Volume 036-4 - October 1982 (8 pages)

the pirate Alabamian..Your Friend, M.L. Marsh California in 1862 had not become involved to any great extent in the Civil War. At the time M.L. Marsh, his brothers and the Ward family (who were pro-union) reached San Francisco aboard the Orizaba, one of the bloodiest and most humiliating defeats suffered by the Union forces took place at Fredericksburg, December 13, 1862. Santa Cruz, January 27, 1863: —Dear Friend, When I think of it today, it seems a very long time since I received your welcome letter..Since I wrote you last, [have letters from home and I find they are all alive yet which makes me feel more contented, and I like California much better. We are having remarkable weather; have had but little rain since we came; the air is clear and comfortably warm, and the weather is generally that of Wisconsin in May or June! You spoke of having snow in Nevada! That’s a luxury we haven't felt here, and are not likely to this winter; it’s so strange to have such weather in January. This is a good country for the poor, but I can’t see that it possesses any attractions for the rich, or any one that could make themselves comfortable in the more civilized or refined states. You remember Mrs. Barker, don’t you? She had those three quiet little children you took such a fancy to; very unfortunately the cold, Phoebe, the oldest girl, took on the boat, proved fatal, and Christmas day she died! So you see we had not a very Merry Christmas. I see by the papers that one of our passengers has committed suicide! Poor fellow, after enduring all the hardships of that memorable journey; he ought to have tried to live. How is it with you? I suppose you like California so well you would like to live three or four lifetimes here..I am sorry that we should meet with such heavy losses, but every announcement of such a struggle should and doubtless does nerve thousands of hearts with a deeper determination to strive for their country to their utmost. I wish that I were a man, as Iama woman, instead, a second “Joan of Arc,” that I might do something to serve my country in her hour of peril. You say we were lucky in not being on the Ariel, perhaps we were, but then, I don’t quite agree with you. I should have admired such an excitement and instead of my telling Semmens that I was a ‘Southern Sympathizer,” and asking Lieutenant Low for a lock of his hair, I should have watched a good opportunity to consign the bodies of the miserable rascals to the waves of the Atlantic, and think that too easy a death for them. Whatever my own fate would be, I would willingly submit to it and only be too glad that I had rid the country of two of the many scoundrels that are robbing it of its peace and posterity. It is a shame that a government heretofore the envy of all nations should be thus destroyed by a few hot-headed politicians, but 1 am speaking too harshly for my sex, I am afraid, and indeed I had forgotten who I was writing to..We do not live quite in the village, but near enough to be pleasant, and now while I look from my window I see the bright waters of Monterey Bay silvered over by a bright moon, and just on the hill above me some young Spanish fellow is singing some lovesick ditty, and playing very nicely on a guitar. Doubtles he is thinking of some “lady love” far away, but he makes it very pleasant for me..Good night, and remember to write again. Truly your friend, Emma A Ward Santa Cruz, February 19, 1863: —My Dear Friend, Now in the quiet stillness, which always seems to belong to the Sabbath day, I find myself in the very pleasant task of answering your letter of the third..We have just opened a school here for young ladies, taught by the Sisters of Charity, and they had been to a great expense in fitting out the school room, and something must be done to raise money to pay or else lose the school, and we are not willing to do that of course, so we concluded we must havea festival, which kept all on the go for the last week, there being but few Catholics here, we must rather take the lead, and in such cases absent friends (though not forgotten) must necessarily be neglected. I have also to acknowledge the reception of your picture and your pretty book. I was very pleased with it indeed, and I thank you forit; your picture was a good one, and it seemed good to geta look at you again..Now whatdo you think I’m going to do this summer? “Get married to some rich fellow,” I think I hear you say. Well, no, nothing half so horrible, but I’m going up in the red woods to keep house for my brother.. am. glad your brothers are doing so well, I hope they may so continue. Good bye and write soon to your Sincere Friend, Emma Nevada City, April 2, 1863: —Dear Emma, After an absence of six weeks from home, having been over in Nevada Territory most of the time, to which place your letter was forwarded to me, I delayed answering, expecting to return sooner than I did..Was at Camp Independence, Owens River Valley, Tulare Co., where I have a stepbrother, who is a private in Co. G, 2nd. Cavalry, California Volunteers. He came to this country when I did, and as he had never been home, I hada great many new things to tell him.? I just had a letter from my partner last night in which he stated that he would not come back before fall. It was his intention to return by the first of May..We have three sawmills which necessarily takes one of us to attend to them all of the time. I expect to be in San Francisco on the first of May where I would like well to see you and take a ride to the Willows, and have a good old-fashioned talk of our pleasant trip on the Champion and Orizaba, and the best of all crossing the isthmus. Oh, wasn’t that jolly! I presume from what you say in your letter that you will be up in the red woods and not in San Francisco. I was thinking if it was possible that I would try when I come down to the Bay and steal time to come down to Santa Cruz and see you and Mattie..Hope that I may hear from you soon, Em, you can’t conceive what a pleasure it gives me to receive a letter from you. Yours truly, M.L. Marsh Santa Cruz, April 12, 1863: —My Friend, Your long-looked-for letter came at last, a few evenings ago, and I need