A Different Thanksgiving

Last Thursday was Thanksgiving, an American holiday that has become a time in which families get together to eat way too much food and watch football. (Needless to say, it's my favorite holiday.) The idea of Thanksgiving dates back to the first settlers who celebrated and gave thanks to God for their own survival in their new land. Though most Americans are not descendants of those who came over on the Mayflower, our ancestors also had their own struggles in their new homeland. I have been researching one such family--a German family--for years.

Since I had last Thursday and Friday off for Thanksgiving,  I thought it would be a good time to visit the archives and research my German roots. It seemed fitting, too, that since I couldn't be with my family for Thanksgiving in Texas, I should use Thursday to look for clues about my immigrant ancestors.  I don't yet have all the details, but here is what I know:

My third great-grandfather, Heinrich, boarded a ship bound for Texas in October 1849 with his wife, Dorothea, and their two children, Max and Rudolph. This was his second time to start over.  Born in Holstein, Heinrich moved east to Posen as a young man. In the early part of the nineteenth century, the king of Prussia wanted to populate Posen  (an area he had recently taken from Poland) with German-speaking people.  Heinrich and others from Holstein went there in search of a better life, and maybe even hoped for some land.  Things weren't much better in Posen, though; in fact, by mid-century they were worse.  Thanks to industrialization and war, there were few jobs, and people were looking elsewhere. 

Heinrich had lost his job in 1847, and maybe he was desperate...what else would motivate a man to start over again in a completely new land at the age of 55? Maybe he and his wife already knew someone who had immigrated to Texas; maybe he didn't want his son Max, who was already 16, to face military service.  Whatever the reason, Heinrich took his family to Hamburg and set sail aboard the Hamburg-Knollen in 1849.   

steerage deck of mid-nineteenth century ship (picture taken at the Ballinstadt Emigration Museum in Hamburg)

If the Hamburg-Knollen was like most ships at the time, the conditions were pretty bad--inhumane by today's standards.  Shipping companies took more passengers aboard than the ship could safely transport in order to make a larger profit; the travellers were packed into the steerage deck, or "in-between deck", where there was little space and virtually no privacy. Travelling for nearly two months on a ship without sufficient space, food, or supplies, you can be sure illnesses spread rapidly.  In those days up to one-fifth of the passengers died. Unfortunately for Heinrich, this was the fate of his young son, Rudolph, who was only six years old.

Heinrich and his family eventually made it Frelsburg, Texas, but their struggles were far from over.  Most Germans came to the U.S. with dreams of owning their own land; Heinrich would never fulfill that dream. His son, Max, would own land in Texas, but not until after he fought in the civil war.

Max, his wife Elise, and their daughter Antonia (about 1890)

Every generation since then, though, has had an easier time. Though I was sad not to be home having turkey and dressing and watching my team win (Hook 'em!), I know I have so much to be grateful for.