John Helffrich's Journal

The type of information that came back to the waiting youths in the old world, who longed to make the great venture and cross the seas, is to be found in John Helffrich's journal.

The three young ministers set sail from Amsterdam on September 6th, 1771, "at nine o'clock in the morning," as Helffrich accurately states. At twelve the same day they stuck fast on a bar, and needed a ship of lighter tonnage to tow them off. The second day they ran into so severe a storm that all fires were put out, and the Captain's baby was fed upon soup cooked over a lighted tallow candle. Their initial troubles were not yet over, for they collided with a ship, which struck them "once real hard before they had left the dangerous Zuyder Zee."

A touch of humor ensues as the young Domine sets down: "Sept. 16th. Arrived at the harbor of New Castle. Sept. 17th. We went on shore with the 'Chalaise.' Here we were constantly followed by a crowd of people. They kissed the baby. We were expected to kiss theirs."

Almost every other entry tells of wind and storm, violent rocking of the ship, no sleep and a second collision. On Sunday, the 6th of October, "in company with a large number of ships" they "sailed with the tide out of the harbor into the North Sea." So terrible was the storm, young Helffrich states, "that the sails were furled, the top masts were taken down, the helm was lashed and the ship was given over to the mercy of the wind and waves. The waves came rolling mountain high; soon we were in the heights; soon in the depths; soon on one side; soon on the other, the waves beating into the cabin." Many chickens and ducks were lost, and the passengers felt it was fortunate that their ship was a strong one.

"It was terrible to hear the roaring of the wind and the waves. When the waves struck the vessel, they sounded like the thunder and roar of cannons, and we committed ourselves altogether to the Divine Providence."

The distance they should have covered in three days had taken fourteen, but at last on the morning of October 21st they sighted France and England, and entered the English Channel without further mishap. Here they discovered that more than one hundred ships had been wrecked during the recent storms.

For a time there were quieter days, then on November 9th, once more they were in the teeth of a gale, the passengers in the haste and danger helping to furl the sails. Twice they were struck by whirlwinds, breaking the cabin windows, drenching Mr. Gebhard, and causing his companions to betake themselves quickly to the tops of chests and trunks.

Their fears were increased by the Captain's orders to load their guns. The only guns available at the moment were two, a double-barrel and a single-barrel, the possessions of Dr. Doll, a cousin of Mr. Helffrich's. The danger proved to be from "a water-spout towering up to the sky," endangering their vessel should it descend upon them. The method of dispersing these water-spouts was by separating the air by shooting off guns. The young theologian was not content with the German name alone, but gave in this instance, and various other cases, the Latin for the phenomena seen.

A diversion was caused a few days later by the Captain, pilot, cabin boy and three sailors diving into the ocean and taking a swim, evidently doing some special stunts for the benefit of the passengers, as they "swam on back, and side, and stomach, stood up in the water, and even turned somersaults."

On the West Sea (the Atlantic) they encountered another great storm, and "the cook was swept away from his fire-place and almost washed overboard." They had now been on the ocean more than two months and food was getting scarce. Their last pig but one was killed on the 27th of November. For eight days they had had no veal, only bacon and pease. All the flour they had tried to save was spoiled by the rats, and John Helffrich exclaims, "What shall become of us! But God will help."

A passenger and a sailor were let down the ship's side for a swim, but did not go far, for they found themselves near a school of man-eating fishes.

They had a little skirmish with a French ship, whose Captain called upon them to run up their flag, and threatened them with his loaded cannon. The Captain of the German ship assured his passengers, had the French Captain fired, "he would have taken his wind from him, grappled with his ship and settled the matter in a hand-to-hand fight." But the French vessel, fortunately, went on its way, with nothing worse in the way of hostile demonstration than threats.

Twice ghostly signs were heard and seen. "Once at evening, while the sails were being turned, the Captain, the pilot, and a German sailor heard, on the middle mast under which they stood, a mournful voice, as though a dying person repeated the words, 'O, yes,' three times, the last very weakly." On another night a sailor saw a woman clad in white on the fore-deck.

December brought more storms. "Part of the foremast was broken, and much cordage was torn." The center of the middle-mast was cracked, and the ship's "cut-water" (prow) was broken. The food was also growing less and less palatable.

