandria said, she has a girl’s soul. Even you must admit to that, Sergeant?”

“I s’pose … Yeah, he don’t act like any boy I seen. … Still, it don’t seem fittin’.”

“It is the hand we’ve been dealt. So, it is the hand we shall play. … Nancy, how did you come to learn about your ‘dream world’?”

I told him of my training under Agnes.

“You are indeed a gem, Nancy. Your actions on the train may well buy us time. Obviously, providence has sent you to aid us in our hour of need.”

I could only blush.

“We have learned much tonight of our continuing danger. We should sleep upon this news before making further plans; however, Sergeant, I want you to keep your Colt ready to hand, not in the entry hall. The same goes for you, Nancy.”

I withdrew my pistol from my shoulder bag to show Karl I was prepared.

“Good! Let us finish our brandy and retire.”

Over the following days, Karl and the Sergeant worked out a plan of defense. My part was simple. I was to take “the child” and withdraw to my room – barricading the door behind me, and standing ready with my Colt. It was also decided that, for the present, I would not take “the child” to town, but confine our excursions to nature.

After Karl outlined his plan, he became quite serious. “While I am confident in our plan of defense, one should always consider the worst. It may come to pass that you will need to flee with the child, If so, the Sergeant will accompany you.” He outlined a well-conceived design for this eventuality and finished by handing me a belt concealing gold coins and notes drawn on Mr. Hamilton’s Bank of New York. I had never seen such notes, but Karl assured me they were “as good as gold.” I put the belt in the secret compartment of my wardrobe against the contingency of flight.

Instead of taking Sandy to town, I split our mornings between nature excursions and teaching her to sew. The berry season was over, so I started teaching her plant lore and the reverence for nature I had learned from my father and from Agnes. Wednesday, I wanted to instruct her about willow bark. A fine specimen grew on the bluff of the Hudson. As it happened, the path to it led by Agnes’ cave.

As we passed the cave, I thought it would make a secure meeting place should Sandy and I be separated in a time of danger. I led Sandy down the bank, pointing out landmarks, to the hidden entrance. Agnes had left candles and a flint and steel, so I was able to show her the interior, with its deeper hiding places.

Thursday morning Sandy sewed a bow to the neck line of her everyday dress, finishing it. I helped her put it on. I had never seen a child blush so! Still, she radiated happiness – swinging back and forth letting the skirt brush her legs – all the while staring into the glass at her reflection. I had no doubt of her being a girl in her soul.

After her French lesson, Sandy was worn out, so I put her down for a nap. As Mary was in town purchasing supplies, Constance and I had a chance to speak privately. She had told Mary she was with child. After an initial peak of anger and disappointment, her mother had embraced her and assured her of her continuing love.

Liam, her beau, had taken the train to White Plains and obtained the position of boilermaker and assistant blacksmith. Once he found them a home, they would be married – perhaps in a month or two. Meanwhile, Mary had arranged for their priest to announce the banns.

I was relieved to see Constance’s “problem” on its way to resolution.

Anne Cummings had written, saying she would come to Yonkers Friday to seek an apprentice at the Asylum. Since I knew the girls, she asked if I would be kind enough to accompany her. After checking with Karl, I agreed to meet her Friday morning. Constance would watch Sandy while I accompanied Anne.

I rose early Friday, harnessed Becky to the trap as the Sergeant had showed me, and drove to the station. Just as the train steamed away, I saw Anne and Peggy on the platform.

“Peggy hoped she might play with Alexander, but you have not brought him.”

“He is being attended by Constance, the maid. We can stop by the mansion on our way to the Asylum.”

“I am sure that would please Peggy – would it not, dear?”

“Oh, very much, mother.”

“Before you see Alexander, I must say that since he has a feminine soul, and she is to be raised as a girl – named Alexandria. I hope that will not cause either of you upset.”

“Oh Miss Winston, Alexandria always was a girl to me. He never acted like a nasty boy.”

“I am neither surprised nor shocked. I have a distant cousin in a similar situation. For whatever reason, God gives some girls the body of a boy,” added Anne.

Jane and Mrs. van Hoff met us at the door of the asylum. They had gathered the three girls approaching their fourteenth year for Anne to interview. I knew them well. Alice Witmore was hard working, but not quick of wit. Penelope Smyth was very immature and flighty. Fortunately, Cora van Duff was both quick-witted and industrious. I sat in silence, letting Anne interview each to form her own opinion. Then, the four of us convened to discuss the matter. As I expected, Cora was chosen, and arrangements were made to pick her up in three weeks, on her birth date.

I was driving back to the mansion at a leisurely pace, enjoying the air and chatting with Anne, when I heard four booms, interspersed with sharper cracks. The booms were the unmistakable report of a Colt Walker.

My heart raced as I whipped Becky to a gallop. The trap rattled on at a frightening speed as I retrieved my colt from my purse. Anne was ashen as she hung on for dear life. At the last bend, I stopped and urged her to hide for her own safety.

“My death is nothing if Peggy is gone.” Her face had transformed from ash to stone.

I snapped my Sheffield open, handed it to her and urged the tired mare to one last effort. Both trap and horse almost overturned as we careened to a stop in front of the broken door. I approached cautiously, my Patterson held with both hands. Two ruffians lay in the hall with horrible wounds, doubtlessly from the Sergeant’s Colt. Beyond, the Sergeant lay bleeding – his colt still smoking. I ran to him, but to no avail. He was dead. I could not hold my tears.

“Peggy!?” called Anne.

Now was not the time for tears. I hardened my heart and gripped my pistol tighter. In the library a man lay run through by a saber – and the captain, wounded in the chest. Thank God, he was still alive!

“I’ve sent Constance for Doctor Robinson,” he wheezed. “Find Alexander and flee with the Sergeant … as we planned.”

“Yes, sir.” I could not bring myself to tell him the Sergeant lay dead.

“Anne, hide Becky and the trap while I bind the Captain’s wound. There is a meadow behind those trees.” I tore strips from my petticoat and bound his wound as best I could, then gave him a draft of laudanum. Having done what I could for him, I ran upstairs to gather my bag, potions and money belt.

Anne returned as I came down. We left to search for Alexander and Peggy. As we stepped out of the kitchen we saw Mary O’Grady laying dead of a bullet to the back.

“Oh Lord! What more? … Anne, whoever shot Mary might still be lurking. Keep a sharp lookout!”

“At least there is no sign of my Peggy ... or Alexander.”

“That, at least, is good news. I know where they may have gone.”

I concealed my carpet bag in some bushes before leading Anne stealthily through the woods, my Colt still cocked and ready. We broke out of the trees onto a prominence overlooking Agnes’s cave.

“There is a cave hidden behind that thicket.” I whispered. “I told Alexander to use as a refuge. Hopefully, he and Peggy are within.”

“Peggy! Alexander!” Anne shouted. “It’s mother, dear!”

There was no answer. I picked my way down to the cave, but could see only blackness as I peered into its mouth. I bent down and went in. A voice cried “Look out!” I shot deafened me. I saw stars, and collapsed. Hands were squeezing my throat. Then, all was black.

I’d been shot and was dying. Still, I was not afraid. I saw mother first, then father and David. They said nothing, but I could feel their welcoming love. Behind them were the Sergeant, Agnes, and a tunnel of light, which beckoned me. I was moving toward it when mother, without saying anything, said that my task was not complete. I must go back. Reluctantly, I agreed. As they faded away, I knew that I would never be alone.

When I awoke, Anne and the children sighed with relief. Sandy hugged me so hard I could not breathe. My hair was matted with blood and bound with strips torn my petticoat. My head ached terribly. Turning, I saw a man’s body by the entrance with my Sheffield still in his back.

“What happened?”

“You were shot in the head and then choked. Luckily the shot only grazed your skull – Peggy threw a rock that spoiled his aim. I’m afraid I tore more strips from your petticoat to bind your head – it was ruined already. I hope you do not mind.”

“Mind? No, I am grateful to you! … The children have escaped unharmed?”

“Yes,” said Sandy, “we escaped. Peggy and I were playing with her jumping rope behind the mansion when we heard a crash and shooting. Mrs. O’Grady came running out and shouted for us to run. That man,” he said pointing to the body, “came out and shot her down. We hid in the berry thicket, but he was beating the bushes with a stick, looking for us. I remembered what you said. So I grabbed Peggy’s arm, and we ran for the cave.”

“We lit a candle and sat quietly,” Peggy continued. “After a while we heard crunching and branches breaking.”

“I took Peggy and all the candles and hid over there – where you showed me.”

“Yes, and I blew our candle out,” Peggy added. “Then we saw him come in. We both stayed real still – even when we heard mother calling.”

“He lit matches looking for us, but they burned out before he found us.”

“When he heard mother calling, he went back to the entrance. We could see him holding his gun.”

“We didn’t know what to do. Peggy got a rock to throw at him. When I saw you coming in, I shouted, and Peggy threw her stone. When it hit him, his gun went off. We thought you were shot dead.” He started crying.

“Then he bent down, and started to choke you. I got another rock, but before I could throw it, mother came in and stuck a knife in him – and kept sticking him until he fell over and did not get up.”

“You were both very brave and smart. I’m proud of you,” I croaked, then passed out.

We spent the night in the cave. I slept while Anne kept watch. At first light she woke me.

“What shall we do with him?” she said, indicating the villain.

“We could leave him here to rot, or throw him into the river.”

“Ick! Don’t leave him here, he’ll stink up the whole cave. Throw him away like trash!” said Sandy.

I agreed. A killer would defile Agnes’s cave. Anne was indifferent. I retrieved my Sheffield, wiped it on his waistcoat, and offered it to her, but she would not touch it. I put it in my bag. Searching him, we found a second, discharged, derringer in his pocket. His shoulder bag contained caps, powder and ball; chewing tobacco; and an envelope with five $20.00 banknotes and a plan of the mansion. An arrow pointed to the nursery.

I offered Anne his pistols, which she accepted. I charged them for her, and suggested she put one in her purse and the other in her stocking.

We dragged him to the cave mouth and shoved him. He rolled down the bluff, catching here and there, but ending in the water. The current carried him away.

Anne helped me up the bluff, as I was still dizzy. Avoiding the house, we found Becky, hitched her to the trap, and left Yonkers.

I was dizzy, sleepy, and a little nauseous, so Anne drove. We had not eaten since yesterday morning, so we stopped at the Dobbs Ferry tavern to break our fast. Anne and the children ate well, but I could not keep my food down and rushed out to disgorge the little I had eaten by the side of the building.

Anne came out behind me, looking very concerned. She gave me a few sips of water and some bread to settle my stomach. After feeling my head, she said, “You have no fever. Could you be expecting?”

“Not unless the Holy Spirit has come upon me!” I said in a failed attempt at humor. Meanwhile, my head was aching ever more severely.

I woke in a strange bed. Peggy was nearby, sitting in a rocker, mending a dress.

“Mother, she’s awake!”

Anne and Sandy rushed in. The three of them looked exhausted, with bloodshot eyes.

“Thank God! The doctor said you might never wake.”

“Where am I?” I was still croaking.

“In my house, in White Plains. You have not stirred in three days. … Peggy run over to Dr. van Dorn, and tell him Miss Winston is awake. … Sandy, fetch her a bowl of soup.”

“Could I have some water?”

“Yes, of course.” She poured me a beaker. The water had a different taste from that in Yonkers. Still, I wanted to gulp it down. Anne made me sip it slowly.

“The doctor said he thought your brain was bleeding, and it might kill you – even days after suffering your wound. How does your head feel?”

“Still sore on the outside, but I have no headache.”

“He said that would be a good sign.”

“Then I am well. Sandy and I must flee. Staying here puts you and Peggy in danger.”

“There will be no ‘fleeing’ for at least a week. Dr. van Dorn drilled a hole in your head!”

“What!?”

“Yes, and he shaved off a good part of your hair to do it.” She handed me a mirror.

My head was bandaged, but, even so, I could see that all the hair on the back of my head was gone. I may be handsome, but I am not beautiful and my hair was my finest feature. I cried.

I was sitting in bed, eating a bowl of barley soup when there was a knock at the door and the doctor entered. He was a short, stout man of about sixty with a warm smile.

“You are eating and alert – both very good signs. … I am Dr. Hendrik van Dorn, by the way.” He sat beside me and felt my wrist, looking at his watch. “A steady pulse. You gave us quite a scare, but are on the mend, young lady.”

“Anne said you drilled a hole in my head?”

“Yes, a very small one. You would have died had I not. You had an intracranial hematoma – that is a bleeding brain. There was blood in your skull pressing on your brain. It would have crushed the life out of you, so I just drilled a little hole to let it out.”

“I never heard of such a thing.”

“Oh, surgeons have been doing it for thousands of years. Even Galen writes about the procedure. He was an ancient Roman, you know. I have personally done it several times when I was at the New York Hospital … perhaps you’ve seen it if you have been to Manhattan – it is on Broadway at Church. Anyway, I am glad to say that almost half my patients survived.”

“Over half died then?”

“Unfortunately, yes … but would all have died without the operation. That is why I was so concerned for you.

Do not mourn for them, most were miscreants of the worst kind. … Now as for you, young woman. Mrs. Cummings told me what happened … although rumor of the incident arrived before you did.”

“Do you know what happened to Captain de Peyster? Is he alive?”

“Yes, my college, Dr. Robinson, had him taken to the Orphan’s Asylum, where they are caring for him. I understand he is on the board there. He has a serious wound, but will recover unless sepsis takes him.”

“There is hope then.”

“Yes, but the outcome still hangs in the balance. … As I was saying, Mrs. Cummings told me about your plan to flee with the child,” he grimaced in a disapproving way, “but there can be no running for you for some time. Too much exertion and your brain may bleed again – and then who would take care of the child? For the present, you are safe. I have told no one you are here, and Mrs. Cummings has told people the child is a cousin come to visit.”

The days passed slowly. I could not stay abed, and so I sat with Anne as she worked at her potter’s wheel. She showed me how to “throw” a bowl and a vase, and let me help with firing and glazing. I wrote Caroline, expressing my love and sorrow that I may not see her for some time, and to Paula, telling her in detail what had happened and seeking her advice.

Both wrote back, but it seemed that Caroline's ardor was fading with my absence. Paula wrote that she would use her connections to find out what she could and help me as opportunities may occur.

About a week after I awoke, I was surprised when Constance came to Anne’s house near the crack of dawn.
“Hello, Miss. I am living with Liam now, though we are yet to be married. I saw Alexandria playing outside a few days ago, and reckoned that you must be hiding here. I would have stayed away, but last night Liam told me that a man has been asking around town for you two and thought you should know.”

“Thank you, Constance! I am so glad to see you and so sorry about your mother," I said embracing her. "Anne … Mrs. Cummings, … ah … made sure sure the man who killed her will never harm anyone again. … I have something that should be yours – a kind of dowry.” I gave her the five $20.00 banknotes that had been paid to the murders.

“I can’t take this!”

“You can and will – it is the price of your mother’s life, and is yours by right as compensation.”

We chatted a bit more, then she left. I found Anne and told her what happened.

“We must flee. The Captain devised a plan that I must follow. But I cannot go as I am. With my hair as it is, I am too memorable. You must cut it for me, so I look like a man.”

She did. That night she drove us to Dobbs Ferry, where we awaited the steamboat to Albany.

----------------------------

I see that the readership and kudos of this story are declining. I planned for it be the story of Nancy and Sandy's journeys: both geographic and psychological. It takes a lot of time to research what happened where and when. I am wondering if there is enough interest to warrant the effort.

It would be safest if Sandy and I fled in disguise. Of course, Sandy was already dressing as a girl, but few, even in Yonkers, knew that. Equally, few knew that I had managed to pass as a man before, or that I regularly wore tongs and a shirt during my morning exercises with the poor Sergeant. With my hair cut short and my mannish frame, I looked disturbingly like a lad – even in my dresses.

I had lost my petticoat to the necessity of bandages. Further, my Sunday dress, which I had worn on the day of the attack, was too bulky for my bag. I gave it and my old grey dress Anne. This made room for two dresses Peggy had outgrown when she blossomed. These were now Sandy’s.

