All at once a scream was heard among those who were standing nearer the exit. A wave had beaten the door in and rushed to the cabin; the water flowed to every corner with a plashing; women began to scream and save themselves on the bunks. It seemed to all that the end had come.
After a while an officer on duty, all wet and red-faced, entered with a lantern in his hand. He pacified the women with a few words, saying that the water had come only by accident; afterward he added, that as the vessel was on the open sea there was no great danger. In fact an hour passed, two hours. The tempest raged more and more madly. The vessel groaned, went down prow foremost; the deck sank; it lay on one side, — but the vessel did not sink. People were quieted a little; some went to sleep. Again a number of hours passed; through the upper, grated window a gray light broke in. Day came on the ocean, pale, as if frightened, gloomy, dark; but it brought a certain hope and solace.
When Vavron and Marysia had said all the prayers that they had in their memories, they climbed up to their plank beds and fell asleep, soundly.
They were roused only by the sound of the bell calling to breakfast. But they could not eat. Their heads felt as heavy as if they had been leaden; the old man was worse still than the girl. In his benumbed brain nothing could fix itself. The German who persuaded him to go to America had told him, it is true, that he must cross water; but he had never supposed it such a great water that he would have to sail so many days and nights on it. He had thought that he would cross on a scow, as he had crossed water more than once in his lifetime. If he had known that the sea was so enormous, he would have remained in Lipintse. Besides, one other thought struggled in him unquietly: had he not given to damnation his own soul and the soul of his daughter? Was it not a sin for a Catholic from Lipintse to tempt the Lord God, and put himself into an abyss, over which he was sailing now the fifth day to another shore, if in general there was any shore on the other side? His doubts and fears had seven days more of increase to them.
The storm raged forty-eight hours longer, then it went down in some fashion. Vavron and Marysia made bold to go out on deck again; but when they saw rolls of water rocking yet, black, and, as it were, enraged, those mountains advancing against the ship, and those bottomless, moving valleys, again they thought that only the hand of God, or some power not of man, could save them.
At last it became perfectly clear. But day followed day, and before the ship nothing was visible except always water and water without end, at one time green, at another blue, and mingling with the sky. On that sky passed at times, high up, small, bright clouds, which, growing red in the evening, laid themselves to sleep in the distant west. The ship pursued these clouds over the water. Vavron thought that perhaps in truth the sea did not end anywhere, but he took courage and resolved to ask.
Once he took off his cap and, bowing submissively to a passing sailor, inquired, —
“Great, mighty lord, shall we go quickly to the end of the voyage?”
Oh, wonder! the sailor did not snort with laughter, but stopped and listened. On his red face cut by the wind was to be recognized the working of memory, and of certain recollections which could not arrange themselves in conscious thought at first. After a while he asked, —
“Was?”
“Shall we come to land soon, great, mighty lord?”
“Two days, two days,” repeated the sailor, with difficulty, holding up at the same time two fingers.
“I thank humbly.”
“Whence are ye?” —
“From Lipintse.”
“What is that Lipintse?”
Marysia, who came up during the talk, blushed greatly, but raising her timid eyes on the sailor, she said, with that thin little voice with which village girls speak, —
“We are from Poznan.”
The sailor looked thoughtfully at a bronze nail in the bulwark; then at the girl, at her hair, bright as flax, and something as it were emotion appeared on his weatherbeaten face. After a while he said seriously:
“I have been in Dantzig — I understand Polish — I am a Kashub — your brother; but that was long ago! Jetzt bin ich Deutsch.”
When he had said this, he raised the end of the rope which he had held before in his hand, turned away, and calling out in sailor fashion: “Ho! ho! o!” he began to draw it.
