From Plotzk to Boston
BY
Mary Antin
WITH A FOREWORD BY
Israel Zangwill
BOSTON, MASS.
W. B. CLARKE & CO., PARK STREET CHURCH
1899
COPYRIGHT, 1899
BY MARY ANTIN
PRESS OF PHILIP COWEN
NEW YORK CITY
DEDICATED TO
HATTIE L. HECHT
WITH THE LOVE AND GRATITUDE OF THE AUTHOR
FOREWORD
The “infant phenomenon” in literature is rarer than in
more physical branches of art, but its productions are not
likely to be of value outside the doting domestic circle.
Even Pope who “lisped in numbers for the numbers came,”
did not add to our Anthology from his cradle, though he
may therein have acquired his monotonous rocking-metre.
Immaturity of mind and experience, so easily disguised on
the stage or the music-stool—even by adults—is more
obvious in the field of pure intellect. The contribution
with which Mary Antin makes her début in letters is, however,
saved from the emptiness of embryonic thinking by
being a record of a real experience, the greatest of her life;
her journey from Poland to Boston. Even so, and remarkable
as her description is for a girl of eleven—for it was at
this age that she first wrote the thing in Yiddish, though
she was thirteen when she translated it into English—it
would scarcely be worth publishing merely as a literary
curiosity. But it happens to possess an extraneous value.
For, despite the great wave of Russian immigration into
the United States, and despite the noble spirit in which the
Jews of America have grappled with the invasion, we still
know too little of the inner feelings of the people themselves,[Pg 7]
nor do we adequately realize what magic vision of free
America lures them on to face the great journey to the other
side of the world.
Mary Antin’s vivid description of all she and her dear
ones went through, enables us to see almost with our own
eyes how the invasion of America appears to the impecunious
invader. It is thus “a human document” of considerable
value, as well as a promissory note of future performance.
The quick senses of the child, her keen powers of
observation and introspection, her impressionability both to
sensations and complex emotions—these are the very things
out of which literature is made; the raw stuff of art. Her
capacity to handle English—after so short a residence in
America—shows that she possesses also the instrument of
expression. More fortunate than the poet of the Ghetto,
Morris Rosenfeld, she will have at her command the most
popular language in the world, and she has already produced
in it passages of true literature, especially in her
impressionistic rendering of the sea and the bustling phantasmagoria
of travel.
What will be her development no one can say precisely,
and I would not presume either to predict or to direct it, for
“the wind bloweth where it listeth.” It will probably take
lyrical shape. Like most modern Jewesses who have written,
she is, I fear, destined to spiritual suffering: fortunately her
work evidences a genial talent for enjoyment and a warm[Pg 8]
humanity which may serve to counterbalance the curse of
reflectiveness. That she is growing, is evident from her own
Introduction, written only the other day, with its touches of
humor and more complex manipulation of groups of facts.
But I have ventured to counsel delay rather than precipitation
in production—for she is not yet sixteen—and the
completion of her education, physical no less than intellectual;
and it is to this purpose that such profits as may
accrue from this publication will be devoted. Let us hope
this premature recognition of her potentialities will not
injure their future flowering, and that her development will
add to those spiritual and intellectual forces of which big-hearted
American Judaism stands sorely in need. I should
explain in conclusion, that I have neither added nor subtracted,
even a comma, and that I have no credit in “discovering”
Mary Antin. I did but endorse the verdict of
that kind and charming Boston household in which I had
the pleasure of encountering the gifted Polish girl, and to
a member of which this little volume is appropriately dedicated.
PREFATORY
In the year 1891, a mighty wave of the emigration
movement swept over all parts of Russia, carrying with
it a vast number of the Jewish population to the distant
shores of the New World—from tyranny to democracy,
from darkness to light, from bondage and persecution to
freedom, justice and equality. But the great mass knew
nothing of these things; they were going to the foreign
world in hopes only of earning their bread and worshiping
their God in peace. The different currents that
directed the course of that wave cannot be here enumerated.
Suffice it to say that its power was enormous. All
over the land homes were broken up, families separated,
lives completely altered, for a common end.
The emigration fever was at its height in Plotzk,
my native town, in the central western part of Russia, on
the Dvina River. “America” was in everybody’s mouth.
Business men talked of it over their accounts; the market
women made up their quarrels that they might discuss it
from stall to stall; people who had relatives in the famous
land went around reading their letters for the enlightenment
of less fortunate folks; the one letter-carrier informed
the public how many letters arrived from America,
and who were the recipients; children played at emigrating;
old folks shook their sage heads over the evening
fire, and prophesied no good for those who braved[Pg 11]
the terrors of the sea and the foreign goal beyond it;—all
talked of it, but scarcely anybody knew one true fact
about this magic land. For book-knowledge was not
for them; and a few persons—they were a dressmaker’s
daughter, and a merchant with his two sons—who had
returned from America after a long visit, happened to be
endowed with extraordinary imagination, (a faculty
closely related to their knowledge of their old country-men’s
ignorance), and their descriptions of life across the
ocean, given daily, for some months, to eager audiences,
surpassed anything in the Arabian Nights. One sad fact
threw a shadow over the splendor of the gold-paved,
Paradise-like fairyland. The travelers all agreed that
Jews lived there in the most shocking impiety.
Driven by a necessity for bettering the family circumstances,
and by certain minor forces which cannot now
be named, my father began to think seriously of casting
his lot with the great stream of emigrants. Many family
councils were held before it was agreed that the plan
must be carried out. Then came the parting; for it was
impossible for the whole family to go at once. I remember
it, though I was only eight. It struck me as
rather interesting to stand on the platform before the
train, with a crowd of friends weeping in sympathy with
us, and father waving his hat for our special benefit, and
saying—the last words we heard him speak as the train
moved off—
“Good-bye, Plotzk, forever!”
Then followed three long years of hope and doubt[Pg 12]
for father in America and us in Russia. There were toil
and suffering and waiting and anxiety for all. There
were—but to tell of all that happened in those years I
should have to write a separate history. The happy day
came when we received the long-coveted summons.
And what stirring times followed! The period of preparation
was one of constant delight to us children. We
were four—my two sisters, one brother and myself. Our
playmates looked up to us in respectful admiration;
neighbors, if they made no direct investigations, bribed
us with nice things for information as to what was going
into every box, package and basket. And the house was
dismantled—people came and carried off the furniture;
closets, sheds and other nooks were emptied of their
contents; the great wood-pile was taken away until only
a few logs remained; ancient treasures such as women
are so loath to part with, and which mother had carried
with her from a dear little house whence poverty had
driven us, were brought to light from their hiding places,
and sacrificed at the altar whose flames were consuming
so much that was fraught with precious association and
endeared by family tradition; the number of bundles and
boxes increased daily, and our home vanished hourly;
the rooms became quite uninhabitable at last, and we
children glanced in glee, to the anger of the echoes, when
we heard that in the evening we were to start upon our
journey.
But we did not go till the next morning, and then as
secretly as possible. For, despite the glowing tales con[Pg 13]cerning
America, people flocked to the departure of emigrants
much as they did to a funeral; to weep and lament
while (in the former case only, I believe) they envied.
As everybody in Plotzk knew us, and as the departure
of a whole family was very rousing, we dared not brave
the sympathetic presence of the whole township, that
we knew we might expect. So we gave out a false
alarm.
Even then there was half the population of Plotzk on
hand the next morning. We were the heroes of the
hour. I remember how the women crowded around
mother, charging her to deliver messages to their relatives
in America; how they made the air ring with their
unintelligible chorus; how they showered down upon us
scores of suggestions and admonitions; how they made
us frantic with their sympathetic weeping and wringing
of hands; how, finally, the ringing of the signal bell set
them all talking faster and louder than ever, in desperate
efforts to give the last bits of advice, deliver the last messages,
and, to their credit let it be said, to give the final,
hearty, unfeigned good-bye kisses, hugs and good
wishes.
Well, we lived through three years of waiting, and
also through a half hour of parting. Some of our relatives
came near being carried off, as, heedless of the last
bell, they lingered on in the car. But at last they, too,
had to go, and we, the wanderers, could scarcely see the
rainbow wave of colored handkerchiefs, as, dissolved in
tears, we were carried out of Plotzk, away from home,[Pg 14]
but nearer our longed-for haven of reunion; nearer, indeed,
to everything that makes life beautiful and gives
one an aim and an end—freedom, progress, knowledge,
light and truth, with their glorious host of followers.
But we did not know it then.
The following pages contain the description of our
journey, as I wrote it four years ago, when it was all fresh
in my memory.
FROM PLOTZK TO BOSTON.
The short journey from Plotzk to Vilna was uneventful.
Station after station was passed without our taking
any interest in anything, for that never-to-be-forgotten
leave taking at the Plotzk railway station left us all in
such a state of apathy to all things except our own
thoughts as could not easily be thrown off. Indeed, had
we not been obliged to change trains at Devinsk and,
being the inexperienced travellers we were, do a great
deal of bustling and hurrying and questioning of porters
and mere idlers, I do not know how long we would have
remained in that same thoughtful, silent state.
Towards evening we reached Vilna, and such a welcome
as we got! Up to then I had never seen such a
mob of porters and isvostchiky. I do not clearly remember
just what occurred, but a most vivid recollection of
being very uneasy for a time is still retained in my memory.
You see my uncle was to have met us at the station,
but urgent business kept him elsewhere.
Now it was universally believed in Plotzk that it was
wise not to trust the first isvostchik who offered his services
when one arrived in Vilna a stranger, and I do not[Pg 17]
know to this day how mother managed to get away from
the mob and how, above all, she dared to trust herself
with her precious baggage to one of them. But I have
thought better of Vilna Isvostchiky since, for we were
safely landed after a pretty long drive in front of my uncle’s
store, with never one of our number lost, never
a bundle stolen or any mishap whatever.
Our stay in Vilna was marked by nothing of interest.