Dressed in Mr. Wells’ old suit, and with my bosom bound, I had arrived in Dobbs Ferry as a strapping lad of 15 or 16 years. Sandy was my sister, and we were on our way home to Albany after a visit with our Auntie Anne. We thus faced no questions when we broke our fast shortly after dawn in the tavern’s public room. My suit was out of style, but I looked no more odd than any lad my age wearing his father or grandfather’s hand-me-down.

After breakfasting on porridge, cream and coffee, we walked down to the ferry pier. After a brief wait, Sandy spied a plume of black smoke hastening upriver. I recalled the sweet pine smoke that curled out of steamboats when my father had taken David and me to see them sailing the river. They had moved at a leisurely pace. Now the boat raced toward us at 20 miles an hour! The price of this advance was the cloud of sulfurous smoke that settled around us in the cool morning air.

At the foot of the ramp stood the conductor, whom I learned is called “the purser” on a boat. I paid him our passage ($2.80 for me and $1.40 for Sandy), and boarded. All was a rush, for the boat was not docked more than a minute before bells rang and sweat-soaked men on either side began shoveling coal into the very furnaces of hell. Valves opened and closed, hissing steam and causing enormous pistons to rise and fall. An ingenious system of links and rods turned giant wheels on either side. The river churned, boiling up mud, and the boat backed out. Soon more bells rang, an officer threw levers, and we moved forward at an increasing pace.

I was fascinated and tried to work out how the whole was arranged to its end. Sandy, on the other hand, quickly grew bored and wandered off in search of something more to his amusement. My neglect soon came upon me and I went in search of my charge. In front of, and behind, the engines are two large accommodations for the passengers, with rows of benches. Each has a kitchen and a counter arranged much like the victualing-houses I had seen in Manhattan. There one can purchase, at exorbitant prices, food and drink to be carried back to one’s bench.

Sandy was in the forward accommodation hall, playing with two other girls. Remembering what the Sergeant had taught me about “situational awareness,” I scanned the hall. Most of the passengers seemed men of business, but there was a scattering of families, and most peculiarly, a group of women engaged in energetic and purposeful conversation – I might almost say debate. A raven-haired lady of about 40 had a lap desk and noted down points of agreement. As I observed them, a somewhat younger brunette looked at me for a moment, smiled and when back to their common business. Sitting by a window, not far from them, sat a smaller group of men amiably playing cards and smoking cigars. From the occasional glances exchanged between the groups, I took these to be the ladies’ husbands.

These groups were singular in another respect. One of the women, who seemed to be accepted as an equal, was a negress, and one of the men, treated similarly, was a well-dressed freedman. I had never seen such a thing.

Perceiving no immediate danger, I returned my attention to Sandy and the girls, who were playing Cupid’s Coming. The girls, perhaps 9 and 12 years old, were dressed to match, so I assumed they were sisters. As I arrived they had evidently been playing “C” for some time. Cupid was coming “Charming," “Chanting,” “Careering,” and so on. Sandy was keeping her own when the younger sister could think of no word.
“Rose, I always lose! You only know more words than me because you’re older – and so is Sandy. It’s not fair! We should play something else!” she pouted.

“Like what?”

“Like dolls.”

“Violet, that would be mean because Sandy doesn’t have one!”

“Oh, but she does,” I interjected.

“Mi… Billy?” Sandy looked questioningly at me.

I opened my bag and dug to the bottom where I had the doll my mother had made me. “Here you go, dear.”

Sandy took it with a quick “Thank you,” and went back to her play.

“My, aren’t you a lovely big brother. I’m Sara Goodhill, these girls’ mother.”

“William Newcomb,” I said, extending my hand. “I suppose you’ve met my sister, Sandy? I was looking at the steam engines, and she got away from me.”

“Don’t worry, its perfectly natural for a young man to be interested in such things. What has happened to your poor head?”

“Oh, it looks worse than it is. I got hurt through carelessness in exploring a cave.”

“I suppose boys will be boys,” she said, returning to her sewing.

At that moment, I had a sudden sense of loss, for I had left the community of women, which I enjoyed with Jane, Caroline and Anne. Even my adulthood had slipped away. In this woman’s eyes, I was not a person of the world, but merely an older boy accompanying his young sister.

I read quietly and watched the scenery pass while Sandy assumed her new persona as if she had never been a boy. From time to time, I would see her playing with my doll and reflect with vague dread and uncertainty on my new status. I had thought that passing as a boy would give me a new freedom, but so far it was yet to be realized.

I thought too of Caroline, whom I might never see again, and wondered how I could find someone like her, now that I had given up my dress for tongs. A young woman might be attracted to the new me, but it was unlikely that she would share Caroline’s inclinations – and impossible that I would be able to meet her desires.

I was lost in such thoughts when Sandy interrupted my reflections. “I am hungry! Can we not buy some food?”

“Yes … I am sorry. Let us see what they have.” We settled on sausages with mustard on fresh buns -- washed down with lemonade.

Sandy fell asleep on the bench with his head in my lap. The day had grown hot and the river air was humid, so I rolled my jacket as a pillow for Sandy and went to the bow to enjoy the breeze. Suddenly, the brunette from the women’s group was at my side.

“Excuse me,” she said.

“Yes?”

“I thought you needed to know something.”

“What is that?”

“Your disguise is incomplete and sure to be penetrated.”

“My disguise?” I said, trying to hide my alarm.

“Yes, as a boy.”

I was at a loss for words. I could hardly deny her perspicacity.

“You see,” she blushed, “whenever I see a man – or a strapping lad – I can’t help but look at his … well, at his manhood, and you do not have any, my dear. Women are sure to notice – and some men too, I dare say.”

“Oh!” I did not know what to say, but clearly she was right. It was an obvious blunder on my part.

“I assume that you have good reason for your incognito. You have a wound to your head – and I observed how you took in all parts of the room when you entered. … I am Abigail Cummings, by the way,” she said, extending her hand.

“William … no, Nancy Winston, governess.” I decided to trust her, as she was obviously trying to help.

"Sandy, the child with me, is my charge, and we have already evaded two attacks. So, we are fleeing west.”

“You plan to take a canal boat then?”

“Yes.”

“So do my friends and I. We are on our way to Seneca Falls. It might be to your advantage to accompany us -- that far, at least.”

“I do not know where Seneca Falls is.”

“Oh, I should have said. It is near the canal in the Finger Lakes country.”

The Sergeant had taught me that some plan is better than no plan, so I agreed.

When I returned to the hall, Sandy was awake and playing dolls with Rose and Violet. Shortly after, we arrived in Albany – a mere seven and a half hours since we began!

Abigail had introduced us to her friends as William and Sandy Winston, and said we would be joining them for dinner. So, we were gathered together on the foredeck as the boat approached its dock. Scanning the pier, I saw a scattering of people standing with joyous countenances, awaiting their friends and families. To one side a man sat whittling on a piling. He drew my attention because he alone had an indifferent, even bored, expression.

The purser was the first one down the ramp and took his station at its foot. The piling man approached him and conversed briefly. The purser shook his head slightly and was given a coin. Then, the man returned to his piling, from which vantage he watched the passengers depart. Sandy and I stayed close to Abigail and her friends, and he took no special note of us. Still, I was concern as he followed us over the bridge. I was relieved when he turned at the foot of the bridge while we continued down State Street toward the Capitol.

Albany is a city of about 50,000 – one of the ten largest in the country – and is the furthest point one can reach by sailing up the Hudson. Still, it is unlike Manhattan in many ways. As we approached it, I saw mills with vast piles of lumber along the shore, and instead of the smell of horse and human offal so prominent in The City, the dominant, almost overpowering, scent was beer! Here, breweries converted the harvest of the interior to liquid form and innumerable barrels of their product sat on the docks awaiting passage.

The group, numbering almost 20, walked to Stanwix Hall, a magnificent five-story marble building on North Broadway, topped by a large dome. They had reserved rooms there, but, as the legislature was not in session, the hotel easily accommodated Sandy and me. Once we were settled, there was a knock at the door, and I opened it to admit Abigail.

“I hope that we may have a frank discussion.”

“I have already given you my confidence.”

“Good. Then you must tell me your situation, so that my friends and I may assist you, if we can.”

I paused to consider how open I wished to be. “I will tell you whatever you wish, but the more you know, the more the danger, not only to Sandy and me, but to you and your friends.”

“Nancy, I think that you will find that we are made of stern stuff. We are not just a group of friends on a summer holiday, but are en route to reform the very foundations of the republic. I told you that we are on our way to Seneca Falls. I did not say that our purpose there is a Woman’s Rights Convention.”

“Women’s rights?”

“Yes, we will demand the legal right to do all that men can do: hold property, make contracts and, most importantly, vote!”

“Vote?” It had never occurred to me that women might vote – if only the law allowed us.

“Yes, why should we not? Has God not endowed us with the same inalienable rights as men?”

“I suppose He has. … Still the idea is … I don’t even know the word.”

“A good one?”

“Oh, indeed! But, more than that … revolutionary! The kind of thing people fight … and die for. I see that you and your friends are not at all timid doves, but mighty eagles.”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” she demurred. “Still, we will stand up for what is just.”

“I have no doubt. What do you wish to know?”

“You said you evaded two attacks, tell me about them.”

I told her how I came to be Sandy’s governess and of the man in the grey suit.

She recalled reading of a man dying under a locomotive.

Then I told her of the raid on Captain de Peyster’s mansion and how I came to be wounded.

“Yes, there was an account of the attack in the broadsheets. It said his nephew had been kidnapped by his governess.”

I cast my eyes toward Sandy, who had fallen asleep.

“Oh, I see.”

“The child is not merely in disguise, but is epicene – his soul is female through and through.”

“Is that possible?”

“It is how God has created him.”

“Well, that is a discussion for another time. For the present, let us say he is in disguise – as are you.”

“As you think best.”

“So, what is your plan? You said you intend to take a canal boat.”

“Yes. Captain de Peyster has an old army friend at the Jefferson Barracks in St. Louis. He wrote him warning him that we might flee to him.”

“But surely, he could not have expected you, who are not yet twenty, if I am any judge, to have taken Sandy all that way?”

“He did not think I would be going alone. His Sergeant was to have accompanied us.”

“And where is the Sergeant?”

“Dead. Fallen defending us when the mansion was attacked.”

“But, surely, you cannot be expected to take Sandy alone.”

“I am more capable than you imagine. I no longer have to defend us with a hat pin,” I said, showing her my Colt.”

She was taken aback.

“The Sergeant taught me that when one falls, another must take up his task. You are in a struggle for the equality of women. Surely, if we can vote, we can do more.”

“I had not thought through what equality implies.”

“Nor I.”

“May I tell my friends of your situation?”

“If you trust their discretion.”

“I do.”

Still in my suit, I brought Sandy to join our new friends for dinner. It was served in a private salon, bright with gas light. Abigail greeted us as we entered.

“I would like to introduce my new friend, Nancy, traveling, for the present, under the nom de guerre William Newcome, and her charge Alexandria. Nancy has survived two attempts on her charge, so I am sure you will all respect her incognito.”

I was surprised and gratified by the warm and unquestioning welcome we received. Abigail showed us to our places at a long table, set with linen, china and silver such as I had not seen. Four candelabras added to its festive character.

At one end sat Lucretia Mott, a Quaker minister in her mid-fifties from Philadelphia. She seemed the de facto leader of the group. At the other end was her husband James, a lawyer who treated her as at least an equal. My expectations were twice shattered by her: first, that she was a minister, and second that she led, with her husband in support. It was an astounding group that I had fallen in with.

On either side of Mrs. Mott sat Mr. Fredrick Douglass, for so the freedman was called, and his wife Anna, together with their children. He was a handsome gentleman of about thirty years, and Anna somewhat younger. Further down, and closer to me, was the woman who had been taking notes on her lap desk, Mary M’Clintock. Abigail sat opposite me and Sandy.

The dinner conversation started with the usual social pleasantries, but quickly moved to the issue of the upcoming convention in Seneca Falls, which had been called by one Elizabeth Stanton of that city. As I listened to the discussion, I came to see that my life, as turbulent as it had been, was sheltered with respect to the larger issues of the world. Mrs. Mott explained to the younger women how Mrs. Stanton had struggled for years with the legislature in this city to secure women’s property rights. Mr. Douglass, in turn, spoke briefly of his three attempts to escape slavery, finally succeeding with help from Anna, and of how his freedom had only been purchased by friends the previous year. His story moved me to tears.

As dessert was served, the conversation turned to the lighter topic of our immediate schedule. The Motts been to the docks and chartered a packet boat, which was yet to be cleaned and provisioned. It would not be ready until the following afternoon. So, it was suggested that we tour the city (principally the Capitol Building) in the morning and go down to the docks after eating lunch.

After dinner, Abigail took the Motts and Douglasses to one side. After a brief consultation, they invited me to join them in the Mott’s suite. Mary M’Clintock would attend Sandy and the Douglass children.

Their suite was much grander than the narrow room Sandy and I shared, comprising a capacious sitting room and a large bedroom, both with a fine prospect.

“Now dear,” began Mr. Mott, “tell us as much of your story as you are comfortable in relating.”

I gave a frank account of the situation Sandy and I found ourselves in, including the attacks we had survived, until meeting Abigail. I said little of my wound other than it having necessitated cutting my locks.

Mr. Douglass, familiar with the necessities of flight, commended me on my actions so far. Then the group considered what course of action to recommend.

“So, dear, other than fleeing danger, what is your purpose? Do you propose remaining in Albany, and if so, have you the means of doing so?” asked Mrs. Mott.

The Captain had enjoined me to speak to no one of my money belt, so I evaded that part of her query. “It would not be safe for us here. I already saw a man at the dock whose sole purpose seemed to be spying arriving passengers.”

“I observed him as well,” interjected Mr. Douglass.

“I suspect he is an agent of Sandy’s stepfather. I fled White Plains when an agent appeared there. So, I hope to carry out the plan Captain de Peyster devised for our contingency. As I have already told Abigail, I intend safely to deliver Sandy to an army friend of the Captain at the Jefferson Barracks in St. Louis. That gentelman has been sent notarized papers appointing him Sandy’s conditional guardian. He will be there until at least August 23rd, as he is to be married on that date.

“Have you advised this officer of your intentions and progress?” asked Mr. Mott.

“No. I had not thought to do so.” I was embarrassed at my stupidity. “If I were to write him now, the letter might arrive after we do.”

“Quite so! Still, there is no need to fret. Last year, a telegraph line from this very city to St. Louis was completed. The office is along the way to the Capitol. We shall stop there in the morning and I shall help you dispatch a message.”

“Oh, I have sent a telegram before.”

“Good, for you!”

“Now, we need to consider your route and security.”

“My route? I thought I would take a canal boat.”

“Yes, but there is a slightly faster alternative. A rail line goes as far as Schenectady. Taking it and then a packet boat would hasten your journey.”

“Oh.”

“I should advise against that,” cut in Mr. Douglass.

“Why?” asked Mr. Mott.

“Because it is virtually impossible to escape a pursuer on a moving train. If one of the stepfather’s agents should board with you … You and the child could hardly survive jumping from it.”

“Yes, I see. So, what do you suggest Mr. Douglass?”

“A packet boat, as you originally thought. The question is, should you accompany us?”

“And why should they not?” asked Mrs. Mott with some indignation.

“Because a gaggle of political women and negro abolitionists is sure to draw attention.”

“Ah, of course,” she said.

“Still, it is the best plan,” concluded Mr. Mott.

“Why?” we all asked.

“First, because attention to political women and dark-skinned abolitionists is not attention to a fleeing child and her governess. Second, because of the difficulty of maintaining Miss Winston’s male persona on a packet boat for days on end. How, for example, would she relieve herself? Like a man, off the side of the boat? I think not!”

“So, I should return to my female self?”

“Yes! If you had a cabin on a steam boat, you could travel as you are, but on a packet boat there are no cabins, only men’s and women’s communal sleeping areas. Both would be unsuitable as you are.”