A pleasant event a week later, was the catching of their first fish on a hook, a dolphin weighing forty or fifty pounds. The "half-starved ship's load" found the food most appetizing. In the stomach of the dolphin was a flying fish. A young whale also sported about the ship, whose length was about forty feet. He was gray above and green underneath. Later, they ran into a great school of man-eating fishes, as far as eye could reach.

Christmas day was unhappily emphasized by increased hunger and thirst. On that day they began to divide the water, cwo and one-half cups apiece. Out of this portion each person was expected to give a part for his tea and soup. Added to this was a small glass of wine. Their thirst, increased by the salt and putrid meat, of which they were scarcely allowed enough to keep soul and body together, was almost unendurable. A few pease were left which they had twice a week. A common variety of food was a soup made of chopped cold meat, biscuit and water.

They were really suffering by this time, and still ten days from New York if all went well. Soon after this they hailed a ship from Boston, bound for the south on a whaling expedition, and their Captain found he had only missed his bearings by a few miles all through the voyage.

Passing another water-spout on January 31st, they "prayed devoutly that God might keep it from them." Young Helffrich sets down on this last night of the old year : "To-night at seven o'clock, twelve o'clock at home, we wished the friends a Happy New Year!" During the first week of the new year they encountered a fierce storm, and "the waves frequently swept the fore-deck." A final disaster was the washing overboard of the last pig. The storm tore the top-sail, but, by good fortune, drove them toward land.

The last three entries after their long, stormy voyage, are briefly full of the happiness of successful consummation.

"Jan. 13th. This morning we saw the shores of New Jersey. At eight o'clock this evening we saw the light of a tower on the shore. It is lighted every evening to guide the ships. We ran hard by a sand-bank at twelve o'clock this night, and to our great joy, cast our anchor in the harbor."

"Jan. 14th. In the morning at eight o'clock we entered the harbor, and at two o'clock we were on the land in America."

The following sentence closes this brief but vivid account of a long and hazardous sea voyage.

"Thou, God, hast helped us through the storm and tempest. Help us also in that which we here propose to do."

The substance of such a diary, sent home to Waldorf in the guise of a letter, furnished conversation over the counters, and in the fields, and by the firesides, for many a day, and a boy with his heart set on adventure, would thrill with the wonders and dangers of the deep, held back in the dark hours of the night by awe of storm and hunger, mutiny and man-eating fishes; pressed forward in the daylight, by the fierce charm of the sea, and the wonders of distant shores.

John Jacob Astor fed on every scrap of news regarding the "New Land" which came to him, forgetting while the dream lasted, his own inability to take a step toward it. Life's vision was large in those days, even though the daily environment was cramped and strained.

John Helffrich, who wrote his journal of a four- months' voyage, said little regarding himself and his companions, being absorbed in the wonders unfolding before him. Waldorf, watching in the account for news of their young townsman, would find it only in the scant references to numerous times when John Gebhard stayed long on the deck in the teeth of a coming storm, or clung to the cabin window which commanded a circumscribed outlook upon the raging elements, and so, over and over again, evidently to his companions' enjoyment, got a thorough wetting with sea water. The two Johns, who were brothers, seem to have been of a more cautions temperament, taking their stations near trunks and chests which furnished high ground in time of deluge.

After a long interval, Waldorf learned that John Gebhard had sought out John Henry Livingslon on his arrival in America, being glad to grasp a familiar hand, and that their old pastor's son had been appointed to the churches of Whitpain and Worcester in Pennsylvania. John Helffenstein found a charge at Germantown, in the same State; while John Helffrich became the capable and self-sacrificing over-shepherd of a group of churches, including Kurtztown, DeLange, Weissenberg, Lowhill, and Heidelberg, in Lehigh County, Pennsylvania.

A few years afterward word reached Waldorf, that their young townsman had become the pastor of the German Reformed Church in New York, and John Jacob Astor saw a second link of comradeship in the land of his vision. Some phase of its unreality dropped away with each youth who crossed the ocean, and remained near the well-known seaport of New York.

Through Benjamin Franklin's kind mediation, letters came and went safely to and from the little town and America across the sea.