We stayed only long enough for some necessary papers
to reach us, and during that time I discovered that Vilna
was very much like Plotzk, though larger, cleaner and
noisier. There were the same coarse, hoarse-voiced
women in the market, the same kind of storekeepers in
the low store doors, forever struggling and quarrelling
for a customer. The only really interesting things I remember
were the horsecars, which I had never even
heard of, and in one of which I had a lovely ride for five
copeiky, and a large book store on the Nemetzka yah
Ulitza. The latter object may not seem of any interest to
most people, but I had never seen so many books in one
place before, and I could not help regarding them with
longing and wonder.
At last all was in readiness for our start. This was
really the beginning of our long journey, which I shall
endeavor to describe.
I will not give any description of the various places we[Pg 18]
passed, for we stopped at few places and always under
circumstances which did not permit of sightseeing. I
shall only speak of such things as made a distinct impression
upon my mind, which, it must be remembered,
was not mature enough to be impressed by what older
minds were, while on the contrary it was in just the state
to take in many things which others heeded not.
I do not know the exact date, but I do know that it
was at the break of day on a Sunday and very early in
April when we left Vilna. We had not slept any the
night before. Fannie and I spent the long hours in playing
various quiet games and watching the clock. At last
the long expected hour arrived; our train would be due
in a short time. All but Fannie and myself had by this
time fallen into a drowse, half sitting, half lying on some
of the many baskets and boxes that stood all about the
room all ready to be taken to the station. So we set to
work to rouse the rest, and with the aid of an alarm
clock’s loud ringing, we soon had them at least half
awake; and while the others sat rubbing their eyes and
trying to look wide awake, Uncle Borris had gone out,
and when he returned with several droskies to convey us
to the station, we were all ready for the start.
We went out into the street, and now I perceived that
not we alone were sleepy; everything slept, and nature
also slept, deeply, sweetly.[Pg 19]
The sky was covered with dark gray clouds (perhaps
that was its night-cap), from which a chill, drizzling rain
was slowly descending, and the thick morning fog shut
out the road from our sight. No sound came from any
direction; slumber and quiet reigned everywhere, for
every thing and person slept, forgetful for a time of joys,
sorrows, hopes, fears,—everything.
Sleepily we said our last good-byes to the family, took
our seats in the droskies, and soon the Hospitalnayah
Ulitza was lost to sight. As the vehicles rattled along
the deserted streets, the noise of the horses’ hoofs and the
wheels striking against the paving stones sounded unusually
loud in the general hush, and caused the echoes to
answer again and again from the silent streets and alleys.
In a short time we were at the station. In our impatience
we had come too early, and now the waiting was
very tiresome. Everybody knows how lively and noisy
it is at a railroad station when a train is expected. But
now there were but a few persons present, and in everybody’s
face I could see the reflection of my own dissatisfaction,
because, like myself, they had much rather have
been in a comfortable, warm bed than up and about in the
rain and fog. Everything was so uncomfortable.
Suddenly we heard a long shrill whistle, to which the
surrounding dreariness gave a strangely mournful
sound, the clattering train rushed into the depot and[Pg 20]
stood still. Several passengers (they were very few) left
the cars and hastened towards where the droskies stood,
and after rousing the sleepy isvostchiky, were whirled
away to their several destinations.
When we had secured our tickets and seen to the baggage
we entered a car in the women’s division and waited
impatiently for the train to start. At last the first signal
was given, then the second and third; the locomotive
shrieked and puffed, the train moved slowly, then swiftly
it left the depot far behind it.
From Vilna to our next stopping place, Verzbolovo,
there was a long, tedious ride of about eight hours. As
the day continued to be dull and foggy, very little could
be seen through the windows. Besides, no one seemed
to care or to be interested in anything. Sleepy and tired
as we all were, we got little rest, except the younger ones,
for we had not yet got used to living in the cars and could
not make ourselves very comfortable. For the greater
part of the time we remained as unsocial as the weather
was unpleasant. The car was very still, there being few
passengers, among them a very pleasant kind gentleman
travelling with his pretty daughter. Mother found them
very pleasant to chat with, and we children found it less
tiresome to listen to them.
At half past twelve o’clock the train came to a stop before
a large depot, and the conductor announced “Verz[Pg 21]bolovo,
fifteen minutes!” The sight that now presented
itself was very cheering after our long, unpleasant ride.
The weather had changed very much. The sun was
shining brightly and not a trace of fog or cloud was to
be seen. Crowds of well-dressed people were everywhere—walking
up and down the platform, passing
through the many gates leading to the street, sitting
around the long, well-loaded tables, eating, drinking,
talking or reading newspapers, waited upon by the liveliest,
busiest waiters I had ever seen—and there was such
an activity and bustle about everything that I wished I
could join in it, it seemed so hard to sit still. But I had
to content myself with looking on with the others, while
the friendly gentleman whose acquaintance my mother
had made (I do not recollect his name) assisted her in obtaining
our tickets for Eidtkunen, and attending to everything
else that needed attention, and there were many
things.
Soon the fifteen minutes were up, our kind fellow-passenger
and his daughter bade us farewell and a pleasant
journey (we were just on the brink of the beginning of
our troubles), the train puffed out of the depot and we all
felt we were nearing a very important stage in our journey.
At this time, cholera was raging in Russia, and
was spread by emigrants going to America in the countries
through which they travelled. To stop this danger,[Pg 22]
measures were taken to make emigration from Russia
more difficult than ever. I believe that at all times the
crossing of the boundary between Russia and Germany
was a source of trouble to Russians, but with a special
passport this was easily overcome. When, however, the
traveller could not afford to supply himself with one, the
boundary was crossed by stealth, and many amusing
anecdotes are told of persons who crossed in some disguise,
often that of a mujik who said he was going to the
town on the German side to sell some goods, carried for
the purpose of ensuring the success of the ruse. When
several such tricks had been played on the guards it became
very risky, and often, when caught, a traveller resorted
to stratagem, which is very diverting when afterwards
described, but not so at a time when much depends
on its success. Some times a paltry bribe secured
one a safe passage, and often emigrants were aided by
men who made it their profession to help them cross, often
suffering themselves to be paid such sums for the
service that it paid best to be provided with a special passport.
As I said, the difficulties were greater at the time we
were travelling, and our friends believed we had better
not attempt a stealthy crossing, and we procured the
necessary document to facilitate it. We therefore expected
little trouble, but some we thought there might be,[Pg 23]
for we had heard some vague rumors to the effect that
a special passport was not as powerful an agent as it used
to be.
We now prepared to enjoy a little lunch, and before we
had time to clear it away the train stopped, and we saw
several men in blue uniforms, gilt buttons and brass helmets,
if you may call them so, on their heads. At his
side each wore a kind of leather case attached to a wide
bronze belt. In these cases they carried something like
a revolver, and each had, besides, a little book with black
oilcloth covers.
I can give you no idea of the impression these men
(they were German gendarmes) made on us, by saying
they frightened us. Perhaps because their (to us) impressive
appearance gave them a stern look; perhaps because
they really looked something more than grave, we
were so frightened. I only know that we were. I can
see the reason now clearly enough. Like all persons
who were used to the tyranny of a Russian policeman,
who practically ruled the ward or town under his friendly
protection, and never hesitated to assert his rights as
holder of unlimited authority over his little domain, in
that mild, amiable manner so well known to such of his
subjects as he particularly favored with his vigilant regard—like
all such persons, I say, we did not, could not,
expect to receive any kind treatment at the hands of a[Pg 24]
number of officers, especially as we were in the very act
of attempting to part with our much-beloved mother
country, of which act, to judge by the pains it took to
make it difficult, the government did not approve. It
was a natural fear in us, as you can easily see. Pretty
soon mother recovered herself, and remembering that
the train stops for a few minutes only, was beginning to
put away the scattered articles hastily when a gendarme
entered our car and said we were not to leave it. Mamma
asked him why, but he said nothing and left the car,
another gendarme entering as he did so. He demanded
where we were going, and, hearing the answer, went out.
Before we had had time to look about at each other’s
frightened faces, another man, a doctor, as we soon knew,
came in followed by a third gendarme.
The doctor asked many questions about our health,
and of what nationality we were. Then he asked about
various things, as where we were going to, if we had
tickets, how much money we had, where we came from,
to whom we were going, etc., etc., making a note of every
answer he received. This done, he shook his head with
his shining helmet on it, and said slowly (I imagined he
enjoyed frightening us), “With these third class tickets
you cannot go to America now, because it is forbidden to
admit emigrants into Germany who have not at least second
class tickets. You will have to return to Russia[Pg 25]
unless you pay at the office here to have your tickets
changed for second class ones.” After a few minutes’
calculation and reference to the notes he had made, he
added calmly, “I find you will need two hundred rubles
to get your tickets exchanged;” and, as the finishing
stroke to his pleasing communication, added, “Your passports
are of no use at all now because the necessary part
has to be torn out, whether you are allowed to pass or
not.” A plain, short speech he made of it, that cruel man.
Yet every word sounded in our ears with an awful sound
that stopped the beating of our hearts for a while—sounded
like the ringing of funeral bells to us, and yet
without the mournfully sweet music those bells make,
that they might heal while they hurt.
We were homeless, houseless, and friendless in a
strange place. We had hardly money enough to last us
through the voyage for which we had hoped and waited
for three long years. We had suffered much that the
reunion we longed for might come about; we had prepared
ourselves to suffer more in order to bring it about,
and had parted with those we loved, with places that were
dear to us in spite of what we passed through in them,
never again to see them, as we were convinced—all for
the same dear end. With strong hopes and high spirits
that hid the sad parting, we had started on our long journey.
And now we were checked so unexpectedly but[Pg 26]
surely, the blow coming from where we little expected
it, being, as we believed, safe in that quarter. And that
is why the simple words had such a frightful meaning to
us. We had received a wound we knew not how to heal.
When mother had recovered enough to speak she began
to argue with the gendarme, telling him our story
and begging him to be kind. The children were frightened
by what they understood, and all but cried. I
was only wondering what would happen, and wishing I
could pour out my grief in tears, as the others did; but
when I feel deeply I seldom show it in that way, and always
wish I could.
