(Ed's Note:  What was it like to travel across the Atlantic in 1843.  The article below I've borrowed describes the journey for a family going to America 10 years after the Resch family.  I thought a personal experience would add some nice flavor to the essays about Joseph and his family.  Although the Reschs left ten years earlier, they probably embarked from Bremen or Bremenhaven.  For the Resch family, traveling by rail to Zanesville was not an option in 1833 as with the Bohning family)

Thinking About America

    By 1842, several people from our neighborhood had already gone to America, but we knew next to nothing about their reasons for emigrating. As far back as 1832 a tailor named Friedrich Borges had left. After several years, we heard he was living in Cleveland, Ohio, and doing well. He had become a master tailor and had his own shop. My mother's brother, August Blase, had gone with him. Borges wrote that Uncle Blase had joined the Shakers in Albany. We never heard directly from August himself. A couple of years before we left, two other people had gone. One of them was a musician. The other was a rich farmer who came back to Germany having lost everything.

    In our village, that was all we knew about America. We thought we could trust what Borges had written. Everything had gone well for him. So very slowly and gradually, we began to think of emigrating ourselves. The knowledge that Borges had succeeded influenced us strongly. Whenever we asked what America looked like and what the living conditions were like, we got contrary comments. The usual replies were:

    We knew very well what we had, namely eight Morgen of good land, located by the river, and good enough to get by on. Nevertheless my Father was not satisfied, for life went on in an endless cycle of manure wagon, spinning wheel, pumpernickel, sour milk and boiled potatoes. What's more, there were nine children in the family, five of them boys. If we stayed, they might be drafted in the next war, and be shot to death for the King and the Fatherland. Father had been a soldier himself, and he did not want that fate for his sons. So the thought of leaving remained in his head. He knew enough about America to know that no one would be forced to become a soldier. However, it was a long way from these thoughts to making a definite decision. 

    It so happened that Ernst Borges, the brother of the tailor Friedrich Borges in Cleveland, who was mentioned earlier, decided to emigrate with his young family. Father declared that his oldest son, Heinrich, who would soon be drafted, would join Borges. Friederich Tonsing, a schoolmate of my brother, also went along. All three of them traveled in the spring of 1842, with Cleveland as their destination. This was the advance scout of our family, in a way, a reconnaissance patrol. We could rely on what they would report, and that would determine what the whole family would do. Borges and my father were cousins; their mothers were sisters.
    We anxiously waited for the first reports to arrive. In August they came, and were favorable. They convinced my father. My father had definitely decided to go in spite of much advice and many warnings against emigration, and the horror stories about America that were brought to our house every day. On top of this negative advice, my mother began to have strong doubts. Luckily for us, Father was stubborn. He stood firm. 

     At last, we kids shouted, "Hooray, we are going to America!" We had no idea what lay ahead of us on the long journey. In the spring of 1843, we found a buyer who paid us 1600 Thaller for our house and land in Barkhausen, but left us the crop. We began our trip to America in August 1843. The last things we sold were the family dog and cat. The kitty brought 24 Groschen, or 48 cents.
     At that point we said, "I sadly cry, 'Old house, good-bye!' " In fact, tears flowed freely. The farewell from the church made the family especially heavy-hearted. By the way, we didn't go alone. Two other families from Barkhausen left with us, namely the Blases and the Langenkamps. So we were together with good friends.
    Our [1843 traveling] family consisted of ten people; the head of the family, Herman Heinrich Bohning; our mother Maria Eleanora, born Blase; the oldest daughter, Elizabeth, who was older than the oldest son Heinrich who had already migrated. Then there was Friederich, almost 17 years old, followed by Elsabein and Eleanora. After these came me, Ernst, who is making these notes, and who was ten years old at the time. William was two years younger, then Johann, and finally the toddler, Maria. 