From that time, whenever Vavron and Marysia were on deck, he smiled in a friendly manner at Marysia when he saw them. They were greatly delighted, for they had a living soul inclined to them on this German steamer. But the journey now was not to last long. The next morning, when they went out on deck, a wonderful sight struck their eyes. They saw something dancing on-the sea, and when the ship approached that object, they saw that it was a great red cask moved gently by the waves; in the distance was a second like it, and a third, and a fourth. The air and the water were somewhat misty, but not greatly so, besides it was silvery and mild; the surface of the water was smooth, noiseless, and, as far as the eye reached, more and more casks were dancing on the water. Whole clouds of white birds with black wings were flying behind the ship, crying and whistling. On the deck there was an uncommon movement. The sailors had put on fresh clothing; some were washing the deck; others were cleaning the brass fastenings of the bulwarks and the windows; on the mast was hung out one flag, and at the stern of the steamer another, a larger one.
Animation and delight had seized all the passengers; everything living had run out on the deck: some brought up their bags and began to strap them.
Seeing all this, Marysia said, —
“Surely we are coming to land.”
A more cheerful spirit entered her and Vavron. At last Sandy Hook showed itself on the west, and another island with a great edifice standing in the centre; in the distance was a condensed fog, as it were a cloud, as it were a collection of smoke, stretched in strips above the sea, indefinite, distant, dim, formless. At sight of this there was a great murmur; all pointed to it; the steamer, on its part, whistled shrilly, as if from delight.
“What is that?” inquired Vavron.
“New York,” said the Kashub, who was standing at his side.
Now the columns of smoke seemed to separate, to he lost, and on the background on which they had been, in proportion as the steamer cleaved the silvery water, appeared the outlines of houses, roofs, chimneys; pointed spires were defined more clearly on the blue; with the spires were the tall chimneys of factories, over the chimneys columns of smoke spreading in soft, bushy forms above. Below, in front of the city, a forest of masts, and on the points of them thousands of flags which the breeze moved as if they were flowers on a meadow. The steamer drew nearer and nearer. The fair city rose as if from under the water. Great delight and astonishment seized Vavron; he removed his cap, opened his lips and gazed; he gazed, and then said to the girl, —
“Marysia!”
“O for God’s sake!”
“Dost see?”
“I see!”
“Dost wonder?”
“I wonder.”
But Vavron not only wondered, he desired. Seeing the green shores on both sides of the bay, and the dark lines of groves, he continued, —
“Well, praise be to God! If they would only give me land right away, here near the city, with that meadow, it would be close to the market. The fair would come: a man might drive a cow, drive a pig, and sell them. I see that people are here as numerous as poppy seeds. In Poland I was a peasant, but here I shall be a lord.”
At that moment the splendid National Park deployed before his eyes in all its length, and Vavron, when he saw those groups and clusters of trees, said again, —
“I will bow down low to the great, mighty commissioner of the Government, — I will talk to him cunningly to give me even sixty acres of this forest, and afterward an addition. If an inheritance, then an inheritance. I can send a man with wood in the morning to the city. Glory to the Highest! for I see that the German did not deceive me.”
Lordship smiled somehow at Marysia a
lso, and she knew not why that song came to her head which brides sang to bridegrooms at weddings in Lipintse, —
“What sort of bridegroom art thou?
Thy whole outfit is a cap and a coat.”
Had she, perhaps, the design of singing something similar to poor Yasko, when he should come for her and she should be an heiress?
Now a little steamer from the quarantine flew toward the great one. Four or five men came on board. Conversation and outcries set in. Soon another steamer came up from the city itself, bringing agents of hotels and boarding-houses, guides, money-changers, railroad agents; all these shouted in heaven-piercing voices, crowding and circling around the whole deck. Vavron and Marysia had fallen, as it were, into a vortex, and could not tell what to do.
The Kashub advised the old man to change his money, and promised not to let people cheat him. Vavron followed his advice. He received forty-seven dollars in silver for what he had. Before all this was finished, the steamer had approached the city so nearly that not only the houses could be seen, but people on the streets. They passed every moment larger or smaller vessels; at last they reached the wharf and pushed into a narrow dock of the port.
The journey was ended.