Mother’s supplications, and perhaps the children’s indirect
ones, had more effect than I supposed they would.
The officer was moved, even if he had just said that tears
would not be accepted instead of money, and gave us
such kind advice that I began to be sorry I had thought
him cruel, for it was easy to see that he was only doing
his duty and had no part in our trouble that he could be
blamed for, now that I had more kindly thoughts of him.
He said that we would now be taken to Keebart, a few
versts’ distance from Verzbolovo, where one Herr Schidorsky
lived. This man, he said, was well known for
miles around, and we were to tell him our story and ask
him to help us, which he probably would, being very
kind.[Pg 27]
A ray of hope shone on each of the frightened faces
listening so attentively to this bearer of both evil and happy
tidings. I, for one, was very confident that the good
man would help us through our difficulties, for I was
most unwilling to believe that we really couldn’t continue
our journey. Which of us was? I’d like to
know.
We are in Keebart, at the depot. The least important
particular even of that place, I noticed and remembered.
How the porter—he was an ugly, grinning man—carried
in our things and put them away in the southern corner of
the big room, on the floor; how we sat down on a settee
near them, a yellow settee; how the glass roof let in so
much light that we had to shade our eyes because the car
had been dark and we had been crying; how there were
only a few people besides ourselves there, and how I began
to count them and stopped when I noticed a sign over the
head of the fifth person—a little woman with a red nose
and a pimple on it, that seemed to be staring at me as
much as the grayish-blue eyes above them, it was so large
and round—and tried to read the German, with the aid
of the Russian translation below. I noticed all this and
remembered it, as if there was nothing else in the world
for me to think of—no America, no gendarme to destroy
one’s passports and speak of two hundred rubles as if he
were a millionaire, no possibility of being sent back to[Pg 28]
one’s old home whether one felt at all grateful for the
kindness or not—nothing but that most attractive of
places, full of interesting sights.
For, though I had been so hopeful a little while ago, I
felt quite discouraged when a man, very sour and
grumbling—and he was a Jew—a “Son of Mercy” as a
certain song said—refused to tell mamma where Schidorsky
lived. I then believed that the whole world must
have united against us; and decided to show my defiant
indifference by leaving the world to be as unkind as it
pleased, while I took no interest in such trifles.
So I let my mind lose itself in a queer sort of mist—a
something I cannot describe except by saying it must
have been made up of lazy inactivity. Through this mist
I saw and heard indistinctly much that followed.
When I think of it now, I see how selfish it was to allow
myself to sink, body and mind, in such a sea of helpless
laziness, when I might have done something besides
awaiting the end of that critical time, whatever it might
be—something, though what, I do not see even now, I
own. But I only studied the many notices till I thought
myself very well acquainted with the German tongue;
and now and then tried to cheer the other children, who
were still inclined to cry, by pointing out to them some
of the things that interested me. For this faulty conduct
I have no excuse to give, unless youth and the fact that I[Pg 29]
was stunned with the shock we had just received, will be
accepted.
I remember through that mist that mother found
Schidorsky’s home at last, but was told she could not see
him till a little later; that she came back to comfort us,
and found there our former fellow passenger who had
come with us from Vilna, and that he was very indignant
at the way in which we were treated, and scolded, and declared
he would have the matter in all the papers, and
said we must be helped. I remember how mamma saw
Schidorsky at last, spoke to him, and then told us, word
for word, what his answer had been; that he wouldn’t
wait to be asked to use all his influence, and wouldn’t lose
a moment about it, and he didn’t, for he went out at once
on that errand, while his good daughter did her best to
comfort mamma with kind words and tea. I remember
that there was much going to the good man’s house;
much hurrying of special messengers to and from Eidtkunen;
trembling inquiries, uncertain replies made hopeful
only by the pitying, encouraging words and manners
of the deliverer—for all, even the servants, were kind as
good angels at that place. I remember that another little
family—there were three—were discovered by us in
the same happy state as ourselves, and like the dogs in
the fable, who, receiving care at the hands of a kind man,
sent their friends to him for help, we sent them to our
helper.[Pg 30]
I remember seeing night come out of that mist, and
bringing more trains and people and noise than the whole
day (we still remained at the depot), till I felt sick and
dizzy. I remember wondering what kind of a night it
was, but not knowing how to find out, as if I had no
senses. I remember that somebody said we were obliged
to remain in Keebart that night and that we set out to
find lodgings; that the most important things I saw on
the way were the two largest dolls I had ever seen, carried
by two pretty little girls, and a big, handsome father;
and a great deal of gravel in the streets, and boards
for the crossings. I remember that we found a little
room (we had to go up four steps first) that we could
have for seventy-five copecks, with our tea paid for in
that sum. I remember, through that mist, how I wondered
what I was sleeping on that night, as I wondered
about the weather; that we really woke up in the
morning (I was so glad to rest I had believed we should
never be disturbed again) and washed, and dressed and
breakfasted and went to the depot again, to be always on
hand. I remember that mamma and the father of the little
family went at once to the only good man on earth (I
thought so) and that the party of three were soon gone,
by the help of some agent that was slower, for good reasons,
in helping us.
I remember that mamma came to us soon after and[Pg 31]
said that Herr Schidorsky had told her to ask the Postmeister—some
high official there—for a pass to Eidtkunen;
and there she should speak herself to our protector’s
older brother who could help us by means of his great
power among the officers of high rank; that she returned
in a few hours and told us the two brothers were equal
in kindness, for the older one, too, said he would not wait
to be asked to do his best for us. I remember that another
day—so-o-o long—passed behind the mist, and we
were still in that dreadful, noisy, tiresome depot, with no
change, till we went to spend the night at Herr Schidorsky’s,
because they wouldn’t let us go anywhere else. On
the way there, I remember, I saw something marvellous—queer
little wooden sticks stuck on the lines where
clothes hung for some purpose. (I didn’t think it was
for drying, because you know I always saw things hung
up on fences and gates for such purposes. The queer
things turned out to be clothes-pins). And, I remember,
I noticed many other things of equal importance to our
affairs, till we came to the little house in the garden.
Here we were received, I remember with much kindness
and hospitality. We had a fire made for us, food and
drink brought in, and a servant was always inquiring
whether anything more could be done for our comfort.
I remember, still through that misty veil, what a pleasant
evening we passed, talking over what had so far hap[Pg 32]pened,
and wondering what would come. I must have
talked like one lost in a thick fog, groping carefully. But,
had I been shut up, mentally, in a tower nothing else
could pierce, the sense of gratitude that naturally sprung
from the kindness that surrounded us, must have, would
have found a passage for itself to the deepest cavities of
the heart. Yes, though all my senses were dulled by
what had passed over us so lately, I was yet aware of the
deepest sense of thankfulness one can ever feel. I was
aware of something like the sweet presence of angels in
the persons of good Schidorsky and his family. Oh, that
some knowledge of that gratitude might reach those for
whom we felt it so keenly! We all felt it. But the deepest
emotions are so hard to express. I thought of this
as I lay awake a little while, and said to myself, thinking
of our benefactor, that he was a Jew, a true “Son of
Mercy.” And I slept with that thought. And this is
the last I remember seeing and feeling behind that mist
of lazy inactivity.
The next morning, I woke not only from the night’s
sleep, but from my waking dreaminess. All the vapors
dispersed as I went into the pretty flower garden where
the others were already at play, and by the time we had
finished a good breakfast, served by a dear servant girl,
I felt quite myself again.
Of course, mamma hastened to Herr Schidorsky as[Pg 33]
soon as she could, and he sent her to the Postmeister
again, to ask him to return the part of our passports that
had been torn out, and without which we could not go on.
He said he would return them as soon as he received
word from Eidtkunen. So we could only wait and hope.
At last it came and so suddenly that we ran off to the depot
with hardly a hat on all our heads, or a coat on our
backs, with two men running behind with our things,
making it a very ridiculous sight. We have often laughed
over it since.
Of course, in such a confusion we could not say even
one word of farewell or thanks to our deliverers. But,
turning to see that we were all there, I saw them standing
in the gate, crying that all was well now, and wishing us
many pleasant things, and looking as if they had been
receiving all the blessings instead of us.
I have often thought they must have purposely arranged
it that we should have to leave in a hurry, because
they wouldn’t stand any expression of gratefulness.
Well, we just reached our car in time to see our baggage
brought from the office and ourselves inside, when
the last bell rang. Then, before we could get breath
enough to utter more than faint gasps of delight, we were
again in Eidtkunen.
The gendarmes came to question us again, but when
mother said that we were going to Herr Schidorsky of[Pg 34]
Eidtkunen, as she had been told to say, we were allowed
to leave the train. I really thought we were to be the
visitors of the elder Schidorsky, but it turned out to be
only an understanding between him and the officers that
those claiming to be on their way to him were not to be
troubled.
At any rate, we had now really crossed the forbidden
boundary—we were in Germany.
There was a terrible confusion in the baggage-room
where we were directed to go. Boxes, baskets, bags,
valises, and great, shapeless things belonging to no particular
class were thrown about by porters and other men,
who sorted them and put tickets on all but those containing
provisions, while others were opened and examined
in haste. At last our turn came, and our things, along
with those of all other American-bound travellers, were
taken away to be steamed and smoked and other such
processes gone through. We were told to wait till notice
should be given us of something else to be done. Our
train would not depart till nine in the evening.
As usual, I noticed all the little particulars of the waiting
room. What else could I do with so much time and
not even a book to read? I could describe it exactly—the
large, square room, painted walls, long tables with
fruits and drinks of all kinds covering them, the white
chairs, carved settees, beautiful china and cut glass show[Pg 35]ing
through the glass doors of the dressers, and the nickel
samovar, which attracted my attention because I had
never seen any but copper or brass ones. The best and
the worst of everything there was a large case full of
books. It was the best, because they were “books” and
all could use them; the worst, because they were all German,
and my studies in the railway depot of Keebart had
not taught me so much that I should be able to read
books in German. It was very hard to see people get
those books and enjoy them while I couldn’t. It was
impossible to be content with other people’s pleasure,
and I wasn’t.