“Of course -- you are right,” I said in exasperation. “There is so much I do not know. … But, what of my hair?”

“That is easily solved, I shall give you my bonnet, and obtain another from a milliner in the morning,” offered Abigail. “Do you need a dress as well?”

“No, thank goodness. … I could pay you for the bonnet,” I offered.

“Don’t you dare!”

“Then we are agreed! You will travel with us, at least as far as Seneca Falls. Sleep well and meet us in the morning in the same dining salon. We break our fast at 7:00.”

Back in my room, I found Sandy already asleep in her camisole. Mary M’Clintock must surely know her secret. What might that portend?

I was exhausted, but I could not sleep, for it came upon me how absurd it was for a girl not yet of seventeen years to undertake the arduous task before me. Reflection on the stories I heard at dinner made me think how much better equipped true adults were for such an undertaking. By what right did I consider myself fit for it? This was not what the Captain had intended. The task was to have been the Sergeant’s – mine merely to attend to Sandy.

I had thought, briefly, that I could attain the freedoms accorded to men by dressing and acting as a man. These women sought to do the same while staying women. I had played recruit under the Sergeant’s tutelage, but had never done more than stick a man with my hat pin. In fact, I had almost died in attempting the role of warrior. All the while, images of the dead Sergeant, the wounded Captain, and poor Mary with a bloody hole in her back came unbidden to me. I desired the warm embrace of Caroline, but each day took me further from her. It was with such self doubts, painful memories and confused feelings that I fell into a fitful sleep.

With me dressed once again as a woman, Sandy and I descended to the dining salon. There we breakfasted on fruit, beans and sausages, before settting off for the Capitol at a leisurely pace. Mr. Mott pointed out the telegraph office, and waited without for Sandy and I to dispatch a message. I wrote, “In Albany. Bringing de Peyster child via canal, river. N. Winston.” In less than a minute, the message’s receipt in St. Louis was acknowledged. Over a thousand miles and back in a flash! If only we could travel as fast.

I found the Capitol building impressive, but the tour not to my interest except for the New York State Library, where I wished I could spend days. After the tour, most returned to the hotel, but Mr. Mott suggested that Sandy and I might accompany a small party to the Albany Academy to see one of the true wonders of the world.

“What is it?” asked Sandy.

“Let it be a surprise, but I assure you it will astound you.”

We walked a short block from the Capitol to a large school building on Lafayette Street. Mr. Mott made a donation to the headmaster and a student was called. The boy guided us to a demonstration room, where an apparatus sat on a table. On each side were jars, called “cells,” with copper and zinc plates immersed in a weak acid of some sort. Connected to them by copper wires was something like a scale beam made of iron – except it had no pan and was wrapped with wire. Where the pans would have been stood iron posts.

The student urged us to move a lever. Sandy, being the youngest, was given the honor. When she moved it, the beam began rocking back and forth, making a loud clacking sound. Whenever it came in contact with a post, sparks issued forth. Soon, an acrid smell filled the air. When the lever was returned to its original position, the apparatus came to a sudden stop.

“What is it?” I asked.

“It is Mr. Joseph Henry’s electric motor – the first in the world – invented right here almost 20 years ago. Someday its descendants may power boats and trains just as steam engines do today.”

I recalled how the rise and fall of the pistons had powered us up the river to Albany at 20 miles an hour, and knew I had seen the future.

We stopped at a victualling house for lunch, picked up our baggage at the hotel, and walked down Columbia Street and across the bridge to the canal dock. There we boarded the packet boat Mr. Mott had chartered.

Our boat was older and shorter than many, only about sixty feet long, and fourteen or fifteen wide. It was singular for having been gaily painted by its Portuguese Captain. Most of its length was occupied by a low cabin. Within were long settees on either side, men’s and women’s sections divided by a curtain, and a kitchen in its center.

The crew consisted of Bartolomeu Lavrador, the captain, who insisted on being addressed as “Bart,” his wife Ines, their son João or John, about my age, and daughter Matilde, slightly younger. There were a number of younger children so active that it was difficult to even count them. John told me with pride that his father, a carpenter, had come to this country first, saved every cent he could, bought and repaired the boat, which had been a derelict, and then sent for Inez.

We were not long on board before Bart signaled a little steam boat, called a “tug.” It took us in tow and put us at the head of a line of fright barges and a “line boat,” which is a passenger conveyance without the appointments of a packet. The tug towed us through a large area of water, past innumerable docks crowded with warehouses and piled with goods. These were alive with men, wagons and horses. The curses reaching our ears made a few of the ladies blush. I did not, as I had heard similar profanity in Manhattan.

All my life I had heard jocular references to "Clinton’s Ditch." I had also heard that the canal was an engineering marvel and an American Wonder of the World – a source of national pride. Still, in my imagination, it was a ditch like any other but longer, wider and perhaps deeper. I was somewhat surprised, then, when the tug pulled us through a gate with imposing doors into a smaller body of water. I supposed the gate to be a defensive work, perhaps to defend the canal from the British fleet.

Imagine my surprise, then when the gate closed behind us, and the water in the basin began slowly to rise – lifting all the boats with it. Mr. Mott, seeing my surprise, explained that we were in “Lock Number 1” and that there were eighty-three such “locks” on the canal. Their purpose was to raise and lower the barges – because Lake Erie was not at the same level as the Hudson River. Besides, there were ridges and prominences to be crossed. By the time he finished his explanation, a gate at the far end had opened, and we were being towed into the next section.

There the little tug detached from us, stopped at each barge to collect its fee, and steamed back whence it came. In its place, teams were attached to each barge. Since we were a packet boat, we got a team of three horses. The line boat behind us got two and the freight barges one or two horses or mules.

Once our team was harnessed, Captain Bart gathered us together and explained that many of the bridges over the canal were exceedingly low. If we were on deck, we should get down as we passed under them. This was very important as some years ago a woman had fallen asleep on another boat and had been crushed between a low bridge and the cabin roof.

So we proceeded along the canal. Our boat made five miles an hour and quickly left the others behind. The men returned to playing cards, and the women gathered in their circles sewing and conversing. I had no sewing, so I sat near the front taking in the sights and teaching Sandy French. When he was not duty, John, the captain’s son, often joined us. Occasionally, we would be interrupted by the call “Low Bridge!” and find a need to double over, or even lay down. After about six hours we reached a station where fresh horses awaited. It was but the work of a moment to exchange them and their driver, called a “hoggee.”

As the sun lowered in the sky, an unfamiliar but delicious aroma wafted from the kitchen as Ines and Matilde prepared to introduce us to Culinária Portuguesa. About 8:00, the boat’s bell sounded, calling us to supper. The curtain dividing the men’s and women’s sections had been removed and a table running the length of the cabin in place.

The table was set with silver plate, although nothing to compare to that at Stanwix Hall. The difference was more than made up by the hearty fare Matilde placed before us. We began with a crusty corn and rye bread called broa (that they pronounce bro-e), butter, and a soup called caldo verde, made from potato, onions, garlic, greens and a kind of sausage. Some turned up their noses at these unfamiliar offerings, but changed their minds after a few tentative bites. Large jugs of red wine were spaced along the table. Most of us enjoyed them, despite sour looks from the advocates of temperance. We went on to a spicy main dish of cod fish and tomatoes, and ended with cheeses and a kind of rice pudding with cinnamon. Everyone was well-sated, and complimented Ines and Matilde.

It was quite late when we finished supping. So, the crew, including the smaller children, worked to clear the table and prepare the cabin for sleeping. The table was taken down and the curtain separating the sexes replaced. The settees converted to cots. Boards and bedding were placed above them making three levels of beds on each side.

Once we were preparing for bed, Mary M’Clintock took me to one side and lectured me on the Biblical prohibition against men dressing as women, and, by implication, against women dressing as men. She intimated that while the disguises Sandy and I employed might save our earthly lives, they could cost us eternal souls – which were far more important.

I gave her the respectful hearing an elder deserved, and agreed that our souls were indeed most important. Nor, I did not voice any of the many points of rebuttal that occurred to me. I did explain that changing Sandy into male attire now would be a serious risk, and she begrudgingly agreed. I thanked her for her advice and concern, and hoped to myself that ended the matter.

While our conversation, and the restraint it required, made me restless, the wine and rhythmic clopping of the tow teem brought on a restful repose.

We woke to the aroma of fresh bread and strong coffee. After our morning ablutions, Matilde drew aside the curtain. Those who wished took hot coffee and a small cinnamon custard tart out to watch a glorious dawn. Meanwhile, the cabin was prepared for our morning meal. We again had fresh bread, this time with butter, jam, slices of cheese and ham, and jugs of milk still warm from the cow.

The fresh milk surprised me until I learned that farm wives stationed themselves along the towpath to sell their produce. After Matilde bought a basket of eggs and vegetables, she told me that her mother varied the menu to suit their purchases.

Thinking I might learn to prepare the dishes Ines served, I followed Matilde to the kitchen to watch her mother. There I saw an astonishing variety of herbs and spices – most of which I had not heard of. Ines was kind enough to let me taste and smell a broad selection. I decided her art would require a full apprenticeship, not just a few shared days. Still, I learned the use of a few of her herbs and spices.

So our days went. For some incomprehensible reason John took pleasure in my company and seemed to spend most of his free time with me – especially if Sandy was otherwise engaged.

One night, while I was abed, the boat lurched and came to a halt. Hearing muted voices, I arose, put on my dress and went on deck to see what had occurred. The hoggees were exchanging tow teams by lantern light on an otherwise black night. John was at the rudder. I went to stand by him and observe. As there was a chill in the night, he put his cloak over my shoulders and pulled me close. Perhaps his feelings toward me were more than friendship?

I was reflecting on my plainness, John’s behavior and my feelings toward the opposite sex when I discerned what may have been a movement on the foredeck. Unsure of what, if anything I had seen. I excused myself and went forward to investigate.

Unsure of what I had seen, I pulled my Colt from my dress pocket. I felt my way forward using the cabin roof to guide me in the dark. The lanterns carried by the chatting hoggees cast a faint light on the foredeck, revealing a huge black shape – like a man laying against the rail, but too large to be one.

Assuming my fierce visage with some trepidation, and not wanting to wake the sleeping women, I whispered “I have a gun! Get up!”

“I can’t – them patter rollers ull see me.”

“Patter rollers?”

"You knows, catchers -- slave catchers."

I glanced at the hoggees, two men in the shadows behind them were questioning them. Then it came upon me, this huge black man was an escaped slave and slave catchers were hot on his trail.

“Crawl into the cabin,” I whispered.

The inside was lit by a single low-trimmed lamp. My bunk was on the lowest level – part of the converted settee. The bedding was stored was under it. I lifted the base, helped him into the compartment, and put my French grammar on the edge to admit air. Having restored my bed to its position, I removed my dress and laid myself down. I was almost asleep again when the clamor of hobnail boots on the deck and stairs jarred me to full wakefulness.

“Wake up! Wake up! There’s a fugitive aboard!”

“Get out of here! Can’t you see that this is the women’s compartment!” shouted Mrs. Mott.

I felt under my pillow for my Colt. Captain Bart burst through the curtain with an old blunderbuss, followed by Messrs. Mott and Douglass, and other men of the party.

“What is the meaning of this?” asked Mr. Mott.

“We’re slave hunters.”

“Let me see your warrant!” demanded Mr. Mott. Meanwhile, someone turned up the lamp and lit others.

“According to this, you are seeking a slave called Henry, who is described as of 17 years, ebony skinned, 6’ 6” tall and weighing 190 pounds. As you can see, no one here matches that description. You are welcome to look in the men’s section, and forward and aft lockers – after which you must leave. You are not on land now, but on board a vessel involved in international commerce. If you commit violence against any person on board, I will charge you with piracy. If you do not get off when the captain orders, I will bring mutiny charges. Both are hanging offenses. On the other hand, if the captain shoots you, he has the legal right to repel boarders. Do I make myself clear?” He said this in a lawyerly, but icy manner.

The demeanor of the two slave hunters immediately changed. They conducted a rudimentary search and departed. Immediately thereafter, we were underway. The men went on deck and watched the intruders fade into the distance until a low bridge obscured the view.

“Alright. Where is Henry?” asked Mr. Douglass.

“In the compartment under my bed. I know it is a violation of your hospitality, but I could not let those men have him.”

“You know you are a felon now? You hid an escaped slave and, in doing so, violated the Fugitive Law of 1793,” said Mr. Mot in a somber tone. “Congratulations!”

I received applause from all present.

“Come out Henry, for you are among friends!”

“Thank you! Thank you all, especially you Miss!”

“You look hungry, Senhor. Come, Ines will feed you.”

They went to the kitchen where Ines gave him a broa, and some of the caldo verde she kept on the back of the stove. Matilde sat next to him as he ate, peppering him with questions.

I stopped Mr. Mott. “Is all that about piracy, mutiny, and repealing boarders true?”

“Ha ha! Not a word of it, my dear. It would be if we were on the high seas, but not on a canal in up-state New York. Men like that fancy themselves lawyers, but they do not know a word of admiralty law, and so are easily outwitted!”

“But, isn’t lying a sin?”

“Only if you are seeking to do harm. Augustine says, ‘Love, and do what thou wilt.’ Our Lord Himself said, ‘Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself. On these two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.’”

“Yes, I know that one.”

“Tonight you broke the law. Do you think our Lord is upset with you?”

“I suppose not.”

“Good! Legalism is for court, love is for life.”

We all retired for the rest of the night. As I fell asleep, I reflected on how fortunate I was to have such teachers as Miss Wilson and Mr. Mott.

In the morning, and for the rest of the voyage, Henry remained in the cabin. I was invited to sit in as we discussed how to help him.

Captain Bart began, “I usually take these fellows to a steamer to Heaven. Its captain is a conductor. There are thousands settled up there. But, you chartered me to Seneca Falls and back. So, I ain’t going to the lake – and ifen I did, he’d be the only bundle. With those patter rollers on the canal – well, it’s too dangerous to move baggage.”

“Yes, of course,” said Mrs. Mott. “I know the stations and conductors along the Philadelphia line, but not up here.”

“I do not think we have any choice but to take him to Seneca Falls. Elizabeth will know station masters to put him on the freedom train,” opined Mr. Douglass.

“Well, I don’t see how,” interjected Mary M’Clintock. “The lad is six and a half feet tall and black as coal – we can not just put him in our midst and hide him from view. Those patter rollers are bound to have told constables and marshals who they are looking for.”

“True enough!” conceded Mr. Mott.

“Everyone knows that you are all abolitionists. What if I got off before you – at some other point -- and took Henry with Sandy and me. We could go to Mrs. Stanton’s at night. You could draw me a map of her house.”

“We don’t want to involve you further.”

“It is too late for that, Mr. Mott. You yourself said I am already a felon.”

“Well, that might work. There is a bridge over the canal fifteen miles outside of town. I will give you money to hire a wagon.”

“Henry -- he’d need freedom papers,” said Mrs. Douglass.

“I can make some pretty convincing papers -- notarized and all. I have done it many times. Being a lawyer has some advantages….”

It was the afternoon of Henry’s second day aboard as we approached our literal “jumping off point” – for we were to jump off the boat onto the towpath near the bridge when no one would be looking. Ideally, the hoggee and his team would be on the other side of the bridge where he could not see us, and there would be no other boats in sight.

Our baggage would go with the main party. We would only carry the broas and dried sausage Ines gave us to eat along the way.

The Motts and Douglasses had tried to convince me to leave Sandy with them, but she was my charge, and I could not leave her in other hands, no matter how trustworthy.

I would wear my male garb. A young woman, a colored man and a child walking alone would surely be suspicious. Two young men with a young girl tagging along would be much less so. As I removed my tongs from my carpet bag, I saw the Derringers I had given Anne. I knew she had been reluctant to take them, but had not expected to see them again. I decided they might be of use to Henry.

“I ain’t carrying no guns! I get catched with dem, an’ I get hanged! Maybe worse – skinned alive!”

“I am sorry. I was not thinking.”

“Your heart is in de right place, but sometimes you don’ know nutin’ girl!”

“You are right. … How about a knife?”