    We began the trip to Bremerhaven with our chests and boxes in a big hay wagon. We were joined by other farm families, including some young guys who were a lot of fun. However, the children had to spend some very uncomfortable days sitting on the chests and in among the baggage, and we wished we were in Bremen where the beautiful ship waited for us. At least that is what they told us kids.
    I had to sit on the edge of a chest with one leg stretched out and the other bent under me. What's more, we suffered from terrible heat and burning thirst in the linen-covered wagon. The trip to America was already starting to look a little less bright to me. "Just be patient until we get to Bremen," they told us. "Then we'll get on the beautiful ship that will take us quickly over the ocean. That's where all of our troubles will come to an end."
    On the evening of the third day, we were finally there. Hungry, tired, stiff and sore, we stood at the corner of the restaurant where our wagon was unhitched. Whimpering, we waited for dinner and bed.
    Early the next morning after we had eaten a really good breakfast, our belongings were loaded on a barge which would go that afternoon to Bremerhaven. Meanwhile, we had time to see the town. We roamed around at random until we came to a beautiful, big church. Of all the sights we saw, we liked this best. We stayed there for a long time, for it was a Lutheran church, and we prayed hard for a good crossing. We also saw the giant, Roland. "Roland the Giant" is a statue, standing straight and stiff, by the town hall in Bremen. Somebody told us this phrase, and it stuck in our minds.

    After we had lunch at our lodgings, we continued on the fourth day of our journey. We went on a barge that floated downstream on the Weser River. Oh, this was a lot better than being under the boxes and chests in the wagon. For a while we were happy-go-lucky, then suddenly we got stuck on a sand bar. It seemed like the river was draining away. This frightened us children very much. But the sailors calmed us down and said, "In two hours there will be enough water, then we can go on." We hadn't heard about high and low tides before. They were right; in two hours, more water came into the Weser from the ocean, and we sailed happily on. It seemed wonderful to me that water could flow uphill. 

    The next afternoon we reached Bremerhaven, and our barge was brought to the side of a large three-master. At last, this was the nice big ship that would bring us into the land of Canaan. We children were delighted and pleased with the big monster, where there was a lot going on. But for the time being, only our belongings were loaded. We had to go back temporarily into the town. We went to the Emigration House, where for some, the high life continued.
    Those of us who preferred to see something roamed around the harbor and looked at the many ships that lay there. Most interesting to us, of course, was our own ship, and we happily watched the way the sailors were stowing our belongings. They were also friendly to us children and could even speak low German, which pleased me very much. One said, "You guys better step aside if you like your legs." I wouldn't have said anything even if he had spoken to me in a different way and said, "Rascal, why are you standing here staring?" -- or even if he had even given me a little kick in the backside.
    Finally on the morning of the seventh day, with 182 [sic] passengers, we boarded the ship, and immediately afterward the sailors lifted anchor.

    The quarters we had were not very nice, and did not come up to our expectations. They were made of rough lumber, nailed together to make compartments, each one holding four people. They were located directly below the upper deck, one compartment on top of another like in a barracks. In the upper compartment it was hardly possible to sit upright, while the lower ones were six to seven feet high. Here we had to live and sleep. These bunks were at the sides of the hold. In the middle were our boxes and chests and other luggage. In this "home" there were no windows. A steep ladder at each end led to the upper deck. There was only a little light coming through the stair hatches, and in the middle of the hold it was dark. So this was the "beautiful" boat we had dreamed about.
    For a while we did not go below, but stayed on deck and watched the coast and the Fatherland slowly disappear. That's when nearly everyone's eyes became moist, and the women dabbed at their eyes with the corners of their aprons. We children and the young men were excited and in good spirits. I hoped the journey would last a long time, and when I asked my father how long the trip would be, he answered, "That's up to God."
    Soon it was night and we crept into our bunks. But we didn't go to sleep for a long time because the young folks played tricks and joked, and it was late before nature took over and everyone fell asleep.

    However, before long that night, a storm came up. It made the joints of the ship creak, and tossed everything back and forth. It made a racket I shall never forget. Our cooking pots, kettles, cans, plates and cups (which were fortunately all made of tin) flew around in the room as if they were being thrown by someone. The trunks did not stay in one place, but slid back and forth. In addition, there was the noise of the sea, the whipping and howling of the wind, the running of sailors over our head, and the shouted commands of the captain.
    Below, it was really pitch-dark, and on top of everything else, we began to feel seasick. It was a miserable feeling that went into us and then poured out again through the heart and mouth. Every one of us thought his last hour had come. Everything the Old Adam had taken in before, he now had to give back again. We prayed to the living God that he would rescue us from this danger. He did; toward morning the weather turned pleasant and calm and we felt moved to thank God for saving us. We began singing a hymn, and somebody read aloud from the Bible how our Lord Jesus and his disciples sailed over Lake Gennesaret and he stilled the rage of the storm.
    The sermon was preached by a man named Koring, {Köhring} a farmer coming from {Wetter} Prussia. He and his wife were both short and fat and so were both of their children {they actually had 3 on board ship}, who also had very small slit-eyes. But they were good, pleasant people. Koring continued as our Pastor during the entire trip, and each Sunday we had a church service, with the captain and most of the sailors taking part as well.