tell you, that I read it with pleasure for I always do, but it being so long since I had had one before that I read with greater satisfaction..I have something to tell you now that I think will astonish you..Mattie has gone to the Convent with the intentions of becoming a Sister of Charity! It was very hard to give her up, but I comfort myself with the thought that it may be all for the best. So you see we can have no more pleasant rides to the Willows together. How many times I think of the happy hours spent in San Francisco. What a beautiful place that must be now! And our trip at sea, our little visit to Alcapulco, and above all as you say, our stop at Aspinwall and Panama..I should at once call Panama the flower garden of the world. Sunday, I took a good long walk on the beach and went up on some of the high bluffs where I could see way off over the Bay, and I tell you I very quickly thought of the four months ago when we steamed so grandly down its broad waters. I had a glad heart then, glad with the expectations of soon meeting with friends from whom I had long been parted. That meeting has been realized, and now as I gaze over the water my thoughts turn now to the home that is so far, far away. I think of the golden and crimson hued forests, which but four short months ago I left. I think of them now; again they have changed their garb, and will shortly be arrayed in their beautiful garb of green, while here since I came I have seen no change..I would like so much to meet you in the city, but it cannot be..I wish you would come to Santa Cruz. We would be delighted to see you and Mattie will be here for three months yet, so if you should come in May you could see her again. When her time expires here, she goes to Los Angeles..All send respects to you and your brothers. Good bye, and write soon to your Sincere Friend, Emma A. Ward P.S. Most of the Santa Cruz folks leave here for the mines this week. Do you think they will all make a fortune? I hope they may. Santa Cruz, June 25, 1863: —Dear Friend..I have been looking for you at Santa Cruz, but now have quite given up the idea of ever seeing you here, although nothing would have given me more pleasure..My sister left for Los Angeles Tuesday. She felt very bad indeed, but I think she comforted herself with the thought that all was for the best..You will not be surprised to know that I have also entered the convent, but not with the intention of becoming a sister! On no! only as a teacher. I find it very lonely since Mattie left, but I will try and content myself for it is very pleasant here, in spite of all the outer world which I am entirely shut out from. If after a time I should follow my sister, I should be well satisfied that there is indeed true happiness (if such can be found on earth) in this way of living..Santa Cruz does not present a very striking difference now, on the contrary, itis very much the other way. A stranger coming into it now, would think it some little world all by itself, entirely forgotten by out-siders. The only thing of importance about the place any way is its manufacturing propensities. 29

the pirate Alabamian...Your Friend, M.L. Marsh California in 1862 had not become involved to any great extent in the Civil War. At the time M.L. Marsh, his brothers and the Ward family (who were pro-union) reached San Francisco aboard the Orizaba, one of the bloodiest and most humiliating defeats suffered by the Union forces took place at Fredericksburg, December 13, 1862. Santa Cruz, January 27, 1863: —Dear Friend, When I think of it today, it seems a very long time since I received your welcome letter...Since I wrote you last, [have letters from home and I find they are all alive yet which makes me feel more contented, and I like California much better. We are having remarkable weather; have had but little rain since we came; the air is clear and comfortably warm, and the weather is generally that of Wisconsin in May or June! You spoke of having snow in Nevada! That’s a luxury we haven't felt here, and are not likely to this winter; it’s so strange to have such weather in January. This is a good country for the poor, but I can’t see that it possesses any attractions for the rich, or any one that could make themselves comfortable in the more civilized or refined states. You remember Mrs. Barker, don’t you? She had those three quiet little children you took such a fancy to; very unfortunately the cold, Phoebe, the oldest girl, took on the boat, proved fatal, and Christmas day she died! So you see we had not a very Merry Christmas. I see by the papers that one of our passengers has committed suicide! Poor fellow, after enduring all the hardships of that memorable journey; he ought to have tried to live. How is it with you? I suppose you like California so well you would like to live three or four lifetimes here...I am sorry that we should meet with such heavy losses, but every announcement of such a struggle should and doubtless does nerve thousands of hearts with a deeper determination to strive for their country to their utmost. I wish that I were a man, as Iama woman, instead, a second “Joan of Arc,” that I might do something to serve my country in her hour of peril. You say we were lucky in not being on the Ariel, perhaps we were, but then, I don’t quite agree with you. I should have admired such an excitement and instead of my telling Semmens that I was a ‘Southern Sympathizer,” and asking Lieutenant Low for a lock of his hair, I should have watched a good opportunity to consign the bodies of the miserable rascals to the waves of the Atlantic, and think that too easy a death for them. Whatever my own fate would be, I would willingly submit to it and only be too glad that I had rid the country of two of the many scoundrels that are robbing it of its peace and posterity. It is a shame that a government heretofore the envy of all nations should be thus destroyed by a few hot-headed politicians, but 1 am speaking too harshly for my sex, I am afraid, and indeed I had forgotten who I was writing to...We do not live quite in the village, but near enough to be pleasant, and now while I look from my window I see the bright waters of Monterey Bay silvered over