People poured out from the steamer like bees from a hive. Along the narrow gangway, from the deck to the shore, flowed a many-colored throng; the first class, then the second, and at last the steerage passengers, bearing their effects.
When Vavron and Marysia, pushed by the throng, approached the gangway, they found the Kashub near them. He pressed Vavron’s hand firmly, and said, —
“Bruder! I wish luck! and to thee, girl, God aid thee!”
“The Lord God repay!” answered both; but there was no time for further farewell. The crowd urged them along the gangway, and in a moment they found themselves in a broad custom-house building.
The custom-house officer, dressed in gray overcoat with a silver star, felt of their packages, then called, “All right!” and pointed to the exit. They went out, and found themselves on the street.
“Tatulo! but what shall we do?”
“We must wait. The German said that a commissioner would come from the Government and inquire for us.”
They stood at a wall waiting for a commissioner; meanwhile the uproar of an unknown and immense city surrounded them. They had never seen anything like it. The streets were straight, broad, and on them were crowds of people, as in time of a fair; in the middle of the street were carriages, omnibuses, freight wagons. Round about sounded a strange, unknown tongue; the shouts of workmen and hucksters were heard. From moment to moment entirely black people pushed past; they had big woolly heads. At sight of these Vavron and Marysia made the sign of the cross on themselves, piously. Something marvellous to them was that city, so noisy, so full of voices, so full of whistling of locomotives, clatter of wagons, and shouting of men. All people there were running as quickly as if hunting down some one, or fleeing from some one, and besides what swarms of them! What strange faces; now black, now olive color, now reddish! Just where they were standing near the harbor the greatest activity reigned; from some steamers they were unloading bales; at other steamers they were putting them in. Wagons arrived every moment; trucks clattered on cross-walks; a hurly-burly and an uproar raged as in a sawmill.
In this way passed one hour and a second; they were standing at the wall waiting for the commissioner.
A strange sight on the American shore, in New York, was that Polish peasant, with long hair growing gray, in his square-topped cap, with lamb-skin body, that girl from Lipintse, in a dark-blue jacket, and with beads around her neck.
But strangers passed without even looking at them. In New York, people wonder at no face, at no dress.
Another hour passed; the sky became cloud-covered; rain fell, mixed with snow, a cold, damp wind came in from the sea.
They remained waiting for the commissioner.
The peasant nature was patient; but something in their souls began to grow heavy.
They had felt lonely on the steamer, amid strange people, and that desert of water had been terrible and evil. They had implored God to conduct them, like wandering children, over the abysses of the ocean. They had thought that if once they could put foot on land their misfortune would end. Now they had come; they were in a great city; but in that city, in the uproar of men, they felt all at once that it was lonelier still, and more terrible than ever it had been on the steamer.
The commissioner was not coming. What would they do if he should not come at all, if the German had deceived them?
The poor peasant hearts quivered with dread at the thought. What would they do? They would just perish.
Meanwhile the wind passed through their clothing, the rain wet them.
“Marysia, art thou not cold?” inquired Vavron.
“Cold, tatulo,” answered the girl.
The city clock struck another hour; it was growing dark in the world. The movement at the wharf ceased; street lamps were lighted; one sea of gleaming lights flashed through the city. Laborers from the wharf, singing with hoarse voices, strolled along in smaller or larger groups into the city. Gradually the street was deserted completely. The custom-house was closed.
They remained waiting for the commissioner.
At last night came, and it was quiet at the water, save that, from time to time, the dark smoke-stacks of ferryboats belched out bundles of sparks with a hiss, which died in the darkness, or a wave splashed, striking the stone embankment. At times was heard the song of a drunken sailor returning to his ship. The light of the lamps became pale in the fog. They waited.
Even if they had had no wish to wait, where could they go? What were they to do? Where were they to turn? Where were they to lay their wearied heads? The cold pierced them more sharply; hunger tortured them. If they had even a roof above their heads, for they were wet to the skin.