“You a regular armory, girl! … Maybe a knife be alright.”

I gave him my Sheffield and showed him how to open it.

“Ain’t that the damnest thing. Where’d you git dis?”

“It is a long story. I will tell you along the way.”

When the time came, Sandy was afraid to jump, so I went first and Henry threw her to me. We immediately scampered into the brush by the towpath. Once the packet was out of sight, we crossed the bridge and walked briskly down a wide country lane surrounded by prosperous farms. The lane was bordered by field stones and weedy shrubs, so we were mostly obscured from sight.

As we walked, Henry and I exchanged tales, finding a bond in our common experience of flight and evasion. Henry had escaped from a farm in Virginia, using the gourd to find the North Star, which guided him. When he got to Lancaster, Pennsylvania he ran into abolitionists who helped him North on what they called the “underground railroad” – which was a succession of helpers and refuges along the route to freedom.

Eventually, they concealed him on a freight barge making its way to Erie. All had been well until the slave catchers we had encountered boarded it, and he jumped into the canal -- even though he could not swim. Luckily, the canal is only four feet deep. After that he was on his own and hid until our boat had run into the shore as we were changing teams.

In return, I told him an edited version of my story, leaving out that Sandy had been born a boy. Occasionally, he would be impressed by my experiences – which only embarrassed me as they were nothing compared to his own.

After half an hour, the lane became mere wheel ruts and trampled vegetation – with an occasional stump where trees had stood too close to allow the passage of a wagon. There was no chance of our being seen – only a chance of the trace fading into non-existence. The day was hot, so we paused by a small stream to refresh ourselves and eat before proceeding.

Several hundred yards further we heard men shouting. We worked our way through the woods until we spied a ramshackled cabin surrounded by a weedy corn field. The two patter rollers who had boarded our boat were arguing with a farmer holding a shotgun. They had both drawn their pistols. In the doorway behind the farmer cowered a colored girl about Matilde’s age.

“Giver her to us, you cocksucker, or you’re a dead man!”

“Fuck you both!” The farmer lifted his shot gun to his shoulder.

The man he aimed at shot one of his pistols, hitting the farmer between the eyes, but not before he fired.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I got a leg full of buckshot, Brad.”

“Yeah, but the girl is ours. … Come here, bitch!

The girl, visibly shaking, came slowly forward.

Brad pushed her down and lifted her skirt. It was too much for Henry. He ran forward screaming. The wounded man aimed his other pistol. I found my Colt already in my hand and fired, striking the man in the left shoulder. He turned to shot me and I fired two more times – missing once and shooting him through the heart the second time.

“Stay down, Sandy!” I ran forward.

Henry was already on the rapist – his arm wrapped around the man’s neck. The man was reaching for his own pistol. I had two more shots, but the rapist was between Henry and the girl – so I couldn’t shoot. His gun was out. He was trying to point it at Henry. I heard a sharp crack – and the man went limp.

“Jus’ like wringing the neck of a chicken,” said Henry with satisfaction.

I looked at the man I had shot – and also felt no remorse. Was this how Karl and the Sergeant felt after a battle in Mexico? I was not sure. Our battle had lasted only thirty seconds, theirs hours.

Henry pulled the dead rapist off the girl and helped her up. She was crying and shaking. He wrapped her in his arms, comforting her.

“What’s your name? Are you alright?”

“Becky. … I’s been b-better.”

“Is that your husband?” I nodded toward the dead farmer.

“No, de son of Satan catched me like these two wanted – to have his way with me.”

Sandy appeared at my side. “You did good, Miss – again. I want to be like you when I grow up.”

“Thank you, dear.”

Henry and I discussed hiding the bodies, but could see no point. The farm was off the road and Becky said they never had visitors – that was how she had been held captive. None of them deserved a Christian burial. We consider throwing them in the privy pit, but it was too much trouble. So we decided to let the animals have them.

While I sat on the porch and changed the cylinder of my Patterson, Henry and Becky went into the cabin to collect her pitifully few things. Then, we were on our way.

Like Henry, Becky had escaped. She had been a house servant and came north as a maid for her master’s daughter. A freed woman in Philadelphia told her where to jump (at the same bridge as us) and to go to Seneca Falls for help. She was hiking down the trace when the farmer, who had been driving his wagon north, caught her. That was about 3 months ago. Now, she was pregnant.

We all walked on for another two hours when the trace started looking more like a lane again. It was almost dark when the town came in sight. I stopped to consult the map Mr. Mott had made, and spotted the Stanton house. Then, we waited until dark.

I told Henry and Becky to stay hidden while I made sure it was safe. There was a sliver of moon, so Sandy and I had no trouble getting to the door. I could hear voices inside. I knocked and shortly a lady radiating confidence came to the door.

“Mrs. Stanton?”

“Yes.”

“I am Nancy Winston and I have two bundles for you.”

“Thank God you are safe! … Two bundles you say?”

“Yes, we picked up one on the way.”

“I’ll have my husband help you stow the bundles.”

“Hello, I’m Henry Stanton, Elizabeth, my wife said that you had two bundles you needed help with.”

“Yes, I do.”

He extended his hand, which I shook heartily, in the male fashion. “My wife failed to mention your name, young man.”

“Oh, I am Nancy Winston.”

He stopped and stared at me in the most unseemly manner. “Oh,” he responded hesitantly.

“Follow me, I left the bundles there,” I said, pointing at the wisteria in which my companions were hiding.

Mr. Stanton led us to the stable, where a small room was hidden by a pile of feed bags and hay. Within were a minute table, stools and four cots ingeniously arranged as two pairs of one above the other. As on the boat, there was a curtain, or rather an old blanket, to divide the men’s and women’s sides. He lit a candle and told our “bundles,” “Wait here, and I will have a meal sent as soon as it can be arranged.” Then he led Sandy and me to his home.

Most of the party had disbursed to neighboring homes but the Motts and Douglasses were sitting at a large dining table conversing with Mrs. Stanton. Sandy and I were shown places. The housekeeper stood by the kitchen door.

“Clara, our new guests must be famished. Would you serve them and then take care of the two bundles.”

“Of course, Beth.”

I was shocked by such familiarity, but said nothing – other than to thank Clara when we were served.

Once we were settled, Mr. Mott asked how we came to acquire a second bundle. I was hesitant, as I did not know the Stantons, and was unsure what crimes I might be confessing to. Seeing my hesitancy, he said. “I assure you that our hosts are entirely trustworthy. Henry here is a lawyer like myself, and Beth is as versed in the law as either of us, though not admitted to the bar. Anything you say will be held in the strictest confidence.”

I rehearsed what had happened at the farm.

“Well, that is quite a tale, and well told. Have you any detail to add?”

“No … but are we guilty of murder?”

“Legally, neither of you are. The law permits deadly force to prevent a felony – though a jury might not see it so – given that a negro killed a white man merely having his way with a negress – and an escaped slave at that. As for you, we might succeed with a plea of self-defense, but the prosecution might argue that you were interfering with a lawful process. … It is best that it not come to trail. Do you not see it so, Henry?”

“Yes, James, I agree. I would add that John Ritten, the farmer, was not well liked. That could weigh one way or the other depending on what a jury might be led to believe.”

“Elizabeth?”

“My expertise is with property, not the criminal law. Still, I agree with Henry as to the danger. Abolitionist sentiment runs high here, but there are enough who believe otherwise that there is a danger a jury might convict.”

Mr. Mott paused to reflect, then said, “James, I suggest you and I ride out to the farm tonight and examine the scene.”

“I could accompany you,” offered Mr. Douglass.

“Given that patter rollers were killed, that might lead to unforeseen complications. It would be best if you remained and continued planning the meeting.” With that the two lawyers left.

Turning to me, Mrs. Stanton said, “You have had an exhausting day my dear. I would like to give you a bed, but the neighbors are long abed, and we only have the fainting couch in the parlor and the floor.”

“Either will suit. I will let Sandy have the couch and I will be most grateful to curl up on the floor before the fire.”

She gave me a feather pillow and a quilt and I was soon dead to the world.

When I woke, Clara was clearing the table, but interrupted her work to set a place for me. I had only begun my coffee when eggs, griddle cakes and a rasher of bacon were set before me. Being famished, I ate with such unladylike ferocity that even Miss Wilson would have called me to task. Looking around, I saw Sandy in the parlor playing some sort of board game with the three Stanton boys.

When I reached my sufficiency, Messrs. Mott and Stanton pulled up chairs on either side of me.

Mr. Stanton began, “We found the bodies as you described. Nothing we saw would place you, Sandy or Henry at the scene. The one called Brad had six warrants in his breast pocket. We took them all except that for Henry, which already been shown around the area. There was none for Becky – or any female for that matter. Without them, no one will be able to obtain to a writ of replevin to return the escapees.”

“A writ of replevin?” I asked.

“It is the document you need to remove run-away slaves.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, a good night’s work, I dare say!”

Mr. Mott continued, “We also found money to compensate Becky and Henry and help them establish new lives. They will be given it when we send them on.

“That brings us to you and Sandy. This morning the constable told me he had just received notification that a certain Miss Nancy Winston, aged seventeen or eighteen, had abducted Alexander van der Leyden, aged 11. She is believed to be fleeing to St. Louis via the Canal and riverboat. Barges are being stopped and searched. You cannot go further by canal.”

“What shall I do?”

“Well, as you know, we are in the railroad business, and I am sure we can provide tickets as far as Buffalo. Once there, you must make all hast to leave the state. I suggest that you board the lake steamer with Henry and Becky, but get off at Erie instead of going on to Fort Malden.”

“Fort Malden?”

“Yes, in Canada.”

“Oh.”

“As I was saying, from Erie you can take a stage coach to Pittsburgh. There, riverboats leave daily for Cairo, in Illinois. Cairo is a major port. You will have your choice of boats going up river to St. Louis.”

“I see. That is most helpful.”

“You have sufficient funds?”

“Yes, I think I do. Thank you.”

“If you will excuse me. I have to help my wife prepare for the Conference.”

“Of course.”

I asked Clara, the housekeeper, where I could change, and took a few moments to don my dress. When I came out, Mrs. Stanton, who insisted I call her “Beth,” was waiting for me. She took me for a stroll along a lane lined by summer blooms.

“This is one of my favorite walks.”

“It is very beautiful.”

“I wanted to have a chance to talk to you privately, my dear.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Last night, and this morning, you appeared as a young man. I understand the need of disguise, so I was neither shocked nor surprised. Be that as it may, you more than appeared to be a young man, you were a young man, my dear. I have seen this – a woman being a man – before – in New York, in London and especially in Paris. You may not have seen it before, and so it may concern you that you are not as other women. I wanted to say that you are not alone and that there is nothing wrong with you. Miss Margaret Fuller has written a book, Woman in the Nineteenth Century, in which she explains that no one is all masculine or all feminine, but that we each have differing amounts of masculine and feminine energy. I see in you, my dear, a great deal of masculine energy, but alloyed with indomitable feminine energy.”

“You almost know me better than I know myself. I have not as much knowledge of the world as you, Beth, but I met, in New York, men who dress and live as women, and seen women dressing as men.”

“Then you know.”

“Yes, I know of such things, but I have not found where I fit, or indeed, where I want to fit. So, for the present, I concentrate on my task, which is to deliver Sandy safely to Captain de Peyster’s friend in St. Louis. Still, as I progress I learn – about the world and about myself.”

“I can see that in you. I think you will be one of the bright beacons.”

“That is very kind of you to say, but I do not see myself so,”

“Time will tell.”

“I suppose it must.”

When we returned to the Stanton home, I made my way discretely to the stable to visit Henry and Becky. I found them at the little table finishing their luncheon. Becky stared for a moment, wondering who I was.

“How are you two faring?”

“We’re well, thank you, Miss,” said Henry.

“Beg pardon, but is you a man or a woman?” asked Becky.

“A woman. Like you, I am running, So I dress like a man to hide sometimes.”

“Oh. No disrespect, but you a good looking man. I’s thinking I could go wit you.”

“Ah, thank you.” She was a handsome girl, now that I could see her at my leisure.

“I just wanted to say that we came in the middle of a Conference, and so we will not be going on for two or three days yet.”

“A conference?”

“Yes, a kind of meeting. It will start tomorrow and last two days.”

“Oh.”

“Then where is we going?”

“To Buffalo and then by lake steamer to Fort Malden in Canada.”

“Canada is Canaan?”

“Yes.”

He smiled broadly. “When I a chil, my mother, she tell me her dream. She see a mayya help me run. She say I know this mayya because she care like a woman and fight like a man. That be you.”

“A mayya?”

“Umm … a witch. You be a mayya – a good witch.”

The next day, July 19th, was the beginning of the Conference. At breakfast, I also learned that our “conductor” was due that day and we should be prepared to leave on short notice. So I packed our things before taking Sandy to join the others in walking to the Wesleyan Chapel.

The first day was to be women only (with a few exceptions). I was surprised to see a crowd that I was told numbered over 300. As it was to be a women’s day, Messrs. Mott and Douglas stood to one side until Elizabeth announced that Mr. Mott would chair the meeting so the principle women could all speak. Mary M’Clintock was appointed recording secretary.

Once the meeting was called to order, Mrs. Stanton orated upon on the present state of women in these United States. I recognized a number of ideas from Miss Fuller’s book, which I had finished the night before. Mrs. Stanton spoke of “the wearied, anxious look of the majority of women” and their “long-accumulating discontent,” with such vehemence and indignation that I was deeply stirred.

A number of speakers followed her, pressing home various points she had made. These included Mrs. Mott, Martha Coffin Wright (Mrs. Mott’s sister), Mary M’Clintock, and Jane Hunt, a member of the M’Clintock family through marriage.

Once the speakers finished, Mary M’Clintock read a series of resolutions, which had been prepared in advance. All met with hearty approval until she came to the 9th, “It is the duty of the women of this country to secure to themselves the sacred right of the elective franchise.” This was met with murmurs and vocal objections, such as “Outrageous,” “We have husbands to vote!” and “Who ever heard of such a thing?” As this resistance was unexpected after the morning’s orations, and the noon hour was almost upon us, Mr. Mott deferred the vote and recessed the meeting for supper.

The supper was a pot luck held in the church basement. As Sandy and I ate, we saw the principles in animated discussion. Obviously, they were devising some stratagem to win approval of the suffrage resolution, which was their chief objective for the Conference. I could tell from the worry in Elizabeth’s face that their whole program was about to be defeated before it began. At last, they seemed to resolve upon a course and began nibbling at their cold meals.

The afternoon session began with Mr. Mott announcing that Mr. Douglass wished to speak and that the executive committee had voted to allow him to do so. He began by telling of his slavery and repeated attempts at escape. The story had intrinsic interest, but in Mr. Douglass’ telling, it became alive. All eyes were fixed upon him. Having established, by vivid example, the immorality of slavery, he went on to build, brick by brick, with relentless logic and full depth of feeling, the parallel between the situation of colored slaves and that of the 19th century woman. He appealed to the words of Jefferson, that all men were created equal, and said that the only way to make these sentiments real was to stand and be heard. Finally, he concluded that the main way to be heard in a democracy was to vote.

When he finished, I expected applause, but there was only silence. Then one lady in the second row began clapping, a second, near her, seemed to awaken and joined her. Soon the trance was broken and the chapel resounded with a thunderous ovation. Elizabeth, striking while the iron was hot, moved the previous question. The ayes narrowly defeated the nays, and the resolution passed!

I sat astonished and turned to see Sandy with tears in her eyes. Clearly, she considered herself female now. We were still basking in the glow of the moment when a young girl came in and said we were wanted without. There, we were greeted by Mr. Stanton, who said that the conductor had arrived and I should hasten to change into male garb.

A few minutes later we climbed on a heavy freight wagon of the kind made in Conestoga, and resumed our journey west – drawn by a team of eight oxen. Henry and Becky lay in a compartment cunningly concealed under six tons of freight, and accessible only through the tool box.