by a bright moon, and just on the hill above me some young Spanish fellow is singing some lovesick ditty, and playing very nicely on a guitar. Doubtles he is thinking of some “lady love” far away, but he makes it very pleasant for me...Good night, and remember to write again. Truly your friend, Emma A Ward Santa Cruz, February 19, 1863: —My Dear Friend, Now in the quiet stillness, which always seems to belong to the Sabbath day, I find myself in the very pleasant task of answering your letter of the third...We have just opened a school here for young ladies, taught by the Sisters of Charity, and they had been to a great expense in fitting out the school room, and something must be done to raise money to pay or else lose the school, and we are not willing to do that of course, so we concluded we must havea festival, which kept all on the go for the last week, there being but few Catholics here, we must rather take the lead, and in such cases absent friends (though not forgotten) must necessarily be neglected. I have also to acknowledge the reception of your picture and your pretty book. I was very pleased with it indeed, and I thank you forit; your picture was a good one, and it seemed good to geta look at you again...Now whatdo you think I’m going to do this summer? “Get married to some rich fellow,” I think I hear you say. Well, no, nothing half so horrible, but I’m going up in the red woods to keep house for my brother... am. glad your brothers are doing so well, I hope they may so continue. Good bye and write soon to your Sincere Friend, Emma Nevada City, April 2, 1863:

—Dear Emma, After an absence of six weeks from home, having been over in Nevada Territory most of the time, to which place your letter was forwarded to me, I delayed answering, expecting to return sooner than I did...Was at Camp Independence, Owens River Valley, Tulare Co., where I have a stepbrother, who is a private in Co. G, 2nd. Cavalry, California Volunteers. He came to this country when I did, and as he had never been home, I hada great many new things to tell him.? I just had a letter from my partner last night in which he stated that he would not come back before fall. It was his intention to return by the first of May...We have three sawmills which necessarily takes one of us to attend to them all of the time. I expect to be in San Francisco on the first of May where I would like well to see you and take a ride to the Willows, and have a good old-fashioned talk of our pleasant trip on the Champion and Orizaba, and the best of all crossing the isthmus. Oh, wasn’t that jolly! I presume from what you say in your letter that you will be up in the red woods and not in San Francisco. I was thinking if it was possible that I would try when I come down to the Bay and steal time to come down to Santa Cruz and see you and Mattie...Hope that I may hear from you soon, Em, you can’t conceive what a pleasure it gives me to receive a letter from you. Yours truly, M.L. Marsh Santa Cruz, April 12, 1863: —My Friend, Your long-looked-for letter came at last, a few evenings ago, and I need tell you, that I read it with pleasure for I always do, but it being so long since I had had one before that I read with greater satisfaction...I have something to tell you now that I think will astonish you...Mattie has gone to the Convent with the intentions of becoming a Sister of Charity! It was very hard to give her up, but I comfort myself with the thought that it may be all for the best. So you see we can have no more pleasant rides to the Willows together. How many times I think of the happy hours spent in San Francisco. What a beautiful place that must be now! And our trip at sea, our little visit to Alcapulco, and above all as you say, our stop at Aspinwall and Panama...I should at once call Panama the flower garden of the world. Sunday, I took a good long walk on the beach and went up on some of the high bluffs where I could see way off over the Bay, and I tell you I very quickly thought of the four months ago when we steamed so grandly down its broad waters. I had a glad heart then, glad with the expectations of soon meeting with friends from whom I had long been parted. That meeting has been realized, and now as I gaze over the water my thoughts turn now to the home that is so far, far away. I think of the golden and crimson hued forests, which but four short months ago I left. I think of them now; again they have changed their garb, and will shortly be arrayed in their beautiful garb of green, while here since I came I have seen no change...I would like so much to meet you in the city, but it cannot be...I wish you would come to Santa Cruz. We would be delighted to see you and Mattie will be here for three months yet, so if you should come in May you could see her again. When her time expires here, she goes to Los Angeles...All send respects to you and your brothers. Good bye, and write soon to your Sincere Friend, Emma A. Ward P.S. Most of the Santa Cruz folks leave here for the mines this week. Do you think they will all make a fortune? I hope they may. Santa Cruz, June 25, 1863: —Dear Friend...I have been looking for you at Santa Cruz, but now have quite given up the idea of ever seeing you here, although nothing would have given me more pleasure...My sister left for Los Angeles Tuesday. She felt very bad indeed, but I think she comforted herself with the thought that all was for the best...You will not be surprised to know that I have also entered the convent, but not with the intention of becoming a sister! On no! only as a teacher. I find it very lonely since Mattie left, but I will try and content myself for it is very pleasant here, in spite of all the outer world which I am entirely shut out from. If after a time I should follow my sister, I should be well satisfied that there is indeed true happiness (if such can be found on earth) in this way of living...Santa Cruz does not present a very striking difference now, on the contrary, itis very much the other way. A stranger coming into it now, would think it some little world all by itself, entirely forgotten by out-siders. The only thing of importance about the place any way is its manufacturing propensities. 29