When I had almost finished counting the books, I noticed
that mamma and the others had made friends with
a family of travellers like ourselves. Frau Gittleman and
her five children made very interesting companions for
the rest of the day, and they seemed to think that Frau
Antin and the four younger Antins were just as interesting;
perhaps excepting, in their minds, one of them who
must have appeared rather uninteresting from a habit she
had of looking about as if always expecting to make discoveries.
But she was interested, if not interesting, enough when
the oldest of the young Gittlemans, who was a young
gentleman of seventeen, produced some books which she
could read. Then all had a merry time together, read[Pg 36]ing,
talking, telling the various adventures of the journey,
and walking, as far as we were allowed, up and down the
long platform outside, till we were called to go and see, if
we wanted to see, how our things were being made fit for
further travel. It was interesting to see how they managed
to have anything left to return to us, after all the
processes of airing and smoking and steaming and other
assaults on supposed germs of the dreaded cholera had
been done with, the pillows, even, being ripped open to
be steamed! All this was interesting, but we were rather
disagreeably surprised when a bill for these unasked-for
services had to be paid.
The Gittlemans, we found, were to keep us company
for some time. At the expected hour we all tried to find
room in a car indicated by the conductor. We tried, but
could only find enough space on the floor for our baggage,
on which we made believe sitting comfortably. For
now we were obliged to exchange the comparative comforts
of a third class passenger train for the certain discomforts
of a fourth class one. There were only four
narrow benches in the whole car, and about twice as
many people were already seated on these as they were
probably supposed to accommodate. All other space,
to the last inch, was crowded by passengers or their luggage.
It was very hot and close and altogether uncomfortable,
and still at every new station fresh passengers[Pg 37]
came crowding in, and actually made room, spare as it
was, for themselves. It became so terrible that all glared
madly at the conductor as he allowed more people to
come into that prison, and trembled at the announcement
of every station. I cannot see even now how the officers
could allow such a thing; it was really dangerous. The
most remarkable thing was the good-nature of the poor
passengers. Few showed a sour face even; not a man
used any strong language (audibly, at least). They
smiled at each other as if they meant to say, “I am having
a good time; so are you, aren’t you?” Young Gittleman
was very gallant, and so cheerful that he attracted everybody’s
attention. He told stories, laughed, and made us
unwilling to be outdone. During one of his narratives
he produced a pretty memorandum book that pleased one
of us very much, and that pleasing gentleman at once
presented it to her. She has kept it since in memory of
the giver, and, in the right place, I could tell more about
that matter—very interesting.
I have given so much space to the description of that
one night’s adventures because I remember it so distinctly,
with all its discomforts, and the contrast of our fellow-travellers’
kindly dispositions. At length that dreadful
night passed, and at dawn about half the passengers left,
all at once. There was such a sigh of relief and a stretching
of cramped limbs as can only be imagined, as the re[Pg 38]maining
passengers inhaled the fresh cold air of dewy
dawn. It was almost worth the previous suffering to experience
the pleasure of relief that followed.
All day long we travelled in the same train, sleeping,
resting, eating, and wishing to get out. But the train
stopped for a very short time at the many stations, and all
the difference that made to us was that pretty girls passed
through the cars with little bark baskets filled with
fruit and flowers hardly fresher or prettier than their
bearers, who generally sold something to our young
companion, for he never wearied of entertaining us.
Other interests there were none. The scenery was
nothing unusual, only towns, depots, roads, fields, little
country houses with barns and cattle and poultry—all
such as we were well acquainted with. If something new
did appear, it was passed before one could get a good
look at it. The most pleasing sights were little barefoot
children waving their aprons or hats as we eagerly
watched for them, because that reminded us of our doing
the same thing when we saw the passenger trains, in
the country. We used to wonder whether we should
ever do so again.
Towards evening we came into Berlin. I grow dizzy
even now when I think of our whirling through that
city. It seemed we were going faster and faster all the
time, but it was only the whirl of trains passing in oppo[Pg 39]site
directions and close to us that made it seem so. The
sight of crowds of people such as we had never seen before,
hurrying to and fro, in and out of great depots that
danced past us, helped to make it more so. Strange
sights, splendid buildings, shops, people and animals, all
mingled in one great, confused mass of a disposition to
continually move in a great hurry, wildly, with no other
aim but to make one’s head go round and round, in following
its dreadful motions. Round and round went my
head. It was nothing but trains, depots, crowds—crowds,
depots, trains, again and again, with no beginning,
no end, only a mad dance! Faster and faster we
go, faster still, and the noise increases with the speed.
Bells, whistles, hammers, locomotives shrieking madly,
men’s voices, peddlers’ cries, horses’ hoofs, dogs’ barking—all
united in doing their best to drown every other
sound but their own, and made such a deafening uproar
in the attempt that nothing could keep it out. Whirl,
noise, dance, uproar—will it last forever? I’m so—o
diz-z-zy! How my head aches!
And oh! those people will be run over! Stop the train,
they’ll—thank goodness, nobody is hurt. But who ever
heard of a train passing right through the middle of a
city, up in the air, it seems. Oh, dear! it’s no use thinking,
my head spins so. Right through the business
streets! Why, who ever—![Pg 40]
I must have lived through a century of this terrible
motion and din and unheard of roads for trains, and confused
thinking. But at length everything began to take
a more familiar appearance again, the noise grew less, the
roads more secluded, and by degrees we recognized the
dear, peaceful country. Now we could think of Berlin,
or rather, what we had seen of it, more calmly, and wonder
why it made such an impression. I see now. We
had never seen so large a city before, and were not prepared
to see such sights, bursting upon us so suddenly
as that. It was like allowing a blind man to see the full
glare of the sun all at once. Our little Plotzk, and
even the larger cities we had passed through, compared
to Berlin about the same as total darkness does to great
brilliancy of light.
In a great lonely field opposite a solitary wooden house
within a large yard, our train pulled up at last, and a conductor
commanded the passengers to make haste and get
out. He need not have told us to hurry; we were glad
enough to be free again after such a long imprisonment
in the uncomfortable car. All rushed to the door. We
breathed more freely in the open field, but the conductor
did not wait for us to enjoy our freedom. He hurried us
into the one large room which made up the house, and
then into the yard. Here a great many men and women,
dressed in white, received us, the women attending to the[Pg 41]
women and girls of the passengers, and the men to the
others.
This was another scene of bewildering confusion, parents
losing their children, and little ones crying; baggage
being thrown together in one corner of the yard,
heedless of contents, which suffered in consequence;
those white-clad Germans shouting commands always accompanied
with “Quick! Quick!”; the confused passengers
obeying all orders like meek children, only questioning
now and then what was going to be done with them.
And no wonder if in some minds stories arose of people
being captured by robbers, murderers, and the like.
Here we had been taken to a lonely place where only that
house was to be seen; our things were taken away, our
friends separated from us; a man came to inspect us, as if
to ascertain our full value; strange looking people driving
us about like dumb animals, helpless and unresisting;
children we could not see, crying in a way that suggested
terrible things; ourselves driven into a little room where
a great kettle was boiling on a little stove; our clothes
taken off, our bodies rubbed with a slippery substance
that might be any bad thing; a shower of warm water let
down on us without warning; again driven to another
little room where we sit, wrapped in woollen blankets till
large, coarse bags are brought in, their contents turned
out and we see only a cloud of steam, and hear the[Pg 42]
women’s orders to dress ourselves, quick, quick, or else
we’ll miss—something we cannot hear. We are forced
to pick out our clothes from among all the others, with
the steam blinding us; we choke, cough, entreat the
women to give us time; they persist, “Quick, quick, or
you’ll miss the train!” Oh, so we really won’t be murdered!
They are only making us ready for the continuing
of our journey, cleaning us of all suspicions of dangerous
germs. Thank God!
Assured by the word “train” we manage to dress ourselves
after a fashion, and the man comes again to inspect
us. All is right, and we are allowed to go into the yard
to find our friends and our luggage. Both are difficult
tasks, the second even harder. Imagine all the things of
some hundreds of people making a journey like ours, being
mostly unpacked and mixed together in one sad heap.
It was disheartening, but done at last was the task of collecting
our belongings, and we were marched into the
big room again. Here, on the bare floor, in a ring, sat
some Polish men and women singing some hymn in their
own tongue, and making more noise than music. We
were obliged to stand and await further orders, the few
seats being occupied, and the great door barred and locked.
We were in a prison, and again felt some doubts.
Then a man came in and called the passengers’ names,
and when they answered they were made to pay two[Pg 43]
marcs each for the pleasant bath we had just been forced
to take.
Another half hour, and our train arrived. The door
was opened, and we rushed out into the field, glad to get
back even to the fourth class car.
We had lost sight of the Gittlemans, who were going a
different way now, and to our regret hadn’t even said
good-bye, or thanked them for their kindness.
After the preceding night of wakefulness and discomfort,
the weary day in the train, the dizzy whirl through
Berlin, the fright we had from the rough proceedings of
the Germans, and all the strange experiences of the place
we just escaped—after all this we needed rest. But to
get it was impossible for all but the youngest children. If
we had borne great discomforts on the night before, we
were suffering now. I had thought anything worse impossible.
Worse it was now. The car was even more
crowded, and people gasped for breath. People sat in
strangers’ laps, only glad of that. The floor was so
thickly lined that the conductor could not pass, and the
tickets were passed to him from hand to hand. To-night
all were more worn out, and that did not mend their dispositions.
They could not help falling asleep and colliding
with someone’s nodding head, which called out angry
mutterings and growls. Some fell off their seats and
caused a great commotion by rolling over on the sleepers[Pg 44]
on the floor, and, in spite of my own sleepiness and weariness,
I had many quiet laughs by myself as I watched the
funny actions of the poor travellers.