Our conductor was Mr. Wheeler, a dour man with calloused hands and a grizzled beard, who spoke little other than to exchange news with other teamsters as they passed. From them, we learned that a constable was inspecting barges at Lock 33, just east of Rochester, and after that there were none. So, it was decided that we would go to a “station” in Rochester and be conducted on the Canal from there to Buffalo.

Thus, our travel plans changed instantly. At first, I found this a great annoyance, but on reflection I realized that such changes made it virtually impossible to intercept us.

Another source of annoyance was the slow pace of the wagon. We made perhaps four miles in an hour on level roads and as little as one or two on grades – to say nothing of the fact that the road did not follow a straight course, but snaked back and forth to climb and descend. In addition, and necessarily, we stopped every few hours to let Henry and Becky out to stretch their legs and see to the needs of nature.

It was late at night when we stopped at a capacious farmhouse which served as a station. The farmer and his wife were gracious, but declined to give their names for fear of the authorities. We were fed bread and a hearty bean soup, then Sandy and I were given a bed to share, as were Becky and Henry – separated by a bundling board. In the morning we had eggs, potatoes, ham and fresh milk before being sent on our way.

The next night was much the same except that the farmer and his wife were Italian and served us stringy noodles called spaghetti with a delicious sauce of tomato and lingua, which I learned was beef tongue. In the morning we had bread dipped in eggs and herbs and fried with our coffee. Like the Lavradors, they provided us with bread and dry sausage for the journey, but differently spiced from the Portuguese kind. This was called pepperoni and spiced with seeds and hot pepper flakes. Sandy did not like the pepper, but the rest of us were well pleased.

That evening we arrived at the station in Rochester, a warehouse by the canal. We entered though a large gate which was closed after us. The four of us were led to a room with a long table and chairs where we waited. The proprietor came in, greeted us warmly, and said he had sent to a nearby victualing house for food. Shortly, a woman in a white apron followed by a boy came in and served us stew, bread, butter and beer. None of us had tasted beer before, but we all enjoyed a mug or two and found our spirits lifted.

After dinner, we were shown some hard cots and rested. About midnight, we were awoken and shown to a freight barge loaded with Pennsylvania coal for the lake steamers. Becky and Henry were led through the crew cabin to a secret room under the coal. I was to pass as a crewman and Sandy as my sister.

We arrived in Buffalo early the next evening. Becky and Henry remained at the coaling station while Sandy and I were free to find lodging nearby. As we were alone at last, Sandy took the opportunity to confide in me.

“After seeing the ladies speaking in Seneca, I decided I want to be a woman, Miss.”

“Are you sure?”

“Oh, yes! I used to think women were weak like mother. Now I know that they are brave like you and strong like the women at the meeting. So, I don’t feel bad about wanting to be a woman anymore.”

“I don't think your mother is weak. She is just in a difficult situation. It took a lot of strength to send you off with me. Still, it sounds like you have thought about this quite a bit.”

“Oh, I have, Miss. … But there is one thing I am sad about.”

“Yes?”

“I wished I could have a bosom, like you and other girls.”

“And if I said you could?”

“You mean I can?”

“Yes, I can make a magic potion for you,” I said smiling. “The problem is, it tastes really
nasty.”

“But it will help me grow a bosom?”

“Yes.”

“Then I don’t care how nasty it tastes.”

Lit by the waning moon, and dressed in tongs and a shirt from my role as bargeman, I led Sandy up from the docks in search of our night’s lodging. After a few blocks, we saw a large home with a sign: “Mrs. Hoffmeister, Rooms and Board.” For 50 c we got a room larger than ours in Stanwix Hall, but more cheaply furnished. Our supper was mostly thin cabbage soup and coarse bread, followed by a thin slice of mutton and a boiled potato. The bed was of the cheapest kind, with sagging ropes. We awoke early, itching with bed bugs bites. Breakfast was thin coffee, watery porridge with skimmed milk and burnt toast – dry. Needless to say, we did not linger.

Our steamer, the Sultana under captain Calvin W. Appleby, was due to arrive that evening, but would not be coaled and ready to depart until 10:00. As it was Sunday, Sandy and I dressed our best and availed ourselves of the opportunity to attend services. There we were treated to dreadful hymns and a homily on hell fire and damnation. These were redeemed, to a degree, by the social that followed. There, I drew the attention of two hopeful young women my age, one a maid and the other a shop girl, but lost their interest when they learned I was in transit.

Meanwhile Sandy was talking to a shy boy of perhaps thirteen years, who seemed smitten by her. There was an animation and glow in her that I had not seen before. I reflected on the difficulties she would have in finding suitable companionship, and, eventually, a partner. I certainly had no intention of using Paula’s tale as a guide by sending her to a molly house to find a man of suitable inclination.

When the social ended, I followed the suggestion of one of the girls I had conversed with and walked to the staircase locks, a series of five ascending and five descending locks that transited a ridge between the town and the interior. It was very different watching them from land than from the deck of the coal barge. Even Sandy, who has little interest in mechanics, found them fascinating.

Afterward, we luncheoned at a hoffbrau or German tavern near the docks. The food was unique, as the Germans seem to relish all things sour. We had sauerbraten (beef marinated in vinegar) with sauerkraut (fermented cabbage) and potatoes. Again, we had beer, which made Sandy rather silly.

Before our dessert, our places were cleared by an epicene boy. He had a dainty manner and sweet face marred by a swollen bruise on his left cheek. He reminded me of Little Edward, but older.

“What is your name dear?”

“Hans, mien Herr.”

“Do you speak English, Hans?”

“Yes, they teach English in school, but most I speak Deutsch.”

“I see.”

“What happened to your poor face, dear?”

“My vater, he hit me.”

I could tell this was a source of embarrassment to him, as he sped his clearing of our places. So, I decided not to question him further – not that I had much chance as he hurried off to the kitchen with our dirty dishes.

After a delicious cherry cake with a long German name, we went down to the lake front, as the stores were all closed for the Sabbath. There families were picnicking and children playing in the water under the watchful eye of their parents. A mother came up and asked if my sister could play with her daughter. I helped Sandy with her shoes and stockings so she could wade in the lake. Then I settled in the shade of a tree to read a book Mr. Mott had given me. It was Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus, a strange tale of a doctor who believed he could return life to the dead.

“Is that an interesting book?”

I looked up to see a pretty young woman addressing me.

“Well, it is a very unusual tale, and … yes, it is very interesting.”

“You will forgive me for being so bold, but I have been observing you for some time, and have come to a rather startling conclusion.”

“Yes?”

“I hope you will forgive me if I am wrong, and I mean no offence, but I think you are a woman. Am I right?”

I was shocked, but saw no point in lying to one so perspicacious. “Yes, you are right.”

“Do you enjoy being a man?” This was a very direct person.

“I do, but the joy is not unalloyed.”

“I can imagine. I too have thought of cutting my hair and binding my bosom as you seem to have done … but I have never had an example before. That is why I had to approach you. I hope you will forgive me.”

“I do.”

“Do you find the advances of men … annoying, perhaps repulsive?”

“Let us say that I have yet to find them attractive.”

“Yes, precisely! Women are so much more … attractive.”

“Yes, some are.” I was beginning to feel stirred as I had been with Caroline.

“Of course not all men are equally unattractive. For example, a man like you is particularly attractive. I wonder if you would you like to come my rooms and share some … refreshment?”

“I would, but alas, I have a charge to watch over,” I nodded to Sandy, “and will be on a steamer west tonight. Still, I would like to know your name.”

“Gertrude Hobbs. Isn’t that a horrid name? I so wish it were Guinevere – or even Gary.”

“I am Bill when so attired, nee Nancy. … You know, you could change your name.”

“I am not so brave.”

“I find you very brave! How else could you approach a complete stranger as you have?”

“Perhaps you are right, but I have my family to consider.”

“Being an orphan, I have no such considerations. So, perhaps you are no less brave than I.”

“Perhaps. I wish we come be … closer. Still, meeting you has provided me with an example. I feel myself changed, as though a spell had been cast … no, lifted. … Yes, as though some invisible chains had been broken!”

We chatted on, sharing feelings and verbal intimacies almost as close as physical intimacies. We only ceased when Sandy ran up.

“I’m hungry, Miss, … er, Bill.”

“Shall we go back to the hoffbrau for another dessert?”

“Yes, that would be wonderful!”

“Well, I better let you feed your charge. Here is my address, should you care to write.”

“Thank you, Gwen.”

Having no where else to go, we stayed at the hoffbrau until it closed. After, we sat in the dark on a nearby bench waiting for the steamer to begin coaling. To pass the time, I told Sandy the story of Doctor Frankenstein as far as I had read.

Suddenly, my narration was broken by high pitched screams, the sound of slaps and muffled threats. I had Sandy hide, drew my colt, and went to investigate. I crept along in the shadows until the moon, in its last half, revealed a large man dragging Hans by his ear and the back of his pants. Hans’s tear stained face glistened as he cried “No!” and “Please!” to no avail.

“Ye’ll make a fine bummboy. Ye may not like the idea now, but soon ye’ll be cravin’ a big cock up yer arse. Anyways, yer mine now. I paid a fin for ye – but I don’t begrudge old Goebbels a dime – ye’ll make me a hundred times as much.”

I stepped into the moonlight so my colt could be seen. Assuming my fierce visage, I said in a deep voice “Unhand the lad. I have five shots here, and killed a scum like you a week ago, so drop him now and raise your hands.”

Fortunately, he did, as I did not know if I could have shot him in cold blood.

“I know you have sleeve guns.” (The Sargeant had warned me.) “At four feet you might kill me, but at this range you have no chance. Drop them one at a time and kick them over.”
I was rewarded with a pair of Derringers.

“Hans, stand over there, to the side. … you, take off your cravat and braces. … Lay on your stomach and cross your hands behind your back. … Hans, tie his hands with his cravat.”

With him so disabled, I approached and tied his hands to his feet with his braces. Finally, I stuffed his handkerchief in his mouth and pulled Hans back into the shadows. We found Sandy, then rounded the corner and ran for the coaling station.

We arrived just as the Sultana was pulling in. Henry and Becky were waiting outside the office and greeted us warmly.

“Who da boy?”

“Hans, another escaped slave.”

“But he be white?”

“Yes, but he was on his way to slavery nonetheless.”

“Miss Nancy?” said Becky.

Hans looked at me startled, but said nothing.

“I’s thinking. I’s got money now and Mr. Mott, he make me freedom papers. I don’ wanta go to no Cannan. I wanta go to St. Louie wid you.”

“Why ever would you want to do that?”

“Cuz I need to take care o’ my chil that is comin’. I know how to do hair real pretty and I bet lots of ladies in St. Louie would pay me to do it. I don’ know nutin’ bout Cannan or Canada or whatever in the hell it is. So, can I come? I can pay my own way.”

“You know that if you go to St. Louis, there is always a chance you could get sent back?”

“Yes m’. I’s willin’ to take my chance.”

I did not know how to deny her. “Alright, you can come.”

“Good, I be Sandy’s maid till we gets there.”

“What about you Henry?”

“I’s on my way to Cannan an' not turnin’ back.”

“Good for you, dear!”

Henry took my Shefield out of his pocket. “This – it have your makamashi.”

“My makamashi?”

“Mmm … it story be story of you. It makamashi keep me safe. Now you take back for keep you safe.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, in Cannan, I be making my makamashi.”

“Alright. Thank you.”

“What about you, Hans? As you heard, we three are on our way to St. Louis, and Henry is going to Canada. Do you wish to come – or stay?”

“If I stay, that man will take me, aber ich habe kein Geld, um dorthin zu gehen. Er … I haf no money to go.”

“Can’t you go home?”

“No. Vater, he throws me out. He says I vill never come back.”

“Then you shall come with us – at least for now.”

“But I haf no money.”

“I have money.”

Just then a young ship’s officer appeared to arrange the coaling and, as it happened, to conduct Henry and Becky.

I paid Hans’s fare out of my wages, for I could not use the money Captain de Peyster entrusted to me for Sandy. I got a cabin for Sandy and me, but let Hans sleep on a bench in the common area. There were some boiler repairs to be madie, so we were not underway until midnight. All the while, I scanned the dock for Hans’s abductor. He never appeared.
Once we were underway, Captain Appleby sent for me.

“I know about Henry and am told you plan to disembark at Erie. Why is that?”

“I need to go to Pittsburgh to catch a riverboat.”

“Then you had best disembark at Conneaut as there is a corduroy road from there to Pittsburgh which is better in every respect than the road from Erie.”

“Unfortunately, I might have mail awaiting me in Erie.”

“We will be discharging and loading cargo in Erie, and the post office is in sight of the dock. So you should be able to get to the post office and back before the ship departs again. ... Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“No, you have been very kind and helpful. Thank you very much.”

“Sleep well, young lady.”

Satisfied on every point, I fell into a deep sleep.

I woke early as the Sultan was rocking badly in a Summer storm and soon found myself disgorging my dinner over the rail. I determined then never to travel on the Lake – or worse the ocean – again. Yet, as the sun rose the lake calmed itself as though to greet the day with proper decorum. My stomach calmed with the waters and reported itself, much to my amazement, famished.

Breakfast was being served, or rather a buffet had been opened. So, I looked in on Sandy, but found her still fast asleep. Climbing the ladder (for so the steps are called on a ship) to the dinning area I found a forlorn Hans sitting by the entrance.

“Hans, what is the matter?”

“Ich bin … I am hungry.”

“So, eat! Breakfast is being served.”

“I haf not the ticket. They say it does not pay for food, only passage.”

“Let me see.” It was a Steerage Ticket, and across the bottom was written “Passage Only.” I compared my Cabin Ticket – “All Meals Included.” “I see. Well, I did not mean for you to starve. I will pay for your meals. Come along!”

“Danke … thank you.”

I offered him my hand, led him in, and arranged for his admittance to the buffet. After piling our plates gluttonously, we sat at a small table by a window. As we were both famished, it was a long time before we said anything further.

“Ich muss … I must thank you.”

“You already did.”

“No, not für das Frühstück ... for the break fast, but for last night. Dat man, he vanted to make me eine männliche Hure. I don’t know how to say in English.”

“No need, I know what he wanted to do with you. … How did you get in that predicament?”

“Predicament?”

“Um … situation, fix, state?”

“Oh! It is a shame for me.”

“I want to be your friend. There is no need to be ashamed. I will not think less of you.”

“My fater, my papa, he trow me out of his house.”

“Yes, you said yesterday. … but why?” I could see that he was embarrassed, but he felt that he owed me an explanation.

“He see me küssen my friend, Otto. He says I am a ... Tunte, eine Königin ... I do not know English vord.”

“You mean you like boys instead of girls?”

“Ya … I can not help I like boys. It is big shame for my family. So, papa say I muss gehen – leaf.” He hung his head down and tears formed.

“I know men like you. They are fine men, good men. There is no shame in how God made you.”

“You tink Gott, God, He make me zo?”

“Yes, of course … and God is not ashamed of His work.” I smiled at him.

“Are you eine Königin alzo?”

“No, I will tell you about me later! … You finish your breakfast – take more if you like. I have to go and get Sandy.”

“Sie ist your Schwester?”

“My sister?”

“Yes, I mean sister.”

“It is complicated, but for now, she is my sister.”

Hans looked puzzled, but did not pursue the matter.

I woke Sandy, had her wash, and gave her a fresh dress. Then I took her to breakfast. By now there was a long line at the buffet. An older couple was behind us.

“Is that your sister? She is so pretty!” began the wife.

“Yes, and yes, I think she is the prettiest sister I’ve ever had,” I replied warmly.

“Excuse my wife – she does like to talk. I am Frank Carpenter and this is my wife Abigail.”

“Glad to meet you. I am Bill Newcome, and this is my sister Sandy.”

“Where are you going?”

“We are on our way to see an uncle in St. Louis. So, we will be getting off in Conneaut to take the stage to Pittsburgh.”

“Getting off in Conneaut to take the stage to Pittsburgh?” Me. Carpenter seemed incredulous. “Why ever would you do that?”

“Captain Appleby of this vessel, said that there is a superior road from Conneaut to Pittsburgh.”