Ah! the commissioner had not come, and he would not come, for there was no such commissioner. The German was an agent of the transportation company; he took a percentage for each person, and cared for nothing more.
Vavron felt that the legs were tottering under him, that some gigantic weight was crushing him, that God’s anger must be hanging over him.
He suffered and waited as only a peasant can. The voice of the girl, shivering from cold, roused him at last from his torpor.
“Tatulo.”
“Be quiet. There is no mercy above us!”
“Let us go back to Lipintse.”
“Go drown thyself—”
“O God, God!” whispered Marysia, quietly.
Grief seized Vavron.
“Oh, orphan, poor girl! May God take pity even on thee!”
But she heard him no longer. Leaning her head against the wall, she closed her eyes. Sleep came, broken, oppressive, feverish. And in a dream, as it were a picture in a frame, Lipintse, and as it were the song of Yasko, the groom, —
“What bride art thou?
Thy whole outfit
Is a garland of rue.”
The first rays of daylight in the port of New York fell on the water, the masts, and the custom-house building.
In that gray light one might have distinguished under a wall two sleeping figures with pallid, bluish faces; they were covered with snow, and were as still as if dead. But in the book of their misfortune only the first leaves had been turned. We will read the others later on.
II. IN NEW YORK.
PASSING in New York from wide Broadway toward the wharf, in the direction of Chatham Square, and crossing a number of adjacent streets, the traveller comes upon a part of the city which increases in poverty, squalor, and gloom. The narrow streets become ever narrower. The houses, built, it may be, even by the Dutch colonists, have cracked and bent over in course of time; the roofs on them have sagged, the plaster fallen in great part from the walls, and the walls themselves sunk into the earth, till the tops of the basement windows are barely above the street pavement. A marvellous crookedn
ess is present there, instead of the favorite straight lines of America; roofs and walls, standing out of line, crowd together and rise, one above another, showing disordered aggregations of shaggy roofs.
Because of its position near the water, the puddles in the street-ruts in this part of the city hardly ever dry, and the small squares, securely closed, are like little ponds filled with thick, black, stagnant water. The windows of the tumble-down houses gaze gloomily into this water, the foul surface of which is varied with scraps of paper and pasteboard, bits of glass, wood, and pieces of tin from bales. With similar fragments, whole streets are covered, or rather the entire layer of mud which conceals them. Everywhere are visible human misery, dirt, and disorder.
In this division of the city are “boarding-houses,” or inns, in which, for two dollars a week, it is possible to find lodging and entire maintenance; here also are drinking houses, or “bar rooms,” in which whalers find every kind of rough men for their vessels; and secret agencies of Venezuela, Ecuador, and Brazil persuade people to tropical colonization, and obtain a respectable number of victims for the yellow fever; restaurants, feeding their guests with salt meat, rotten oysters, and fish, which surely the water itself brought to shore; secret places for dice playing; Chinese laundries; various refuges for sailors; finally dens of crime, hunger, misery, and tears.
Still that part of the city is active; for all the immigrants who cannot find even a temporary place in the barracks of Castle Garden, and who wish not, or are unable to go to the so-called “work houses,” huddle together, live and die there. On the other hand, it may be said, that if immigrants are the scum of European society, the inhabitants of these retreats are the scum of immigration. The people here are idle, partly through want of work, and partly through desire.
Here in the night-time revolver shots are heard with sufficient frequency, shouts for help, hoarse screams of rage, drunken songs, or the howls of negroes butting their heads against one another. Every little while in the daytime whole crowds of loafers, in torn hats, and with pipes between their teeth, look on at fist battles, betting meanwhile from one to five cents on black eyes. White children and woolly headed little negroes, instead of passing their time at school, wander through the streets, playing with pieces of ox ribs, or looking in the mud for remnants of vegetables, bananas, or lemons; destitute women stretch their hands to a better dressed passer-by, in case he wanders in there.
Complete Works of Henryk Sienkiewicz Page 732