Not until very late did I fall asleep. I, with the rest,
missed the pleasant company of our friends, the Gittlemans,
and thought about them as I sat perched on a box,
with an old man’s knees for the back of my seat, another
man’s head continually striking my right shoulder, a
dozen or so arms being tossed restlessly right in front of
my face, and as many legs holding me a fast prisoner,
so that I could only try to keep my seat against all the assaults
of the sleepers who tried in vain to make their positions
more comfortable. It was all so comical, in spite
of all the inconveniences, that I tried hard not to laugh
out loud, till I too fell asleep. I was awakened very early
in the morning by something chilling and uncomfortable
on my face, like raindrops coming down irregularly. I
found it was a neighbor of mine eating cheese, who was
dropping bits on my face. So I began the day with a
laugh at the man’s funny apologies, but could not find
much more fun in the world on account of the cold and
the pain of every limb. It was very miserable, till some
breakfast cheered me up a little.
About eight o’clock we reached Hamburg. Again
there was a gendarme to ask questions, look over the
tickets and give directions. But all the time he kept a[Pg 45]
distance from those passengers who came from Russia,
all for fear of the cholera. We had noticed before how
people were afraid to come near us, but since that memorable
bath in Berlin, and all the steaming and smoking
of our things, it seemed unnecessary.
We were marched up to the strangest sort of vehicle
one could think of. It was a something I don’t know
any name for, though a little like an express wagon. At
that time I had never seen such a high, narrow, long
thing, so high that the women and girls couldn’t climb
up without the men’s help, and great difficulty; so narrow
that two persons could not sit comfortably side by
side, and so long that it took me some time to move my
eyes from the rear end, where the baggage was, to the
front, where the driver sat.
When all had settled down at last (there were a number
besides ourselves) the two horses started off very fast, in
spite of their heavy load. Through noisy, strange looking
streets they took us, where many people walked or ran or
rode. Many splendid houses, stone and brick, and
showy shops, they passed. Much that was very strange
to us we saw, and little we knew anything about. There
a little cart loaded with bottles or tin cans, drawn by a
goat or a dog, sometimes two, attracted our attention.
Sometimes it was only a nurse carrying a child in her
arms that seemed interesting, from the strange dress. Of[Pg 46]ten
it was some article displayed in a shop window or
door, or the usually smiling owner standing in the doorway,
that called for our notice. Not that there was anything
really unusual in many of these things, but a certain
air of foreignness, which sometimes was very vague, surrounded
everything that passed before our interested
gaze as the horses hastened on.
The strangest sight of all we saw as we came into the
still noisier streets. Something like a horse-car such as
we had seen in Vilna for the first time, except that it was
open on both sides (in most cases) but without any
horses, came flying—really flying—past us. For we
stared and looked it all over, and above, and under, and
rubbed our eyes, and asked of one another what we saw,
and nobody could find what it was that made the thing
go. And go it did, one after another, faster than we,
with nothing to move it. “Why, what is that?” we
kept exclaiming. “Really, do you see anything that
makes it go? I’m sure I don’t.” Then I ventured the
highly probable suggestion, “Perhaps it’s the fat man in
the gray coat and hat with silver buttons. I guess he
pushes it. I’ve noticed one in front on every one of them,
holding on to that shining thing.” And I’m sure this
was as wise a solution of the mystery as anyone could
give, except the driver, who laughed to himself and his
horses over our surprise and wonder at nothing he could
see to cause it.[Pg 47]
But we couldn’t understand his explanation, though
we always got along very easily with the Germans, and
not until much later did we know that those wonderful
things, with only a fat man to move them, were electric
cars.
The sightseeing was not all on our side. I noticed
many people stopping to look at us as if amused, though
most passed by as though used to such sights. We did
make a queer appearance all in a long row, up above people’s
heads. In fact, we looked like a flock of giant fowls
roosting, only wide awake.
Suddenly, when everything interesting seemed at an
end, we all recollected how long it was since we had started
on our funny ride. Hours, we thought, and still the
horses ran. Now we rode through quieter streets where
there were fewer shops and more wooden houses. Still the
horses seemed to have but just started. I looked over
our perch again. Something made me think of a description
I had read of criminals being carried on long
journeys in uncomfortable things—like this? Well, it
was strange—this long, long drive, the conveyance, no
word of explanation, and all, though going different ways,
being packed off together. We were strangers; the
driver knew it. He might take us anywhere—how could
we tell? I was frightened again as in Berlin. The faces
around me confessed the same.[Pg 48]
The streets became quieter still; no shops, only little
houses; hardly any people passing. Now we cross many
railway tracks and I can hear the sea not very distant.
There are many trees now by the roadside, and the wind
whistles through their branches. The wheels and hoofs
make a great noise on the stones, the roar of the sea and
the wind among the branches have an unfriendly sound.
The horses never weary. Still they run. There are
no houses now in view, save now and then a solitary one,
far away. I can see the ocean. Oh, it is stormy. The dark
waves roll inward, the white foam flies high in the air;
deep sounds come from it. The wheels and hoofs make a
great noise; the wind is stronger, and says, “Do you hear
the sea?” And the ocean’s roar threatens. The sea
threatens, and the wind bids me hear it, and the hoofs and
the wheels repeat the command, and so do the trees, by
gestures.
Yes, we are frightened. We are very still. Some Polish
women over there have fallen asleep, and the rest of us
look such a picture of woe, and yet so funny, it is a sight
to see and remember.
At last, at last! Those unwearied horses have stopped.
Where? In front of a brick building, the only one on a
large, broad street, where only the trees, and, in the distance,
the passing trains can be seen. Nothing else. The
ocean, too, is shut out.[Pg 49]
All were helped off, the baggage put on the sidewalk,
and then taken up again and carried into the building,
where the passengers were ordered to go. On the left
side of the little corridor was a small office where a man
sat before a desk covered with papers. These he pushed
aside when we entered, and called us in one by one, except,
of course children. As usual, many questions were
asked, the new ones being about our tickets. Then each
person, children included, had to pay three marcs—one
for the wagon that brought us over and two for food and
lodgings, till our various ships should take us away.
Mamma, having five to pay for, owed fifteen marcs.
The little sum we started with was to last us to the end of
the journey, and would have done so if there hadn’t been
those unexpected bills to pay at Keebart, Eidtkunen, Berlin,
and now at the office. Seeing how often services were
forced upon us unasked and payment afterwards demanded,
mother had begun to fear that we should need
more money, and had sold some things to a woman for
less than a third of their value. In spite of that, so heavy
was the drain on the spare purse where it had not been
expected, she found to her dismay that she had only
twelve marcs left to meet the new bill.
The man in the office wouldn’t believe it, and we were
given over in charge of a woman in a dark gray dress and
long white apron, with a red cross on her right arm. She[Pg 50]
led us away and thoroughly searched us all, as well as our
baggage. That was nice treatment, like what we had
been receiving since our first uninterrupted entrance into
Germany. Always a call for money, always suspicion of
our presence and always rough orders and scowls of disapproval,
even at the quickest obedience. And now this
outrageous indignity! We had to bear it all because we
were going to America from a land cursed by the dreadful
epidemic. Others besides ourselves shared these
trials, the last one included, if that were any comfort,
which it was not.
When the woman reported the result of the search as
being fruitless, the man was satisfied, and we were ordered
with the rest through many more examinations and
ceremonies before we should be established under the
quarantine, for that it was.
While waiting for our turn to be examined by the doctor
I looked about, thinking it worth while to get acquainted
with a place where we might be obliged to stay
for I knew not how long. The room where we were sitting
was large, with windows so high up that we couldn’t
see anything through them. In the middle stood several
long wooden tables, and around these were settees of the
same kind. On the right, opposite the doctor’s office,
was a little room where various things could be bought
of a young man—if you hadn’t paid all your money for
other things.[Pg 51]
When the doctor was through with us he told us to go
to Number Five. Now wasn’t that like in a prison? We
walked up and down a long yard looking, among a row
of low, numbered doors, for ours, when we heard an exclamation
of, “Oh, Esther! how do you happen to be
here?” and, on seeing the speaker, found it to be an old
friend of ours from Plotzk. She had gone long before
us, but her ship hadn’t arrived yet. She was surprised
to see us because we had had no intention of going when
she went.
What a comfort it was to find a friend among all the
strangers! She showed us at once to our new quarters,
and while she talked to mamma I had time to see what
they were like.
It looked something like a hospital, only less clean and
comfortable; more like the soldiers’ barracks I had seen.
I saw a very large room, around whose walls were ranged
rows of high iron double bedsteads, with coarse sacks
stuffed with something like matting, and not over-clean
blankets for the only bedding, except where people used
their own. There were three windows almost touching the
roof, with nails covering all the framework. From the
ceiling hung two round gas lamps, and almost under
them stood a little wooden table and a settee. The floor
was of stone.
Here was a pleasant prospect. We had no idea how
long this unattractive place might be our home.[Pg 52]
Our friend explained that Number Five was only for
Jewish women and girls, and the beds were sleeping
rooms, dining rooms, parlors, and everything else, kitchens
excepted. It seemed so, for some were lounging on
the beds, some sitting up, some otherwise engaged, and
all were talking and laughing and making a great noise.
Poor things! there was nothing else to do in that prison.
Before mother had told our friend of our adventures,
a girl, also a passenger, who had been walking in the yard,
ran in and announced, “It’s time to go to dinner! He
has come already.” “He” we soon learned, was the overseer
of the Jewish special kitchen, without whom the
meals were never taken.
All the inmates of Number Five rushed out in less than
a minute, and I wondered why they hurried so. When
we reached the place that served as dining room, there
was hardly any room for us. Now, while the dinner is
being served, I will tell you what I can see.
In the middle of the yard stood a number of long tables
covered with white oilcloth. On either side of each table
stood benches on which all the Jewish passengers were
now seated, looking impatiently at the door with the sign
“Jewish Kitchen” over it. Pretty soon a man appeared
in the doorway, tall, spare, with a thin, pointed beard, and
an air of importance on his face. It was “he”, the overseer,
who carried a large tin pail filled with black bread[Pg 53]
cut into pieces of half a pound each. He gave a piece to
every person, the youngest child and the biggest man
alike, and then went into the kitchen and filled his pail
with soup and meat, giving everybody a great bowl full
of soup and a small piece of meat. All attacked their
rations as soon as they received them and greatly relished
the coarse bread and dark, hot water they called soup.