“I have a lumber mill in Conneaut, and know the road well. It is a fine road, but is a freight way, crowded with heavy wagons and – most importantly – with no stage service. The only stage that goes through Conneaut runs from Cleveland to Buffalo and is used mainly by folks that live along the lake shore as the steam boat is faster for long trips. Here, it is clearly marked on the map.” He pulled out A Traveler’s Map of the Northeaster States and Canada, which showed all canal, rail and stage routes in its area.

I was shocked that the Captain could have so misinformed me, but there was no reason to doubt Mr. Carpenter or his map.

“I wish I had this map when I started!”

“Well, we are ending our tour, so please take it.”

“Thank you very much. … I have already eaten, I wonder if you would watch over Sandy as I go and inform my friends of the change in plan.”

I had my little company finally marshaled at the gangway as the ship tied up at the Erie dock. The storm has passed, and it was a fine day, with the town looking freshly scrubbed. Once we were ashore, I saw the post office a few hundred feet from the end of the pier. On the way, we passed a general store with an assortment of goods in the window, including clothes and fire arms. Poor Becky looked like a ragamuffin in her worn dress, while Hans was quite the worse for wear, and shivering in the cold lake breeze.

“If we are going to be allowed on the stage, you two will need new clothes – and traveling bags as well.”

“But, I haf no money,” complained Hans.

“I do,” replied Becky with a new-found haughtiness.

“Yes, Becky, and do you not think the store owner will immediately wonder how you came by it?”

“I ‘spose so.”

“So, for now, I will say you two are our servants, and you will let me bargain.”

“Yes, m’”

“Vatefer you say.”

“Good! Follow me.”

The storekeeper was seated behind the counter, reading his local paper. He seemed to have a mixed reaction to us – looking pleasantly on Sandy and me, and with askance upon Hans and Becky.

“I have hired these two as servants, and need to purchase them appropriate clothes. I saw ready-made garments in your window, and wonder if we could arrange a trade?”

“Yes, I’ve clothes on consignment – mostly things that young people have outgrown – all freshly laundered, mind you. … What kind of trade did you have in mind?”

“Well, I was not expecting to hire servants, but these two needed positions, so I employed them. Out of an abundance of caution, my father gave me a brace of Derringers to protect myself and my sister.” I reached into my shoulder bag and produced two pistols. I really do not need them. My father said they cost $100.”

He examined them. “Perhaps they did when new, but I doubt it. These are of inferior manufacture. See, this part is rusted, and so made of plated iron, not German silver. Besides, they are scratched, see here and here. I’ll give you $20 each.”

“Give me $25 each, and I’ll take the extra $10 in trade.”

“Done!”

We got Hans a slightly worn suit, a felt hat, tongs, a couple of shirts and small clothes. Becky got a Sunday and a work dress, heeled boots, stockings and pantaloons. Two battered traveling bags, horehound pieces and ribbons for Sandy rounded out our purchases. Hans and Becky took turns changing into their “new” clothes in the stockroom. When we left, I gave the remaining money, almost $40, to Hans.

“Now you have money.”

“Ich kann nicht … I can not take your gelt.”

“It is yours, Hans, from the man who was trying to take you. Those were his guns.”

“Danke schön … tank you very much.”

“You are very welcome. Now, if you and Becky would go to the stage office and find out when the coach leaves for Pittsburgh, that would be most helpful.”

They left while Sandy and I continued to the post office. There, I asked if there was a letter for Bill Newcome. The clerk gave me one from the Captain.

Dear Bill,

I hope this finds you and your companion well. I am recovering under the care of Miss Wilson, who has been most attentive. Indeed, we have developed a mutual affection.

You will be gratified to learn that the Sgt. is recovering as well, although still quite weak. We both owe our lives to Dr. Robinson, who honed his trade as a naval surgeon in the war with the British.

I have had as visitors two of your comrades. The first was a potter who informed me of your progress and plans. That person also gave me a scrap of paper with a plan of the mansion. I immediately recognized the hand upon it as belonging to my beloved brother-in-law.

The second was a unique lady from Manhattan, married to an influential man there. She offered her husband’s assistance in dealing with the family problem we have previously discussed. Her offer has already borne fruit in correcting certain rumors and charges that had been spread concerning your person and actions. Her husband has also discussed our case with an official who may help us resolve everything.

I must stay here to assist my sister in her difficulties, so I beg you to proceed with the endeavor as we have discussed it. Please be alert to the possibility of telegrams at Pittsburgh, Cincinnati, and your destination.

Gratefully Yours,
Karl

I was filled with delight with the news. First, that the Sergeant had survived. I was sure that he was dead, but thinking back, I had not really stopped to ascertain his true state. Second, that Karl was recovering, and had formed an association with Jane. It had always struck me that the Captain suffered from the kind of melancholia than comes from the lack of a life’s partner. And finally, that Alice and her husband had been working one our behalf in Manhattan, and especially, that I was no longer a fugitive felon in the state of my birth. That, with time and distance, reduced considerably the danger to Sandy. There were now too may places at too many times for her stepfather’s agents to intercept us. Still, they seemed to have intercepted my telegram from Albany, and knew our destination. That was a danger for the future.

I thought for a minute about “paper with a plan of the mansion,” and then recalled that I had left the plan discovered on the ruffian in the cave on the bed table at Anne’s. She must have taken it to the Captain on one of her sick calls. Now it might serve as evidence against Sandy’s stepfather.

Turning my thoughts to the present, we faced no especial dangers from that quarter. We had only the common dangers of the sort already encountered. Rapists and patter rollers for Becky, kidnappers and mollyhouse keepers for the all-too-pretty Hans, and the common run of thieves and cheats that prey on travelers for the whole party. I determined to discuss the situation with our new friends as soon as possible.

As Sandy and I continued toward the stage station, I reflected on Karl and Jane’s good fortune in forming an association – which reminded me how alone I was. Sandy was a ward, not a companion. Caroline was in Manhattan, and I had no expectation of seeing her again. My encounter with Gertrude, with whom I had a perfect sympathy, only heightened my loneliness. It seemed that circumstance ever doomed the blossoming of the kind of alliance I longed for.
As I was so reflecting I looked up just in time to avoid colliding with Hans and Becky.

“You aright, sir? You seems in a nuther world.”

“Sorry, Becky, I was thinking. … what did you two find out about the stage?”

“Oh, dere’s plenty o’ dem. One left jus now. One is leavin at 10, an’ a nuther ‘bout noon. De one at 10, it go straight through to Pittsburgh an gets dere ‘bout 11. De noon one, it stos for de night some place in between.”

“In Mercer,” interjected Hans.

Becky gave him a sour look for interrupting and correcting her. “Anyways, it go on to Pittsburgh in de mornin, an get there ‘bout noon.”

“If we get to Pittsburgh at 11:00, we will be hard pressed to find lodging. But, if we spend the night in Mercer, our lodging is assured. So, let us take the noon coach.” Each of my companions nodded in assent.

“A letter awaited me at the post office, which informs me that the danger to Sandy and myself has abated; however, you two still face the same dangers from which I rescued you. In the bottom of my bag are two pocket pistols. I propose to give one to each of you so that you may have some protection against kidnap. What say you?”

“I don’ know how to use no pistol.”

“I alzo do not know how.”

“We have time for a lesson. Let us walk down the shore to those words, and I will show you.” I had only a small number of balls for the flintlock pistols Anne had placed in my bag, so I let Becky and Hans each fire twice and recharge twice.

“Hans, you can carry your pistol in your pocket. Becky, you can hide yours in your stocking. Also, you should both hide your money.”

“I’s hid it already.”

“Vere can I hide it?”

“Let me see what you have. … these three $10 gold pieces are small, so we can hide them in the leather of your suspenders, and most of the rest you can put in your shoes or socks.”

As we walked back to town, I spied a stand of Cimicifuga racemosa – the black cohosh – by the path, and stopped to gather a considerable quantity to make good on my promise to Sandy. When asked why I was gathering the herb, I replied that it would help Sandy with her figure.

We bought food for the journey and arrived at the Stage station as 11:30 tolled. A company rule forbad colored persons riding within the coach, but the fare for riding atop was half as much. So, after Sandy and I had purchased our tickets, Hans and Becky purchased tickets to ride alfresco.

As with the Sultana, the advertized hour of departure bore little relation to the time made good. The coach arrived shortly after 1:00 tolled. The horses were exchanged in short order, but the continuing passengers visited the grocery and privy, and took their time in returning. I pressed for a timely departure, but the agent informed me that the company placed revenue ahead of schedule. So 1:30 tolled as we left the town precincts.

Our fellow travelers were a Jesuit priest on his way to St. Louis to teach science at the university there, a lady dressed rather immodestly but appropriately for her presumed profession, a man selling fire insurance, and master blacksmith traveling west in search of a place to set up his shop. The priest sat by me while the blacksmith and the salesman seemed happy to sit next to the lady of the evening. On top with Becky and Hans were two roustabouts hoping to find work in Pittsburgh.

While not quite plying her trade, the professional lady continually enticed her seat mates in the most scandalous way despite disapproving looks from the father and myself. Eventually Sandy fell asleep, and the priest and I decided that the best course was to ignore the behavior opposite and converse between ourselves.

The priest, one Joseph Albright, was returning from a scientific conference in the east. He asked me about our journey so far. I, refraining from any account of Sandy and myself, told him of my falling in with a group campaigning for women’s rights. He was particularly interested in Mr. Douglass, who was beginning to make a name for himself among abolitionists. In return, he told me how his order had opposed slavery since the 1500s and was largely responsible for its abolition in the Spanish colonies. This surprised me as I had heard nothing of the Spanish but tales of the Inquisition and Jesuitical plots. He provided no response beyond, “Judge us by what you see.”

The driver seemed mad to make up time, driving the horses much faster that the Sergeant or I had ever driven the trap on better roads. Still, the ride was tolerable. After about 40 miles we stopped to change horses and all climbed down to stretch out legs and visit the privy. I took the occasion to ask the driver about the ride. He pointed to the straps suspending the coach. “It’s a Concord coach. If them straps were iron springs, you’d have a sore ass and a jarred spine by now young sir, but them straps rocks the coach like a cradle.” The straps not withstanding, all aboard took ever opportunity to rest their posterior parts.

After the first stage, my conversation with the priest turned to science and the idea that, in previous eras, strange creatures inhabited the earth. He described extinct creatures great and small, whose remains he had seen in New York, Philadelphia and Washington. Explaining how this happened, he said, was one of the great problems facing 19th century science.

I was fascinated, but, being unschooled in science beyond geometry and the little botany my father taught me, I had little to contribute. Then I remembered Mr. Henry’s electric motor in Albany. The good father had met Mr. Henry at number of scientific conferences and explained to me, in the clearest manner, Mr. Henry’s discovery of “electric induction,” which is the making of magnetism by electricity. The conversation made me wish that I could study under such men.

When I said so, and that I was going to St. Louis, Fr. Albright asked what languages I had. As I responded French and Latin, he continued in Latin, which I managed to stumble through. He seemed well pleased, and urged me to apply for admission to the University, saying that he would recommend me if I did. I replied that I was not a Papist, which he said was not required. Being unable to say I was female, I agreed to reflect upon it.

The sun was low on the horizon when the coachman called out “Mercer! Night’s stop.” We found ourselves before an inn made of logs piled one upon another with the chinks filled with dry mud. Within were two long tables, set with clayware and iron utensils. The walls were lined with beds in twos, one above the other, such as I had seen on boats. The fare was simple but hearty: boiled greens, beans with salt pork, and rhubarb and honey pie for dessert. Ample quantities of cold milk and whiskey stood on each table. Becky and I each took a dram of whisky, which lightened our humor and soothed our weary bodies. Hans and Sandy did not find it to their liking and drank only milk.

After supper, we took four beds together. I slept well until strange sounds woke me. I finally understood that our fellow traveler was plying her trade with one of her seat mates.

We arose at dawn and breakfasted on white corn meal, eggs, bacon, coffee, milk and whiskey. No one over-indulged and all behaved civilly, if one excepts the midnight fornication. Soon, we were under way again, and, with one more change of horses, arrived in Pittsburgh in the early afternoon. We passed 20 or more steamboats of various descriptions at the public landing.

The final stop, after 18 hours of travel, was a tavern in the center of town. All of our fellow travelers except Fr. Albright disbursed. The five of us went in to buy dinner. The good father asked about my companions. I explained, without details, that they had been abused, and I invited them to travel with Sandy and me for their protection. He seemed to comprehend more than I had said.

“Then you must be careful which boat you embark upon. I have traveled west from here twice before. Some captains are pro-slavery Southerners who would sell Miss Becky down the river papers or not. Others are Ohio men – abolitionist through and through. As to your young German friend, he should be safe enough as long as he stays aboard the boat, but some of the river towns are wild, with corrupt constables or marshals.”

“What about St. Louis?”

“Its population is mixed. Lots of Southerners, but more men of the North. Still, there have been riots. The colored survive – and many prosper – but care must be taken,” he said looking at Becky.

“Corruption?”

“No more than usual for a city of the size. The merchants want a modicum of safety so that they may prosper.”

“How shall we choose a boat?”

“There are a number of agents selling passage, but I would recommend Cordelia Cloverfield, a Wesleyan of impeccable character and propriety. Her establishment is at Third and Liberty Sts. Here, I will draw you a map.”

Following the map we came to a small office with an apartment above. The sign read “Steamboat, Stage and Theater Bookings. Cordelia Cloverfield, Prop.” Entering, we found a woman of about 60 years seated at a roll-top desk, surrounded by bound files and papers. Maps papered the walls. Beneath them a bench and two wooden chairs were placed to accommodate patrons.

“May I help you?”

“We wish to secure passage to St. Louis. Sandy,” I said indicating her, “and I wish a cabin, but our friends can only afford steerage. We have a special concern for Becky here, lest she be taken and sold. A Jesuit, Fr. Joseph Albright, recommended you as being of impeccable character and propriety.”

“Yes, I have helped the good father before in similar circumstances. Does your friend have her freedom papers?”

I was concerned that the issue should arise, but asked Becky to comply.

“These are very good. You should have no trouble with anyone honest, and with the dishonest, not even real papers would suffice. … So, what special concerns have you Miss?”

“Miss? Is my incognito so bad?”

“No, not at all. In fact it is very good,” she said glancing between my legs. “It is just that I am so discerning,” she smiled.

Meanwhile, Hans stood staring at me slack jawed.

“Well, since you see all, I am Nancy, Sandy’s governess. I am dressed as I am to evade certain persons who are searching for us, and to deliver Sandy safely to a certain officer in St. Louis. Thus, I need to know if it is feasible for me to continue as I am or if doing so would surely lead to my discovery? Second, I am concerned that my friends be safe and well treated.”

“Then you have come to the right person.”

“Before we proceed, may I ask how you penetrated my incognito?”

“It was no great feat on my part. Weeks ago, a man was in town searching for you and Alexander. He left this bill with me,” she said, extracting a handbill from a pigeonhole on her desk. “You and Sandy fit the descriptions except for your sexes. So, I simply observed you closely, noting that your hips are a bit broad for a lad, you lack a beard, and have no Adam’s apple. I assure you, had I not received the bill, I would have accepted you as you appear. … Your companions were not mentioned in the bill.”

“May I see it?”

“Of course.”

I examined the circular. Sandy and I were described with our true names and sexes, and a reward offered for telegraphic communication leading to our apprehension. The address for correspondance was that of the van der Leyden mansion in Manhattan. After reading the Captain’s letter, I realized papers could be evidence of crime, so I asked, “I wonder if I might prevail upon you to send the bill to my employer, who is Sandy’s uncle and guardian? I will pay the post.”

“Of course, dear.”

I wrote the address. “Now, for our present business. Given our circumstances and goal, what boat shall we take?”

“There are a number of considerations. First, and chiefly, you want an honest captain with abolitionist sympathies. Many are pro-slave, while others are scrupulous about the fugitive slave act. Some tolerate cheats and thieves. Others have abandoned passengers who have gotten off to lighten a vessel stuck on a sand bar or snag. A few have even rammed other boats to revenge supposed slights. That narrows the field considerably.