    God had heard our petitions and had led us to a ship with an honest and decent crew. The captain was a splendid man who was especially devoted to us children. He probably had a family of his own at home, and that's why he was so good to us. When he patted us on the cheek, he did it with such tenderness, it touched our hearts. The trip on the "Marianna," as our three-master was called, was very good, as far as the handling of the passengers and the food was concerned, and considering the conditions of the times.

    Wieting, as the captain was called, once laid his hand on my head and said to me, "Boy, you are quite smart and strong. If you eat well for a few years, I could then use you on my ship." He impressed me so much, I would have gone with him right there. In the meantime, my brothers and sisters and myself helped ourselves to the plentiful supply of salted and preserved meat. The other food was not so tasty, but it was very filling. Syrup and plums were considered a delicacy, but we didn't touch them. We couldn't think of anything more unappetizing. There were plenty of potatoes boiled in their skins, and ship's hardtack bread which we softened in coffee. We couldn't have bitten into it dry; but soaked, and with butter added, it tasted delicious.
    The captain let the old folks and those who were sick have special meals from his kitchen. Naturally, they were better than ours were, and this action really showed his humanity and goodness. As the master is, so are the servants. With the exception of one sailor, all the seamen were good-hearted people who were helpful in every way, and made our lives easier. Others, specifically my older brother, who had made the journey before us, had not had such good going. My brother complained later that he had an underhanded captain and a rough crew on his ship, and the passengers had almost died of hunger. 

    The young fellows who were with us on the ship constantly played tricks and joked. There were two of them I still remember with pleasure. One by the name of W. Brinker actually came to Cleveland with us.
    Even more fun was Faber, who was as good as a sailor when it came to climbing the mast. Once he climbed up the fore mast and from the very top, with arms crossed, delivered a speech to us. When somebody told him to be careful, because if he fell it would be certain death, Faber retorted, "If you are so worried, maybe I should jump down. It's always good to be careful. Gretken, hold your apron up so you can catch me." Of course, Gretken didn't catch him, and when he came down again, he boasted he had seen at least 52 ships, while those of us on deck couldn't see a single one. When we said he was known as a liar, he said we could see for ourselves by climbing the mast. But no one would, and we all laughed at the braggart.
    One night there was a cyclone while we were asleep. The ship was literally whirled round and round, and the sailors wanted to fell the masts. Then suddenly, the danger was over. The sailors felt they had been rescued from great danger, and we celebrated their safety with a church service. That was at the end of our third week at sea.

    The trip lasted another three weeks, but we didn't have any more storms. Instead, the weather stayed nice most of the time, so that my mother and little one-year-old sister, who were constantly seasick, could spend a few hours on the deck every day. The captain had the ship disinfected three times a week to improve the sanitation. He often sent soup from his kitchen to Mother, who was weak, and he made sure everyone got enough fresh air on deck.
    During the last few days of the trip we almost always had a good wind, and the sailors were working hard to set all the sails they could find on board. During this job my six-year-old brother, Johann, who was on the deck, got his leg caught in a loop of rope. At a command, the sailors pulled, and my brother dangled upside-down with one leg in the loop. On the second "Yuh" he was pulled up to the winch through which the rope ran, and by the third command, his leg undoubtedly would have been crushed. But God sent his messenger in the person of a sailor named Christopher, who saw the dangerous situation and cried, "Stop!" At that, Johann was set free. We then praised God and thanked him.

    Almost every day we held a short worship service, and usually the captain and most of the sailors participated. After one of these services, when we had sung with extra vigor, Christopher the sailor said if the wind remained favorable, we would be in Baltimore, Maryland, in eight days.
    That's why we wanted to send Faber up the mast again, since he could see one thousand miles away and tell us if Baltimore was really in sight. Then we could put on our clean underwear and clothing. But the pestered Faber was lucky. A thick fog appeared and he did not have to go up. The fog and calm lasted for several more days. Then the weather cleared up again, and Faber the Farseeing had to scale the mast to search for Baltimore. Soon he came back down and announced there was a whale. With his naked eyes he had seen as much as the captain could discern with his telescope.
    It really was an eighty foot whale, snorting and bellowing as it glided toward our ship, spouting high jets of water. The captain said it would be close to our ship in about ten minutes. Many of us were worried and thought about Jonah in the belly of the whale. But the captain laughed at those who were scared. The monster swam right by the ship so we were all able to see it. 