We couldn’t eat those things and only wondered how
any one could have such an appetite for such a dinner.
We stopped wondering when our own little store of provisions
gave out.
After dinner, the people went apart, some going back
to their beds and others to walk in the yard or sit on the
settees there. There was no other place to go to. The
doors of the prison were never unlocked except when new
passengers arrived or others left for their ships. The
fences—they really were solid walls—had wires and nails
on top, so that one couldn’t even climb to get a look at
the sea.
We went back to our quarters to talk over matters and
rest from our journey. At six o’clock the doctor came
with a clerk, and, standing before the door, bade all those
in the yard belonging to Number Five assemble there;
and then the roll was called and everybody received a little
ticket as she answered to her name. With this all
went to the kitchen and received two little rolls and a[Pg 54]
large cup of partly sweetened tea. This was supper; and
breakfast, served too in this way was the same. Any
wonder that people hurried to dinner and enjoyed it?
And it was always the same thing, no change.
Little by little we became used to the new life, though
it was hard to go hungry day after day, and bear the discomforts
of the common room, shared by so many; the
hard beds (we had little bedding of our own), and the confinement
to the narrow limits of the yard, and the tiresome
sameness of the life. Meal hours, of course, played
the most important part, while the others had to be filled
up as best we could. The weather was fine most of the
time and that helped much. Everything was an event,
the arrival of fresh passengers a great one which happened
every day; the day when the women were allowed
to wash clothes by the well was a holiday, and the few
favorite girls who were allowed to help in the kitchen
were envied. On dull, rainy days, the man coming to
light the lamps at night was an object of pleasure, and
every one made the best of everybody else. So when a
young man arrived who had been to America once before,
he was looked up to by every person there as a superior,
his stories of our future home listened to with delight,
and his manners imitated by all, as a sort of fit preparation.
He was wanted everywhere, and he made the
best of his greatness by taking liberties and putting on[Pg 55]
great airs and, I afterwards found, imposing on our ignorance
very much. But anything “The American”
did passed for good, except his going away a few days too
soon.
Then a girl came who was rather wanting a little
brightness. So all joined in imposing upon her by telling
her a certain young man was a great professor whom
all owed respect and homage to, and she would do anything
in the world to express hers, while he used her to
his best advantage, like the willing slave she was. Nobody
seemed to think this unkind at all, and it really was
excusable that the poor prisoners, hungry for some entertainment,
should try to make a little fun when the chance
came. Besides, the girl had opened the temptation by
asking, “Who was the handsome man in the glasses? A
professor surely;” showing that she took glasses for a
sure sign of a professor, and professor for the highest possible
title of honor. Doesn’t this excuse us?
The greatest event was the arrival of some ship to take
some of the waiting passengers. When the gates were
opened and the lucky ones said good bye, those left behind
felt hopeless of ever seeing the gates open for them.
It was both pleasant and painful, for the strangers grew
to be fast friends in a day and really rejoiced in each other’s
fortune, but the regretful envy could not be helped
either.[Pg 56]
Amid such events as these a day was like a month at
least. Eight of these we had spent in quarantine when a
great commotion was noticed among the people of Number
Five and those of the corresponding number in the
men’s division. There was a good reason for it. You remember
that it was April and Passover was coming on;
in fact, it began that night. The great question was,
Would we be able to keep it exactly according to the host
of rules to be obeyed? You who know all about the great
holiday can understand what the answer to that question
meant to us. Think of all the work and care and money
it takes to supply a family with all the things proper and
necessary, and you will see that to supply a few hundred
was no small matter. Now, were they going to take care
that all was perfectly right, and could we trust them if
they promised, or should we be forced to break any of the
laws that ruled the holiday?
All day long there was talking and questioning and debating
and threatening that “we would rather starve than
touch anything we were not sure of.” And we meant it.
So some men and women went to the overseer to let him
know what he had to look out for. He assured them that
he would rather starve along with us than allow anything
to be in the least wrong. Still, there was more discussing
and shaking of heads, for they were not sure yet.
There was not a crumb anywhere to be found, because[Pg 57]
what bread we received was too precious for any of it to
be wasted; but the women made a great show of cleaning
up Number Five, while they sighed and looked sad and
told one another of the good hard times they had at home
getting ready for Passover. Really, hard as it is, when
one is used to it from childhood, it seems part of the holiday,
and can’t be left out. To sit down and wait for supper
as on other nights seemed like breaking one of the
laws. So they tried hard to be busy.
At night we were called by the overseer (who tried to
look more important than ever in his holiday clothes—not
his best, though) to the feast spread in one of the unoccupied
rooms. We were ready for it, and anxious
enough. We had had neither bread nor matzo for dinner,
and were more hungry than ever, if that is possible.
We now found everything really prepared; there were the
pillows covered with a snow-white spread, new oilcloth
on the newly scrubbed tables, some little candles stuck in
a basin of sand on the window-sill for the women, and—a
sure sign of a holiday—both gas lamps burning. Only
one was used on other nights.
Happy to see these things, and smell the supper, we
took our places and waited. Soon the cook came in and
filled some glasses with wine from two bottles,—one yellow,
one red. Then she gave to each person—exactly one
and a half matzos; also some cold meat, burned almost to
a coal for the occasion.[Pg 58]
The young man—bless him—who had the honor to
perform the ceremonies, was, fortunately for us all, one of
the passengers. He felt for and with us, and it happened—just
a coincidence—that the greater part of the ceremony
escaped from his book as he turned the leaves.
Though strictly religious, nobody felt in the least guilty
about it, especially on account of the wine; for, when we
came to the place where you have to drink the wine, we
found it tasted like good vinegar, which made us all
choke and gasp, and one little girl screamed “Poison!”
so that all laughed, and the leader, who tried to go on,
broke down too at the sight of the wry faces he saw;
while the overseer looked shocked, the cook nearly set
her gown on fire by overthrowing the candles with her
apron (used to hide her face) and all wished our Master
Overseer had to drink that “wine” all his days.
Think of the same ceremony as it is at home, then of
this one just described. Do they even resemble each
other?
Well, the leader got through amid much giggling and
sly looks among the girls who understood the trick, and
frowns of the older people (who secretly blessed him for
it). Then, half hungry, all went to bed and dreamed of
food in plenty.
No other dreams? Rather! For the day that brought
the Passover brought us—our own family—the most glo[Pg 59]rious
news. We had been ordered to bring our baggage
to the office!
“Ordered to bring our baggage to the office!” That
meant nothing less than that we were “going the next
day!”
It was just after supper that we received the welcome
order. Oh, who cared if there wasn’t enough to eat?
Who cared for anything in the whole world? We didn’t.
It was all joy and gladness and happy anticipation for us.
We laughed, and cried, and hugged one another, and
shouted, and acted altogether like wild things. Yes, we
were wild with joy, and long after the rest were asleep, we
were whispering together and wondering how we could
keep quiet the whole night. We couldn’t sleep by any
means, we were so afraid of oversleeping the great hour;
and every little while, after we tried to sleep, one of us
would suddenly think she saw day at the window, and
wake the rest, who also had only been pretending to sleep
while watching in the dark for daylight.
When it came, it found no watchful eye, after all. The
excitement gave way to fatigue, and drowsiness first, then
deep sleep, completed its victory. It was eight o’clock
when we awoke. The morning was cloudy and chilly,
the sun being too lazy to attend to business; now and
then it rained a little, too. And yet it was the most beautiful
day that had ever dawned on Hamburg.[Pg 60]
We enjoyed everything offered for breakfast, two matzos
and two cups of tea apiece—why it was a banquet.
After it came the good-byes, as we were going soon. As
I told you before, the strangers became fast friends in a
short time under the circumstances, so there was real sorrow
at the partings, though the joy of the fortunate ones
was, in a measure, shared by all.
About one o’clock (we didn’t go to dinner—we
couldn’t eat for excitement) we were called. There were
three other families, an old woman, and a young man,
among the Jewish passengers, who were going with us,
besides some Polish people. We were all hurried
through the door we had watched with longing for so
long, and were a little way from it when the old woman
stopped short and called on the rest to wait.
“We haven’t any matzo!” she cried in alarm. “Where’s
the overseer?”
Sure enough we had forgotten it, when we might as
well have left one of us behind. We refused to go, calling
for the overseer, who had promised to supply us, and
the man who had us in charge grew angry and said he
wouldn’t wait. It was a terrible situation for us.
“Oh,” said the man, “you can go and get your matzo,
but the boat won’t wait for you.” And he walked off, followed
by the Polish people only.
We had to decide at once. We looked at the old wo[Pg 61]man.
She said she wasn’t going to start on a dangerous
journey with such a sin on her soul. Then the children
decided. They understood the matter. They cried and
begged to follow the party. And we did.
Just when we reached the shore, the cook came up
panting hard. She brought us matzo. How relieved we
were then!
We got on a little steamer (the name is too big for it)
that was managed by our conductor alone. Before we
had recovered from the shock of the shrill whistle so near
us, we were landing in front of a large stone building.
Once more we were under the command of the gendarme.
We were ordered to go into a big room crowded
with people, and wait till the name of our ship was called.
Somebody in a little room called a great many queer
names, and many passengers answered the call. At last
we heard,
“Polynesia!”
We passed in and a great many things were done to our
tickets before we were directed to go outside, then to a
larger steamer than the one we came in. At every step
our tickets were either stamped or punched, or a piece
torn off of them, till we stepped upon the steamer’s deck.
Then we were ordered below. It was dark there, and we
didn’t like it. In a little while we were called up again,
and then we saw before us the great ship that was to carry
us to America.[Pg 62]
I only remember, from that moment, that I had only
one care till all became quiet; not to lose hold of my sister’s
hand. Everything else can be told in one word—noise.