“Second, is the matter of privacy. The better boats provide chamber pots for cabin passengers. The others require all to use the common privies – continuous benches with holes above the water by the side wheels –women on one side, men on the other.

“Third, is the question of deck passage (for so ‘steerage’ is known on the inland waters). The deck fare is a mere fraction of cabin passage, $3 or $4, but you ride outside with the freight and animals in whatever space you can find. Of course, you bring your own food – while cabin passengers have food and drink provided.

“The problem is deck passengers, men or women, must assist with loading fuel wood along the way as a condition of passage. In other words, deck passage requires bartering of one’s labor. Given Becky’s delicate condition, hard labor for her is out of the question. Your male companion – what is his name?”

“Hans.”

“Yes, Hans … seems rather reedy for the work as well. Fortunately, there is a third, little considered, option for passage. One may take personal servants. Some boats have staterooms with offices attached for one’s servants.”

“That sounds terribly expensive.”

“It can be, but those with servants invariably want passage on the newest and most fashionable boats. In consequence, older boats so equipped often sail with the offices unoccupied. I typically book them for cabin passengers with children. Depending on the children’s ages, two to four can be accommodated in an office.”

“And is food provided for them?”

“Yes, they may eat whatever is left by the cabin passengers. However, they are allowed to get food for their masters and bring it to their cabins, and who eats what in one’s cabin, no one knows.”

“I see.”

“There are other advangages of an older boat. Without offense, your dress would be terribly unfashionable on a newer boat, causing you to be snubbed. Also, the river is very shallow in the
Summer, and smaller, older boats draw less water – they take less water to float -- an advantage in avoiding snags and sawyers, so they tend to go faster when the river is low.”

“Snags and sawyers?”

“Oh. Yes, trees that have fallen into the river and can catch and even pierce a the hull of a boat.”

“This happens often?”

“Not too often. Maybe once or twice a year for a boat – mostly in the Summer. In the Spring a paddlewheel is more likely to be broken. Do not let it worry you. The Ohio and Mississippi are quite safe – most boats go four or five years before sinking.* The Missouri is a different matter – boats only last a couple of years on it. Anyway, most boats are lost to explosions, not snags.”

This seemed very often and her attitude quite sanguine, even cavalier.

“As I was saying, my recommendation would be a stateroom with an office for servants on the Lewis F. Linn. It’s an older boat, built in ’44 – I know the builder personally – with a seasoned and honest captain, Hiram Burch.

“And how much would that be?”

“$39 to Cairo – versus $30 for a simple cabin. You would need another boat from Cairo to St. Louis.”

“Cairo?”

“Yes, at the southern itp of Illinois, where the Ohio joins the Mississippi – 981 river miles from here.”

“I see, and how would we find a suitable boat in Cairo?”

“That is less important. St. Louis is a day trip if you leave Cairo in the morning, So, you would not be charged for a private cabin unless you wished. For $5-$7 your party could ride on the hurricane deck, or in the Lady’s or Gentlemen’s common cabins.”

“Hans and Becky, what say you? $3 each for deck passage or $4.50 for a bunk ans victuals?”

“I don’ wanta load no wood. So I say $4.50.”

“Hans?”

“Vat Becky says is gut.”

“When does the Lewis F. Linn depart?”

“It is being repaired and should leave sometime tomorrow.”

“Have you a recommendation for lodging?”

“I can write a note to Captain Burch, and you can stay in your cabin – but you will need to eat in the city.”

“Very well. So, Mrs. Cloverfield, do I pay you or the purser on the boat?”

“You pay me, and I pay the purser.”

My friends started to get their money, but I thought it better that it remained concealed. “I will collect from you two later.” I used two of the Captain’s banknotes to pay our fares and received $1.00 back in silver.

“Where might we eat?”

“There are shops catering to boat crews and mechanics along Front Street. They serve wholesome fare at moderate prices, but will not be open until the mechanics end their day – say 7:00. In the meantime, you might want to see Dan Rice’s circus, which is in town. He has set up near the public landing.”

“Thank you.”

Everyone knew of Dan Rice, the most famous entertainer in America. He started as an animal trainer with a pig named Sybil who could tell time and do other tricks, but came to do feats of strength, singing, dancing, acting and telling stories. Now he owned the greatest show on earth (or so it was said), and had put it on a “show boat” so he could visit the river towns.

As we walked down to the riverfront, the din and screech of machinery was deafening. I was surprised to see, on the far side of the river, yards building not only steamboats, but tall-masted ocean-going ships.

Rice’s circus was on a large flat boat. We paid 10c each for admission and found it well worth the money. Sandy and Hans sat next to me while Becky sat on the other side of Sandy. Mostly, we laughed so hard it was difficult to catch our breath. Yet, the mirth was punctuated by perilous feats of horsemanship and knife throwing. More than once I found Hans hanging onto my arm during these a acts.

After the show we were quite hungry and made our way along Front St. On the way, Becky noticed a sign showing a razor and scissors, and asked me to read it. “Barber and Hair Dresser Supplies. Cosmetics for Men and Women. Pierre Du Roi, Prop.” Excited by the display in the window, Becky insisted that we enter.

I greeted Monsieur du Roi in my best French, to which he only replied ‘Bon jour,’ with a terrible accent. Still, his stock was extensive and his dealing honest. Becky haggled over her purchases, managing a shrewd discount based on her signigificant outlay. She left with a flour sack containing an assortment of clay and willow curlers, steel and tortoise hairpins, boxes of curl clasps and hair crimpers (12 to a box at 75c), curling irons in various sizes, scissors, a razor, bone and tortoise combs, and various brushes.

“Now I can work on the boat, instead of waiting till we gets to St. Louis” she said, beaming.
We were all well pleased for her. While her purchases were quite professional, carrying them in a flour sack was less so. Further down, we passed a purveyor of luggage where I purchased her a shellacked pasteboard case for 65c.

After a dinner of greens, potatoes, mutton, beer and wiskey, we made our way to the public landing and found the Linn. I showed our tickets and Mrs. Cloverfield's the note to the officer seated at the gang plank. He signaled a deck hand who called a colored maid. She lead us from the cargo deck to the second, cabin, level. The men’s day cabin was forward and the women’s aft. The staterooms, so called because they were named after the states, opened onto the men’s and women’s rooms on the inside and onto the promenade on the outside.

“Which cabin would you like?” she asked.

“Which is furthest from the boilers?”

“The Alabama.”

“It has a office attached?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then we will take it.”

She opened the door and handed me the key. "I empty de slop pots every mornin durin breakfast. Dere's water in the ewer, but I's not be drinkin it. It comed from de river, what people poo and piss in. You'd best be drinking coffee, tea and beer, or mix your water wit wiskey. Dem that does spends less time in the privy."

“Thank you!" I gave her a 5c piece and she left.

"Becky do you mind sharing the office with Hans?”

“No, he be more a girl dan you be, Miss Nancy.”

“Perhaps.” I had thought the same thing earlier.

Once we were settled, we decided to go up to the hurricane deck to watch the sunset. The crew had their quarters there, leaving a large open space. Hans stayed close by my side while Sandy and Becky drifted off.

“Why are you staying so close, Hans?”

“You mach … ah, make, me feel funny, miss.”

“Feel funny?”

“Ya, like my freund Otto. Ich, … I never feel like dat mit einem Mädchen, uh, wid a girl before, aber … but you are zo stark, ah strong. I vant to be near you.”

I was unsure what to say, but gave him a reassuring hug across the shoulders.

Once the evening light faded, we retired. I slept poorly as work on the boilers proceeded through the night.

* The average life of an Ohio or Mississippi River steamboat was 4-5 years. Disasters were common, horrific, and accepted. http://genealogytrails.com/ark/greene/SteamboatDisasters.htm provides detailed accounts of innumerable accidents. Explosions usually resulted from boiler over-pressurization or the water above the firebox boiling away, allowing it to become red hot and soften. There were no government inspections before 1852.

Having slept fitfully, I woke at first light and went on deck to watch the dawn. “Red light at morning …”, I thought. It is going to be a stormy day. The hammering that persisted through the night had given way to random clinks. I went down to the cargo deck to see the workmen reassembling the starboard, or right, boiler under what had been the light of lanterns and torches. The deck was cluttered with tools, rusted and scaled iron plates, and pieces of pipe. A bleary-eyed officer was overseeing the work.

“Good morning,” I called out.

“Mornin’ to ye, young lad. Ye be up early.”

“I am an early riser, I suppose. How is the work going?”

“Be done in two shakes of a lamb's tail. We should be ready for boardin’ in an hour or so.”

“Is there time for me and my party to go ashore to break our fast?”

“Ye can eat with the crew, if it please ye. We chow in the galley on the hurricane in 30 minutes or so. Rouse yer crew and ye can join us.”

“Thank you very much.” I went back to the cabin, woke a very sleepy Sandy, and knocked on the office door until Becky responded, “We be out soon as Hans be dressed.”

In a few minutes, I heard the office door to the promenade open followed by the muffled voices of Becky and a whiney Hans outside. Meanwhile, Sandy was still buttoning her first boot. “Hurry up! I am starving, and they are not going to wait on us.”

“Alright, alright, I’m working as fast as I can.”

“Don’t say ‘I’m’! It is not ladylike. ‘I am.’”

“Alright, I am working as fast as I can.”

Being impatient, I took my button hook to her other boot, and still finished before her.

“Come along!” I locked our cabin door and turned to see a colored and a white woman standing on the deck. It took me a second to recognize the white one as Hans in Becky’s other dress and bonnet.

“Hans?”

“She be Hannah now. I ain’t havin’ people say, ‘Becky, she be sleepin’ wid a white boy.’ So, I says wear my dress o’ sleep outside.”

“Hans?”

“Becky, she make me. I not ask für to vear dress.” He was blushing furiously, but the way he straightened his dress hinted at something more.

“I tol’ you he be a girl.”

“Well, we do not have time to sort this out now. … Hans, or Hannah, you do not sound like a girl, so keep quiet. If you have to talk, speak softly. I will say you have just come from Germany and do not speak much English.”

Some crewmen were still entering the galley as I told the captain the engineer had invited us to eat with them.

“And welcome you are.”

The victualing was quite egalitarian with colored firemen sitting at the same table as white officers. The only sign of rank was that the captain sat at the head with his officers, while the crew sat further down. Sandy and I were invited to sit by the officers, while Becky and Hannah sat at the far end with the maid who had shown us aboard. The maid looked closely at Hanna, but said nothing of his new persona. I noticed that Hannah’s effeminate manner drew less attention in female attire than in tongs.

“Where you headed to?” asked the captain. So began a pleasant conversation and breakfast, with the captain recounting stories of his life on the river.

He started as a cabin boy and, on his first trip, the boiler blew up. Luckily he escaped unharmed and managed to save a passenger who later died of gruesome burns – begging in his final hours that the captain put him out of his misery. He swore that if he were ever a master, he would attend most closely to his boilers and their crew. Since the engineer of the destroyed boat was “drunk as a pig,” none of his crew is allowed a drop on board.

On his most recent trip up river, he had rescued “the Apostles,” for so he called James and John, the colored firemen seated with us. They had been wrongly enslaved on the Wheeling and jumped overboard when she stuck on a snag. Captain Burch stopped to pull them from the water, but refused to pull the Wheeling off. He now expected trouble from her captain on the down river trip.

At the end of the meal, Captain Burch bade us a pleasant trip, and turned to a discussion of the day’s business with his officers. As we descended to the cabin deck, passengers were beginning to trickle aboard. Becky wanted to meet the ladies to offer them her hairdressing services, while Sandy ran off in search of playmates. That left me alone with Hannah.

“You look quite comfortable in your dress.”

The poor lad could only blush.

“Have you worn a dress before?”

He looked even more embarrassed.

I decided that such direct questions would be of no avail.

“I think you need to relax a bit, you seem tense.”

“Tense?”

I mimicked tension for him, then eased my shoulders to convey the idea of relaxation. He seemed to understand.

“Would you like me to help you relax?”

“Ya, I vould.”

“This is my witching stone. Look into it. Can you see a face or an animal in it? No? Look deeper and relax.” He easily passed into the dream world.

“Quiet yourself. I am your friend. You know that, right?”

“Ya.”

“How do you feel about Becky making you wear a dress like a girl?”

“Shame dat Becky sees me.”

“Sees you in a dress or sees that you would like a dress?”

“Dat I like dress.”

“It is not bad to like wearing dresses. I like them sometimes.”

“Aber, you are eine Frau … a voman.”

“Alright, but I dress like a man and like that too.”

“I alzo like you dress like a man.”

“Thank you – danke. … Do you mind that Becky gave you a girl’s name, Hannah?”

“Ich bin .. I am Hans, aber Hannah is a gut name.”

“Yes, Hannah is a pretty name.”

He smiled.

“Would you like me to call you Hannah?”

“Ya. I like ven you call me Hannah.”

“Then I will.”

“Danke.”

“Are you a girl inside, Hannah?”

“Nein! Ich weiss nicht, kein Mädchen, kein Junge.”

“I do not understand, English please.”

“Not a girl. Not a boy like de oter boys – a boy who vants to vear de dress of eine girl ist not a boy.”

“Have you worn a dress before?”

“Vone time I tell mama I kranke, sick, ven my family, it goes zur Kirke … to de church. Den I vear my sister dress.”

“Did that feel good?”

“Ya. I not bin für pants made – für dresses. Ich hoffe, eines Tages eine Frau zu sein.”

“English please.”

“I hope … I vill be a vife one day.”

“That is possible.”

“Möglich?“

“It can be.”

“Nein. I vant a vife für you to be, aber it never be zo.

“Well maybe not me, but someone will love you.”

“In dress?”

“Yes.”

“Nein, I vill go to Hölle ... hell. Mein fater, he says.”

“God will not send you to hell for being how He made you. If He made you to be a wife, He will be happy when you are a wife.”

“Is truth?”

“Yes, is truth. If you like dresses, wear dresses and be happy and proud, Hannah. ... Now, you will wake slowly and feel wonderful.”

He slowly returned.

“How do you feel Hannah?”

“Wunderbar!”

I hugged him and got a warm hug back.

“Hannah, you need to pay Becky for her dress and bonnet.”

“I vill.”

I looked at him. You look a little pale dear.” I found my lip rouge and put a touch of color on his lips and beardless cheeks.

Putting his arm on mine, I said, “Let's go for a walk on the deck before it gets too hot.”

Shortly, pistons hissed, the side wheels started turning and the Linn backed into the Ohio. Half a mile ahead I saw a boat with “Wheeling” on its side turning downstream.

Because of his slight build, Hans was already an alto, but the cadence of his voice was epicene rather than feminine. If Hannah was to be accepted, her intonation would need to be more feminine. I spent an hour walking the promenade of the cabin deck with her, helping with her voice. It would not erase years of habit, but progress was made. At the end, I escorted her to the lady’s cabin, where she could listen to the piano and singing while taking refreshment.

Becky soon followed, driven in from the awning between the women’s and men’s cabins by a torrential downpour that broke upon us. She looked discouraged, for her hairdressing offers had either been met with disdain, or politely rejected.

“I have an idea, Becky. You need a subject to exemplify your work.”

“I don’ understand dem big words.”

“Well, if the ladies saw you working on someone – who turned out beautiful – they might give you their custom.”

“Who do dat? Your hair be way too short.”

“He, he. No, not me. Sandy or Hannah, or maybe both.”

“You got sumpin der girl!”

“I’ll get Sandy.”

She was playing a board game, Pope and Pagan, with three girls and a young boy. The game aimed to instill children with both Christian virtue and a horror of papism and the religions of the East. After my experience with Fr. Albright, I was uneasy at this line of education, and so had no scruple in interrupting.

“Sandy, your hair is a mess, I want to let the colored woman have a go at it.”

She looked puzzled, then got the idea. “Yes, my curls are strung out. Do you think she could fix them?”

“I believe she could – and she is only charging girls 25c. … If you girls like how she does Sandy’s hair, you could ask your mothers if she can do yours.”

