Nettie H. Francis
One hundred two passengers. Twenty-four children. Nine cats. One cargo ship, ninety feet long. Sixty-four days on a stormy sea. A possible recipe for disaster—at least in this day and age.
If I had set sail with my children, I would have preferred a private room, catered meals, and disposable diapers. And I would have requested a cruise liner instead of a 1620’s trading vessel.
At the end of the voyage I would have demanded my own bed—not an isolated beach inhabited by “savages;” a lonely place where nearly half of their company would be buried that first year.
