Viewing page 4 of 29

This transcription has been completed. Contact us with corrections.

75

me. Their climate began on that Thursday evening the 30th of October '73 when we landed at Liverpool and I had a homesick yearning for the dreamy Indian Summer which bathed the golden twilight at my home out of Chicago. As I was standing under the shed of the Custom House a [[strikethrough]]waiting for my trunk to be examined, I noticed a sad looking passenger whom I had seen forlornly lonesome on the voyage, standing near me, and entered into conversation with him. He was a Mr Pomeroy, known as "Brick", Pomeroy, and I had vague memories of having heard my Father frequently denounce him as the Editor and publisher somewhere in the West, of a newspaper called Pomeroy's Democrat, a "Copperhead" sheet which should have been suppressed by the authorities. However this may