    At last, in the middle of the sixth week of our journey, the pilots arrived. At first we wondered if they might be roving pirates. My fear turned into great joy when Christopher told me these were the pilots who would now command the ship and, in a few days, bring her into Baltimore. He added I should not say anything to anyone. He just wanted to see how soon I would tell. In fact, in about two minutes it was all over the ship. Those who were sick quickly started feeling better. This news was the best medicine. Mother came out on deck, and it seemed to us that our little sister, who had become run down during the trip from a lack of good food, once again had a rosy glow on her face. Everyone began hoping for a speedy arrival. The news had such a powerful effect that we all went around with new energy.
     Captain Wieting gave the command of the ship over to one of the pilots who had arrived. Then he delivered a short speech to us, saying he would go ahead to Baltimore on the two-master the pilots had brought, and would wait for us there, and give us the necessary instructions for further travel in America. We could have the same confidence in the new captain, who would take better care of us than he had been able to do. Then he swung on a rope down to the small rowboat lying below, and was brought on board the two-master. We wished him God's blessings as long as he could hear us.
    The new captain -- I have forgotten his name -- then said to us, "I'm glad you have grown so fond of your Captain Wieting. You will always remember him. He is like gold, like love itself; if only God willed for all captains to be like him, a real father to his passengers. There are too many rough fellows out there."
    A couple more days passed until Faber could climb up the mast again and announce land. The joy was universal. We were coming to the promised land. Our old captain received us, and helped us in word and deed until we were on our way to Ohio. 

    All 186 [sic] of us immigrants -- men, women, and children -- marched together to the Baltimore train station with our packs and sacks. But not directly, for we lost our way, and marched around in vain for a full half hour in the heat.
    We saw black people for the first time; they greeted us with loud hoots. Other inhabitants of Baltimore sat in their windows or stood in the doorways and yelled and screamed as if we were monsters or clowns. However, they meant well. When we were beginning to get tired out from walking, an old German man finally showed us the right way. We reached the station, and before we climbed on the train, we had time to have something to eat and drink; everyone was very hungry and thirsty.

    I first looked at the railroad cars that would haul us. They were small, light, flat cars fitted with little wheels. We sat on rough-sawn benches, arranged crossways, half of the passengers riding forward, and the other half, backward. To protect us from the sun and rain, a board roof had been crudely knocked together.
    I also wanted to see the little iron horse that was supposed to pull us. It was spare and small. The belly was like a sugar barrel; it stood on end rather than on all fours; the neck was like a stovepipe, standing straight up. There was no head, and I didn't notice any tail. This was how the little horse looked, and I was worried that it could not pull us with all our chests and trunks. Although it was small and slight, it had an unruly spirit for inside it rumbled and roared a lot. I became so worried and frightened, I ran away after seeing the driver who would drive the little iron horse. When I returned to my parents, Mother asked me, "Ernstling, where have you been?" "Oh, I had to unbutton my pants," I lied handily. "You ought to be beaten, you shameless liar, but now get up quick. When your father sees you around these no-goods, you'll get your hide tanned." I got into my place fast enough, and the trip soon began.

     I'd like to pass on a brief extract from the written legacy of Ernst Bohning. He emigrated to Cleveland in 1843 as a nine-year-old boy, and he is an offspring of the founder of the American branch of the family -- today an imposing tree with many branches.

    The good uncle was not a scholar but a simple farmer with a rather scanty school education. Though plow and harrow fitted better into his hand than a pen, nevertheless he sat down fifty years later and wrote his story. He related how the family came to the decision to emigrate. He described the voyage itself, and he recorded the vivid impressions that had been stamped into his mind as a child. Much is included that does not have any interest today, and he discusses in a rather long-winded manner, unimportant aspects of daily life. But through the whole account wafts the spirit of a keen observer, and he is neither lacking in a sense of humor nor in a genuine trust in God. For these reasons, a brief extract from the scribblings of the old man might not be unwelcome to you today.