The girls seemed excited at the prospect and watched closely as Becky washed and used her tongs to curl Sandy’s hair. When she was done, they ran to find their mothers. Later, I repeated the performance with Hannah.

When the rain ceased, I went to the bow to take in the river. About noon, the Linn reached Wheeling, Virginia. There it loaded three heavy wagons with its steam boom while their oxen were herded up the gangway. Meanwhile, the Wheeling passed out of sight downriver.

I luncheoned in the men’s cabin – a most unpleasant experience during which I almost choked on cigar smoke, much to the amusement of the older men. Finishing as quickly as possible, I took a mug of tea to the bow, only to find the stench of manure unbearable. Eventually, I found a wonderful vantage on the roof of the crew’s quarters near the pilot house. The master, sitting on a stool near the pilot, nodded at me and returned to his business.

The view was magnificent as we passed 100 feet under the first cables of the bridge Charles Ellet was building for the National Road – the longest in the world at 1,010 feet.* I felt proud to be part of a country making such progress, and wished I could contribute more to it.

As the Linn gathered speed, the rushing wind refreshed me. My hair blew as only a boy’s could. I wondered, would I ever go back to being a girl? I was lost in my reverie when I heard a voice next to me.

“That’s a nasty scar there on the back o’ yer head, lad.” It was Captain Burch.

“How?”

“The wind kicked yer hair up, I hope yer not mindin’ me askin ’bout it. … How’d ya come by it?”

I thought how I should respond. “You saw Sandy at breakfast. I am the child’s tutor. I was shot in a kidnap attempt.”

“Oh, so that’s why you have that lump of a gun in yer trouser pocket. … Yes I saw it when you was in the galley, but I says ‘Maybe the lad has his reasons.’”

“Yes, Sandy’s uncle gave it to me to protect the child.”

“Well, so long as it stays in yer pocket.”

“I have no plan to use it.”

“Good! … You seem interested in the river.”

“I am.”

“Would you like to see in the pilothouse?”

“Very much.”

“You may, but only when I invite you – an’ only if you don’t ever talk to the pilot or to me when I’m busy.”

“You are the master!”

“That I be.”

The pilothouse was dominated by a many-handled wheel to guide the boat. It was so big – maybe 6 feet across – that the deck was cut away to accommodate its lower portion. Next to it was a pedal to sound the whistle. Above were wires running across the roof from left to right ending in pull rings. These sounded bells to signal the engineer of his duty. I thanked the captain for his kindness and returned to my place.

Shortly, the rain returned with a vengeance and I retired to our stateroom for a nap. I was awakened when Becky and Hannah brought us supper from the lady’s table.

“Look at what dey’s cooked,” Becky enthused. There was fish, two kinds of meat, vegetables, potatoes, muffins, pie slices and more on the tray she carried – too much, I feared, for the four of us. I was wrong, for we were ravenous and consumed the lot! I felt at once quite sated and guilty for my gluttony.

During dinner, Becky dominated the conversation. “I’s goin’ be rich! Look here! I make $1.50 t’day. One lady, she want me for to be a maid, but I says no – cuz I be makin more dis way. Besides, when she see I got me a baby inside, she be firin' me.”

“I am very happy for you dear.”

“Thank you Miss Nancy! I’s got you to thank!”

“I just got you started. You did the work.”

After dinner, Sandy brought out a deck of cards he had been given and taught us a card game her mother had taught her, called "whist." We played a number of hands, with Sandy and I, as partners, winning most of the early ones and Becky and Hannah winning more later. We played until it was too dark to read the cards by the cabin lamp, then retired.

In the morning, I again rose at first light. The Linn was tied to some trees along the north bank and the captain was using a speaking trumpet to direct the crew in freeing the boat. This did not require going ashore as the ropes had been looped about the trees with both ends secured to the vessel. So, they had only to loosen one end and pull in upon the other.

Once we were safely underway, the master invited me to join him in the galley. He directed Johnson, the colored cook, to bring me ham, "grits" or white corn meal, and eggs as he consumed thick coffee.

“So, how old be you, Bill?”

“Sixteen years, sir.”

“And where be yer parents?”

“Both dead, sir – taken by the yellow jack along with John, my older brother, when I was but eight years.”

“That be sad. I lost my wife and daughter to cholera last year.”

“I am sorry to hear of it,” as I truly was.

A wave of emotion passed over him, but he was soon in control again. “So, what are you thinking of doing by way of a trade – once you have done yer duty by the child?”

“I do not know, sir. Maybe be a private tutor as I am now, or teach in a school. I met a priest on the way to Pittsburgh who offered admission to the university in St. Louis – if I can afford it.”

“That seems a tame life for an adventurous lad like you.”

“Perhaps, but as we passed under Mr. Ellet’s bridge at Wheeling, it put me to mind that I want to do something to build this country. If I knew more, I might.”

“A noble thought lad. … I can see it in you that you like the river.”

“I do. The water … it turns in ways almost magical.”

“You know, steamboats be the life of this country – from Pittsburgh to N’Orleans – and into the Missouri country, we be what ties the country together.”

“I can see that.”

“So, I was thinking …” He paused almost in embarrassment. “Maybe – when yer duty be done by the child – being as you are an orphan and all – you might want to ’prentice with me?”

“I am honored by the offer. I will need time to consider it.”

“Of course! Of course! … Here’s my address in Cairo. You can write me there.”

“I will, regardless of what I decide.”

“Well, you best see to your litl’ crew. When yer done, you can join me in the pilothouse if it suits you.”

My three girls were sharing breakfast in our cabin. I chatted with them a while. Then Sandy when off to play and Becky to meet a woman she had been unable to serve the day before. Poor Hannah did not know what to do when I suggested she stroll among the deck passengers where I heard German spoken. So, I was left free to join the captain in the pilothouse.

He smiled broadly when he saw me – almost relieved that he had not alienated me. He spent the morning teaching me the rudiments of river reading. A vee in the water betokened a snag. A pattern of ripples, up-welling and smooth water signaled a bar, and so on. In the afternoon he schooled me in the engine bell and whistle. For example, five short blasts called the crew to quarters for an emergency while five long blasts called aid to a vessel in distress.

We passed innumerable landings, only stopping when someone flagged us or a passenger was to be put off. These stops took only a minute. The Linn would gently run aground, holding herself in place by slow turns of her great wheels, lower her gang plank for maybe 15-30 seconds, then back off and be on her way once more. About 8:30 or 9:00 we again tied up as navigating low water on a moonless night was dangerous.

We had a longer stop in Cincinnati where we unloaded the wagons and their oxen, and took on machinery for Paducah. That gave me time to visit the telegraph office. There I found a message from three days earlier.

Van der Leyden arrested. Proceeding St. Louis via your route. Karl.

Once we were underway again, the captain told me about the Falls of the Ohio at Louisville. These are not a fall like Niagara. Instead, the river drops 22 feet in a series of rapids – although during low water a single drop of four feet was exposed. In the past, boats had unloaded above the Falls at Louisville, and reloaded below it. Now, there was a canal we would lock through. He invited me to join him in the pilothouse to take all this in.

As we approached, I was back in the pilothouse. From my vantage I could see a chain of islands ahead with white water on either side. The captain lent me his glass to examine the scene. Scanning, I pointed out a man on a point spying us.

“That’s the mouth of Beargrass Creek, where boats wait their turn to enter the canal. We shall be there shortly.”

As the captain said this, I saw the man running back from the point, waving his arm to signal come ahead. We were nearly to the creek mouth when two black plumes shot up over the trees. Soon the Wheeling emerged under full steam -- headed straight for us.

Captain Burch yelled, “Bastard! Hard a port! Sound the alarm.” The pilot spun the wheel as fast as he could, and stomped five short blasts. Meanwhile, the captain yanked the engine bells. The left engine hastened, while the right machinery screeched, emitted a great cloud of steam and halted. The Linn’s timbers shuddered and creaked as her starboard wheel stopped. The captain rang again and slowly, but with increasing speed, the right wheel reversed. The bow swung toward the mid-river islands, then passed into open water on the Indiana side. The engine bell rang again, the engineer responded with a short blast of his ready whistle, and the right wheel reversed once more. I could hear John and James swearing as they hurled log after log into the furnaces. Jets of flame shot from our stacks as we sped forward faster than ever before. My tension faded at the captain’s adroit avoidance of collision.

My relief was short lived. The Wheeling was in full pursuit and our speed was alarming – faster than the train to Manhattan. How could that be? Looking down, the river’s smooth passage to the sea had become a tumultuous boil sweeping us irresistibly on.

Meanwhile, as the Wheeling passed the head of the island chain, both its wheels shuddered and reversed. They spun back mightily, but to no avail. The current swept her after us.

Why were we not fighting the current as was the Wheeling? Instead, the captain and pilot worked the helm furiously: first right, then left, as our wheels drove us on. I prayed that God guide our passage. In my prayer it came to me that we could only steer by going forward. This was confirmed when the Wheeling emitted five long whistle blasts. Her stern was moving left and her bow right. Her wheels stopped and began turning forward, but it was too late. Her bow struck an outcrop and held fast. As her stern swung round, the current tipped her sideways, submerging her left boiler. It exploded with such force that fragments of her works rained down upon us – 300 yards away. I could only pray for those aboard as steam enveloped her. Then, a second explosion echoed the first.

Ahead, a thin line of boiling water extended from bank to bank. The Linn’s bow passed over it with a horrid scrapping before we, like the Wheeling, were held fast – our foredeck hanging four feet in the air. Our timbers moaned their death knell. If only I could swim! I prayed desperately as the Linn gradually tipped forward – despite her bulk being above the falls! The impounded water lifted our stern and then, suddenly, shot us over and drove our bow into the river. A huge wave carried away all that was loose on the foredeck. I was commending my soul to God when the bow rose, the water drained, and the river calmed. Ahead, two rapids ruffled, but did not boil, the river. The pilot stood alone at the wheel as Captain Burch rang the engines down to standard and sent the second officer to inspect the boat.

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* John Roebling, who competed for the Wheeling bridge contract and later designed the Brooklyn Bridge, predicted that Ellet’s bridge would fail in high winds. Shortly after 3:00 PM on May 17, 1854, it did. http://www.historic-structures.com/wv/wheeling/wheeling_susp...

I remained unnoticed in my corner of the pilothouse to watch the Linn navigate the lower rapids. After my previous terror, their passage was unmemorable – no more than a quickening of our pace. I was about to check on my companions when the second officer returned.

“Damage report, sir.”

“Yes?”

“A number of hull planks in the bow section cracked and leaking, but the steam pump is keeping up. The worst is a four-foot crack along the keel with a break on the bottom. Four joining ribs cracked as well. The grain in the hold is soaked and ruined.”

“Is there immediate danger?”

“No. I have deck passengers throwing the wet sacks over. The carpenter and his mate are shoring the frame, but he says she needs yard work. Also, he requires more sawn lumber for temporary repairs.”

“Thank you, Jim. We’ll put in at Portland. Go below and supervise the work. I’ll come down when we’ve landed.”

Turning to the pilot, he ordered. “Put in at Portland. Be easy with it – we want no further damage.”

“Aye, Aye.”

“Bill, you might as well come with me.”

The captain took his speaking trumpet and went to first to the gentlemen’s cabin, as it was just below, then to the portico, the lady’s cabin and finally the cargo deck. In each place, he addressed the passengers:

“We experienced difficulties and were swept into the Falls, but are safe now. Another boat, the Wheeling attempted to come to our aid, but was lost to the boiler explosions you heard. We are putting into Portland to effect temporary repairs. Thence, we shall proceed at half speed to Cairo and up the Mississippi to St. Louis, where there are yards able to put the Linn right. In other words, we shall not go to New Orleans as planned – nor shall we stop again before St. Louis unless forced by circumstances.

“So, any passengers not wishing to go to St. Louis should depart the vessel. Those doing so will receive a pro rata from the purser. Those wishing to go to St. Louis may stay aboard at no additional fare.”

After hearing him speak so the first time, asked, “Why did you say the Wheeling had come to our aid?”

“Two reasons, lad. First, one should speak no ill of the dead. Second, if there were an inquiry, the apostles might be returned to their former condition.”

“So they were not held illegally?”

“Only by God’s law, Bill. … So, take care what story you tell ashore. Remember, Kentucky is a slave state.”

“Aye, aye. I will.”

I saw a shaken Hannah in the portico, clinging to the arm of a sturdy Teuton. Blond and at least 6 feet, he was of about twenty years. Except for the general confusion, he could not have been there, for his shabby suit marked him a deck passenger. After beckoning to her, I followed the captain to the lady’s cabin to find Sandy and rejoin my friends.

While my little crew wished to go on to St. Louis, most of the other cabin passengers disembarked along with half of the deck passengers. Those who remained were mostly Oregon bound and glad to be taken further gratis.

That settled, I asked Hannah about her new friend.

“You say go find German deck folk to talk. I vas talking mit two girls ven one, she says I am boy in dress. Den, some boys call me names. I am crying. Fritz, he come and tell dem not be doing dat. Den, he puts arm on my shoulder and take me ven begin die Aufregung.”

“You mean when the trouble started?”

“Ja. He holds me tight ven de boat front unter vater goes. So, I ein Kuss him give.”

“Does he know you are a boy?”

“Ja. He like me zo. He says I am schön – pretty. I alzo like him. He ist ein hübscher mann – handsome. He goes to Oregon.”

“Does he want you to go with him?”

“Ve muss better to know – Fritz und me.”

“Know each other better?”

“Ja.”

“I hope he is nice. Be careful.”

“I alzo hope. I vill.”

As I had no idea what to do with Hans when we reached St. Louis, I hoped Fritz would prove kind. Perhaps real shipboard romances happened as they did in books.

It took the better part of a day to make temporary repairs to the Linn. A train of sweaty men, accompanied by a cacophony of hammering and sawing, carried heavy timbers up the gangway and down below. The temperature on deck was 100, and the air a soup of humidity and mosquitoes. I was driven back in my one trip below by even more intolerable conditions.

I went to my perch on the hurricane deck in search of a breeze. There was some slight relief, but I still had to take off my jacket and waistcoat to dry my soaked shirt. The captain was in the shade of the pilot house going over a set of plans with the ship’s carpenter. When they finished, he looked up and saw me.

“Bill, dear, if you are going to remove your jacket, you will need to wrap some towels about your waist, for you have given away your secret, lass. Your shoulders are broad and your hair short, but your waist could only belong to a girl.”

“I am sorry sir, but my incognito was needed for Sandy’s safety. … Well, that is not the whole truth, for once started, I found I prefer being a boy. ... But, I especially regret having deceived you.” I hung my head in shame.

“Buck up, lad! I told you I lost a daughter. I did not say she was a tomboy who preferred my old cabin boy uniform to any dress her mother sewed. She spoke constantly of wanting to master a boat as I do. I loved her as she was. So do I you. … The offer to ‘prentice stands.”

Tear rolled out of my eyes. “Thank you, sir.”

In the meantime survivors, casualties and bodies from the Wheeling kept coming in. Most of her crew were stationed near the boilers, so the few who survived were mostly cabin attendants.

I spread Captain Burch’s tale of the Wheeling’s heroism. The townsfolk readily accepted it, but the surviving crew were quite skeptical as they knew their captain well. Still, nothing they saw contradicted the story.

Many from the town and both boats, including Sandy and I, attended a Presbyterian service mourning the dead, praying for the wounded and giving thanks for those who survived. At the same time, a German pastor held a similar service outdoors for his compatriots.

One of the survivors was a baby of six months named Anna Zimmerman. Its parents had attached blocks of cork to her basket for the crossing from Germany. So, she floated away unharmed. The parents were less fortunate. Her father was fatally maimed and her mother could not be found. Hannah’s Fritz knew the parents from the crossing. So, when no relative stepped forward to take the child, he felt obliged to do so.

Passengers and townsfolk contributed clothes and napkins for Anna. Hannah, in particular, responded to her maternally -- taking charge of her care. She even attempted to nurse Anna in her office, but to no avail. On seeing this, I gave Hannah some doses of black cohosh and explained how to make more of the potion.

The next day the bow was sufficiently reinforced for us to proceed.