But when I look back, I can see what made it.
There were sailors dragging and hauling bundles and
boxes from the small boat into the great ship, shouting
and thundering at their work. There were officers giving
out orders in loud voices, like trumpets, though they
seemed to make no effort. There were children crying,
and mothers hushing them, and fathers questioning the
officers as to where they should go. There were little boats
and steamers passing all around, shrieking and whistling
terribly. And there seemed to be everything under
heaven that had any noise in it, come to help swell the
confusion of sounds. I know that, but how we ever got
in that quiet place that had the sign “For Families” over
it, I don’t know. I think we went around and around,
long and far, before we got there.
But there we were, sitting quietly on a bench by the
white berths.
When the sailors brought our things, we got everything
in order for the journey as soon as possible, that we
might go on deck to see the starting. But first we had to
obey a sailor, who told us to come and get dishes. Each
person received a plate, a spoon and a cup. I wondered
how we could get along if we had had no things of our
own.[Pg 63]
For an hour or two more there were still many noises
on deck, and many preparations made. Then we went
up, as most of the passengers did.
What a change in the scene! Where there had been
noise and confusion before, peace and quiet were now.
All the little boats and steamers had disappeared, and the
wharf was deserted. On deck the “Polynesia” everything
was in good order, and the officers walked about smoking
their cigars as if their work was done. Only a few sailors
were at work at the big ropes, but they didn’t shout as
before. The weather had changed, too, for the twilight
was unlike what the day had promised. The sky was
soft gray, with faint streaks of yellow on the horizon.
The air was still and pleasant, much warmer than it had
been all the day; and the water was as motionless and
clear as a deep, cool well, and everything was mirrored
in it clearly.
This entire change in the scene, the peace that encircled
everything around us, seemed to give all the same
feeling that I know I had. I fancied that nature created
it especially for us, so that we would be allowed, in this
pause, to think of our situation. All seemed to do so; all
spoke in low voices, and seemed to be looking for something
as they gazed quietly into the smooth depths below,
or the twilight skies above. Were they seeking an assurance?
Perhaps; for there was something strange in the[Pg 64]
absence of a crowd of friends on the shore, to cheer and
salute, and fill the air with white clouds and last farewells.
I found the assurance. The very stillness was a voice—nature’s
voice; and it spoke to the ocean and said,
“I entrust to you this vessel. Take care of it, for it
bears my children with it, from one strange shore to another
more distant, where loving friends are waiting to
embrace them after long partings. Be gentle with your
charge.”
And the ocean, though seeming so still, replied,
“I will obey my mistress.”
I heard it all, and a feeling of safety and protection
came to me. And when at last the wheels overhead began
to turn and clatter, and the ripples on the water told
us that the “Polynesia” had started on her journey, which
was not noticeable from any other sign, I felt only a sense
of happiness. I mistrusted nothing.
But the old woman who remembered the matzo did,
more than anybody else. She made great preparations
for being seasick, and poisoned the air with garlic and
onions.
When the lantern fixed in the ceiling had been lighted,
the captain and the steward paid us a visit. They took
up our tickets and noticed all the passengers, then left.
Then a sailor brought supper—bread and coffee. Only
a few ate it. Then all went to bed, though it was very
early.[Pg 65]
Nobody expected seasickness as soon as it seized us.
All slept quietly the whole night, not knowing any difference
between being on land or at sea. About five o’clock
I woke up, and then I felt and heard the sea. A very disagreeable
smell came from it, and I knew it was disturbed
by the rocking of the ship. Oh, how wretched it made
us! From side to side it went rocking, rocking. Ugh!
Many of the passengers are very sick indeed, they suffer
terribly. We are all awake now, and wonder if we, too,
will be so sick. Some children are crying, at intervals.
There is nobody to comfort them—all are so miserable.
Oh, I am so sick! I’m dizzy; everything is going round
and round before my eyes—Oh-h-h!
I can’t even begin to tell of the suffering of the next
few hours. Then I thought I would feel better if I could
go on deck. Somehow, I got down (we had upper berths)
and, supporting myself against the walls, I came on deck.
But it was worse. The green water, tossing up the white
foam, rocking all around, as far as I dared to look, was
frightful to me then. So I crawled back as well as I could,
and nobody else tried to go out.
By and by the doctor and the steward came. The doctor
asked each passenger if they were well, but only
smiled when all begged for some medicine to take away
the dreadful suffering. To those who suffered from anything
besides seasickness he sent medicine and special[Pg 66]
food later on. His companion appointed one of the men
passengers for every twelve or fifteen to carry the meals
from the kitchen, giving them cards to get it with. For
our group a young German was appointed, who was
making the journey for the second time, with his mother
and sister. We were great friends with them during the
journey.
The doctor went away soon, leaving the sufferers in the
same sad condition. At twelve, a sailor announced that
dinner was ready, and the man brought it—large tin pails
and basins of soup, meat, cabbage, potatoes, and pudding
(the last was allowed only once a week); and almost all of
it was thrown away, as only a few men ate. The rest
couldn’t bear even the smell of food. It was the same with
the supper at six o’clock. At three milk had been brought
for the babies, and brown bread (a treat) with coffee for
the rest. But after supper the daily allowance of fresh
water was brought, and this soon disappeared and more
called for, which was refused, although we lived on water
alone for a week.
At last the day was gone, and much we had borne in it.
Night came, but brought little relief. Some did fall
asleep, and forgot suffering for a few hours. I was awake
late. The ship was quieter, and everything sadder than
by daylight. I thought of all we had gone through till
we had got on board the “Polynesia”; of the parting from[Pg 67]
all friends and things we loved, forever, as far as we knew;
of the strange experience at various strange places; of the
kind friends who helped us, and the rough officers who
commanded us; of the quarantine, the hunger, then the
happy news, and the coming on board. Of all this I
thought, and remembered that we were far away from
friends, and longed for them, that I might be made well
by speaking to them. And every minute was making the
distance between us greater, a meeting more impossible.
Then I remembered why we were crossing the ocean, and
knew that it was worth the price. At last the noise of the
wheels overhead, and the dull roar of the sea, rocked me
to sleep.
For a short time only. The ship was tossed about more
than the day before, and the great waves sounded like distant
thunder as they beat against it, and rolled across the
deck and entered the cabin. We found, however, that
we were better, though very weak. We managed to go
on deck in the afternoon, when it was calm enough. A
little band was playing, and a few young sailors and German
girls tried even to dance; but it was impossible.
As I sat in a corner where no waves could reach me,
holding on to a rope, I tried to take in the grand scene.
There was the mighty ocean I had heard of only, spreading
out its rough breadth far, far around, its waves giving
out deep, angry tones, and throwing up walls of spray[Pg 68]
into the air. There was the sky, like the sea, full of
ridges of darkest clouds, bending to meet the waves, and
following their motions and frowning and threatening.
And there was the “Polynesia” in the midst of this world
of gloom, and anger, and distance. I saw these, but indistinctly,
not half comprehending the wonderful picture.
For the suffering had left me dull and tired out. I only
knew that I was sad, and everybody else was the same.
Another day gone, and we congratulate one another
that seasickness lasted only one day with us. So we go
to sleep.
Oh, the sad mistake! For six days longer we remain
in our berths, miserable and unable to eat. It is a long
fast, hardly interrupted, during which we know that the
weather is unchanged, the sky dark, the sea stormy.
On the eighth day out we are again able to be about. I
went around everywhere, exploring every corner, and
learning much from the sailors; but I never remembered
the names of the various things I asked about, they were
so many, and some German names hard to learn. We all
made friends with the captain and other officers, and
many of the passengers. The little band played regularly
on certain days, and the sailors and girls had a good
many dances, though often they were swept by a wave
across the deck, quite out of time. The children were
allowed to play on deck, but carefully watched.[Pg 69]
Still the weather continued the same, or changing
slightly. But I was able now to see all the grandeur of
my surroundings, notwithstanding the weather.
Oh, what solemn thoughts I had! How deeply I felt
the greatness, the power of the scene! The immeasurable
distance from horizon to horizon; the huge billows
forever changing their shapes—now only a wavy and
rolling plain, now a chain of great mountains, coming
and going farther away; then a town in the distance, perhaps,
with spires and towers and buildings of gigantic
dimensions; and mostly a vast mass of uncertain shapes,
knocking against each other in fury, and seething and
foaming in their anger; the grey sky, with its mountains
of gloomy clouds, flying, moving with the waves, as it
seemed, very near them; the absence of any object besides
the one ship; and the deep, solemn groans of the
sea, sounding as if all the voices of the world had been
turned into sighs and then gathered into that one mournful
sound—so deeply did I feel the presence of these
things, that the feeling became one of awe, both painful
and sweet, and stirring and warming, and deep and calm
and grand.
I thought of tempests and shipwreck, of lives lost,
treasures destroyed, and all the tales I had heard of the
misfortunes at sea, and knew I had never before had such
a clear idea of them. I tried to realize that I saw only a[Pg 70]
part of an immense whole, and then my feelings were terrible
in their force. I was afraid of thinking then, but
could not stop it. My mind would go on working, till I
was overcome by the strength and power that was greater
than myself. What I did at such times I do not know.
I must have been dazed.
After a while I could sit quietly and gaze far away.
Then I would imagine myself all alone on the ocean, and
Robinson Crusoe was very real to me. I was alone
sometimes. I was aware of no human presence; I was
conscious only of sea and sky and something I did not
understand. And as I listened to its solemn voice, I felt
as if I had found a friend, and knew that I loved the
ocean. It seemed as if it were within as well as without,
a part of myself; and I wondered how I had lived without
it, and if I could ever part with it.
The ocean spoke to me in other besides mournful or
angry tones. I loved even the angry voice, but when it
became soothing, I could hear a sweet, gentle accent that
reached my soul rather than my ear. Perhaps I imagined
it. I do not know. What was real and what imaginary
blended in one. But I heard and felt it, and at such
moments I wished I could live on the sea forever, and
thought that the sight of land would be very unwelcome
to me. I did not want to be near any person. Alone
with the ocean forever—that was my wish.[Pg 71]
Leading a quiet life, the same every day, and thinking
such thoughts, feeling such emotions, the days were very
long. I do not know how the others passed the time, because
I was so lost in my meditations. But when the sky
would smile for awhile—when a little sunlight broke a
path for itself through the heavy clouds, which disappeared
as though frightened; and when the sea looked more
friendly, and changed its color to match the heavens,
which were higher up—then we would sit on deck together,
and laugh for mere happiness as we talked of the
nearing meeting, which the unusual fairness of the weather
seemed to bring nearer. Sometimes, at such minutes
of sunshine and gladness, a few birds would be seen
making their swift journey to some point we did not
know of; sometimes among the light clouds, then almost
touching the surface of the waves. How shall I tell you
what we felt at the sight? The birds were like old
friends to us, and brought back many memories, which
seemed very old, though really fresh. All felt sadder
when the distance became too great for us to see the dear
little friends, though it was not for a long time after their
first appearance. We used to watch for them, and often
mistook the clouds for birds, and were thus disappointed.
When they did come, how envious we were of their
wings! It was a new thought to me that the birds had
more power than man.[Pg 72]
In this way the days went by. I thought my thoughts
each day, as I watched the scene, hoping to see a beautiful
sunset some day. I never did, to my disappointment.
And each night, as I lay in my berth, waiting for sleep, I
wished I might be able even to hope for the happiness of
a sea-voyage after this had been ended.
Yet, when, on the twelfth day after leaving Hamburg,
the captain announced that we should see land before
long, I rejoiced as much as anybody else. We were so
excited with expectation that nothing else was heard but
the talk of the happy arrival, now so near. Some were
even willing to stay up at night, to be the first ones to see
the shores of America. It was therefore a great disappointment
when the captain said, in the evening, that we
would not reach Boston as soon as he expected, on account
of the weather.
A dense fog set in at night, and grew heavier and heavier,
until the “Polynesia” was closely walled in by it, and
we could just see from one end of the deck to the other.
The signal lanterns were put up, the passengers were
driven to their berths by the cold and damp, the cabin
doors closed, and discomfort reigned everywhere.
But the excitement of the day had tired us out, and
we were glad to forget disappointment in sleep. In the
morning it was still foggy, but we could see a little way
around. It was very strange to have the boundless dis[Pg 73]tance
made so narrow, and I felt the strangeness of the
scene. All day long we shivered with cold, and hardly
left the cabin. At last it was night once more, and we in
our berths. But nobody slept.
The sea had been growing rougher during the day, and
at night the ship began to pitch as it did at the beginning
of the journey. Then it grew worse. Everything in our
cabin was rolling on the floor, clattering and dinning.
Dishes were broken into little bits that flew about from
one end to the other. Bedding from upper berths nearly
stifled the people in the lower ones. Some fell out of
their berths, but it was not at all funny. As the ship
turned to one side, the passengers were violently thrown
against that side of the berths, and some boards gave way
and clattered down to the floor. When it tossed on the
other side, we could see the little windows almost touch
the water, and closed the shutters to keep out the sight.
The children cried, everybody groaned, and sailors kept
coming in to pick up the things on the floor and carry
them away. This made the confusion less, but not the
alarm.
Above all sounds rose the fog horn. It never stopped
the long night through. And oh, how sad it sounded! It
pierced every heart, and made us afraid. Now and then
some ship, far away, would answer, like a weak echo.
Sometimes we noticed that the wheels were still, and we[Pg 74]
knew that the ship had stopped. This frightened us
more than ever, for we imagined the worst reasons for it.
It was day again, and a little calmer. We slept now,
till the afternoon. Then we saw that the fog had become
much thinner, and later on we even saw a ship, but indistinctly.
Another night passed, and the day that followed was
pretty fair, and towards evening the sky was almost
cloudless. The captain said we should have no more
rough weather, for now we were really near Boston. Oh,
how hard it was to wait for the happy day! Somebody
brought the news that we should land to-morrow in the
afternoon. We didn’t believe it, so he said that the steward
had ordered a great pudding full of raisins for supper
that day as a sure sign that it was the last on board.
We remembered the pudding, but didn’t believe in its
meaning.
I don’t think we slept that night. After all the suffering
of our journey, after seeing and hearing nothing but
the sky and the sea and its roaring, it was impossible to
sleep when we thought that soon we would see trees,
fields, fresh people, animals—a world, and that world
America. Then, above everything, was the meeting with
friends we had not seen for years; for almost everybody
had some friends awaiting them.
Morning found all the passengers up and expectant.[Pg 75]
Someone questioned the captain, and he said we would
land to-morrow. There was another long day, and another
sleepless night, but when these ended at last, how
busy we were! First we packed up all the things we did
not need, then put on fresh clothing, and then went on
deck to watch for land. It was almost three o’clock, the
hour the captain hoped to reach Boston, but there was
nothing new to be seen. The weather was fair, so we
would have seen anything within a number of miles.
Anxiously we watched, and as we talked of the strange
delay, our courage began to give out with our hope.
When it could be borne no longer, a gentleman went to
speak to the captain. He was on the upper deck, examining
the horizon. He put off the arrival for the next
day!
You can imagine our feelings at this. When it was
worse the captain came down and talked so assuringly
that, in spite of all the disappointments we had had, we
believed that this was the last, and were quite cheerful
when we went to bed.
The morning was glorious. It was the eighth of May,
the seventeenth day after we left Hamburg. The sky
was clear and blue, the sun shone brightly, as if to congratulate
us that we had safely crossed the stormy sea;
and to apologize for having kept away from us so long.
The sea had lost its fury; it was almost as quiet as it had[Pg 76]
been at Hamburg before we started, and its color was a
beautiful greenish blue. Birds were all the time in the
air, and it was worth while to live merely to hear their
songs. And soon, oh joyful sight! we saw the tops of
two trees!
What a shout there rose! Everyone pointed out the
welcome sight to everybody else, as if they did not see it.
All eyes were fixed on it as if they saw a miracle. And
this was only the beginning of the joys of the day!
What confusion there was! Some were flying up the
stairs to the upper deck, some were tearing down to the
lower one, others were running in and out of the cabins,
some were in all parts of the ship in one minute, and all
were talking and laughing and getting in somebody’s
way. Such excitement, such joy! We had seen two
trees!
Then steamers and boats of all kinds passed by, in all
directions. We shouted, and the men stood up in the
boats and returned the greeting, waving their hats. We
were as glad to see them as if they were old friends of
ours.
Oh, what a beautiful scene! No corner of the earth is
half so fair as the lovely picture before us. It came to
view suddenly,—a green field, a real field with grass on it,
and large houses, and the dearest hens and little chickens
in all the world, and trees, and birds, and people at work.[Pg 77]
The young green things put new life into us, and are so
dear to our eyes that we dare not speak a word now, lest
the magic should vanish away and we should be left to
the stormy scenes we know.
But nothing disturbed the fairy sight. Instead, new
scenes appeared, beautiful as the first. The sky becomes
bluer all the time, the sun warmer; the sea is too quiet for
its name, and the most beautiful blue imaginable.
What are the feelings these sights awaken! They can
not be described. To know how great was our happiness,
how complete, how free from even the shadow of a
sadness, you must make a journey of sixteen days on a
stormy ocean. Is it possible that we will ever again be
so happy?
It was about three hours since we saw the first landmarks,
when a number of men came on board, from a little
steamer, and examined the passengers to see if they
were properly vaccinated (we had been vaccinated on the
“Polynesia”), and pronounced everyone all right. Then
they went away, except one man who remained. An
hour later we saw the wharves.
Before the ship had fully stopped, the climax of our joy
was reached. One of us espied the figure and face we
had longed to see for three long years. In a moment
five passengers on the “Polynesia” were crying, “Papa,”
and gesticulating, and laughing, and hugging one anoth[Pg 78]er,
and going wild altogether. All the rest were roused
by our excitement, and came to see our father. He recognized
us as soon as we him, and stood apart on the
wharf not knowing what to do, I thought.
What followed was slow torture. Like mad things we
ran about where there was room, unable to stand still as
long as we were on the ship and he on shore. To have
crossed the ocean only to come within a few yards of him,
unable to get nearer till all the fuss was over, was dreadful
enough. But to hear other passengers called who
had no reason for hurry, while we were left among the
last, was unendurable.
Oh, dear! Why can’t we get off the hateful ship? Why
can’t papa come to us? Why so many ceremonies at the
landing?
We said good-bye to our friends as their turn came,
wishing we were in their luck. To give us something
else to think of, papa succeeded in passing us some fruit;
and we wondered to find it anything but a great wonder,
for we expected to find everything marvellous in the
strange country.
Still the ceremonies went on. Each person was asked
a hundred or so stupid questions, and all their answers
were written down by a very slow man. The baggage
had to be examined, the tickets, and a hundred other
things done before anyone was allowed to step ashore,
all to keep us back as long as possible.[Pg 79]
Now imagine yourself parting with all you love, believing
it to be a parting for life; breaking up your home,
selling the things that years have made dear to you; starting
on a journey without the least experience in travelling,
in the face of many inconveniences on account of
the want of sufficient money; being met with disappointment
where it was not to be expected; with rough treatment
everywhere, till you are forced to go and make
friends for yourself among strangers; being obliged to
sell some of your most necessary things to pay bills you
did not willingly incur; being mistrusted and searched,
then half starved, and lodged in common with a multitude
of strangers; suffering the miseries of seasickness,
the disturbances and alarms of a stormy sea for sixteen
days; and then stand within, a few yards of him for whom
you did all this, unable to even speak to him easily. How
do you feel?
Oh, it’s our turn at last! We are questioned, examined,
and dismissed! A rush over the planks on one side,
over the ground on the other, six wild beings cling to
each other, bound by a common bond of tender joy, and
the long parting is at an END.[Pg 80]