CHAPTER THIRTEEN.
ACROSS THE ATLANTIC.
Fritz was as prompt in action as he was rapid in resolve; so in a fewdays after he had imparted to Madaleine and his mother his intention ofemigrating to America, his last good-byes were exchanged with the littlehousehold in the Gulden Strasse--not forgetting the faithful Gelert, nowdomiciled in the family, whom it was impossible to take with him onaccount of the expense and trouble his transit would have occasioned,besides which, the good doggie would be ever so much better looked afterby those left behind and would serve "as a sort of pledge," Fritz toldMadaleine, "of his master's return!"
Yes, within a week at the outside, he had left Lubeck once more, and wason his way to that western "land of the free" which Henry Russell theballad writer, has sung of:-- where the "mighty Missouri rolls down tothe sea," and where imperial autocrats and conscription are undreamtof--although, not so very, very many years ago, it was convulsed in thethroes of a civil war which could boast of as gigantic struggles betweenhostile forces and as terrible and bloodthirsty battles as those whichhad characterised that Franco-German campaign, in which Fritz had but sorecently participated and been heartily sick of before it terminated!
The love of colonisation seems to be the controlling spirit of moderntimes.
Some sceptics in the truth of historical accuracy, have whispered theirsuspicions that, the "New World" was actually discovered at a date longanterior to the age of Columbus; but, even allowing that there might besome stray scrap of fact for this assertion, it may be taken for grantedthat the first nucleus of our present system of emigration, from theolder continent to the "new" one, originated in the little band ofthirty-nine men left behind him by Christopher in Hispaniola, at theclose of his first "voyage beyond seas," in the year 1493, orthereabouts. This small settlement failed, as is well-known, and thebones of the Genoese mariner who founded it have been mouldering in dustfor centuries. Sir Walter Raleigh--the gallant imitator of Columbus,treading so successfully in his footsteps as to illustrate the old adageof the pupil excelling the master, the original expounder, indeed, ofthe famous "Westwards Ho!" doctrine since preached so ably by latter-dayenthusiasts--has also departed to that bourne from whence no travellerreturns. So have, likewise, a host of others, possessing names proudlyborne on the chronicle of fame as martyrs to the universal spread ofdiscovery and spirit of progress. But, the love of enterprise, andconsequent expansion of civilisation and commercial venture, inauguratedby the brave old pioneers of Queen Elizabeth's day, have not ceased toimpel similar seekers after something beyond ordinary humdrum life. Thepath of discovery, although narrowed through research, has not yet beenentirely exhausted; for "fresh fields and pastures new," as hopeful asthose about which Milton rhapsodised and as plenteously flowing withtypical milk and honey as the promised land of the Israelites, are beingcontinually opened up and offered to the oppressed and pauperisedpopulations of Europe. Thus, the tide of emigration, swelled from thetiny ocean-drop which marked its first inception more than three hundredyears ago to its present torrentine proportions and bearing awayfrequently entire nationalities on its bosom, still flows from the eastto the west, tracing the progress of civilisation from its Alpha to itsOmega, as steadily as when it originally began--aye, and as it willcontinue to flow on, until the entire habitable globe shall be peopledas with one family by the intermixture and association of alien races!
It is curious how this migratory spirit has permeated through the oddcorners of the old world, leading the natives of different countries toflock like sheep to every freshly spoken of colony; and how, by suchmeans, Englishmen, Celts, Germans, French, Hollanders, Italians,Norsemen, Africans, as well as the "Heathen Chinee," are scattered in amixed mass over the whole face of the earth now-a-days, as widely as thedescendants of Noah were dispersed from the plain of Shinar after theirunsuccessful attempt at building the tower of Babel--the result being,that some of the highest types of advancement are at present to be foundwhere, but a few years back, uncultivated savages, as rude but perhapsnot quite so inquisitive as the late Bishop Colenso's apocryphal Zulu,were the sole existing evidences of latent humanity!
Fritz, however, was not proceeding to any of these newly colonisedcountries. Like the majority of other Germans who had emigrated beforehim, he was aiming for "the States," where, according to the popularidea in Europe, money can be had for nothing in the shape of anyexpenditure of labour, time, or trouble. Really, the ne'er-do-well andshiftless seem to regard America as a sort of Tom Tiddler's ground forthe idle, the lazy, and the dissolute--although, mind you, Fritz wasnone of these, having made up his mind to work as hard in the New Worldas he would have been forced to do in the Old for the fortune he couldnot win there, and which he had been forced to turn his back on.
Bremerhaven to Southampton; Southampton to Sandy Hook, as he had toldhis mother; and, in ten days altogether, the ocean steamer he travelledin, one of the North German line, had landed him safely in New York.
Seven years before, when he would have reached the "Empire City" duringthe height of the Secession War, he might have sold himself to a "bountyjumper," as the enlisting agents of the northern army were termed, for anice little sum in "greenback" dollars; now, he found sharpers, or"confidence men," ready to "sell" him in a similar way--only, that theformer rogues would have been satisfied with nothing less than his bodyand life, as an emigrant recruit for Grant or Sherman's force; while thepresent set cared but for his cash, seeking the same with ravenous mawalmost as soon as he had landed at Castle Garden!
Fritz had taken a steerage passage, so as to save money; and, beingdressed in shabby clothes, in keeping with his third-class ticket, theloafers about the Battery, at the end of Manhattan Island, on which thetown of New York is built, thought he was merely an ignorant Germanpeasant whom they might easily impose on. They, however, soon foundthat he had not been campaigning six months for nothing, and so theirefforts at getting him to part with the little capital he had werepretty well thrown away--especially as Fritz, in his anxiety to findsome work to do at once, did not "let the grass grow under his feet,"but proceeded up Broadway instead of wasting his time by lounging in thevicinity of the emigrant depot, as the majority of his countrymengenerally do, apparently in the expectation that employment will come insearch of them.
Still, he soon discovered that New York was overstocked with just thespecies of labour he was able to supply.
Of course, if he had been at the pitch of desperation, he might havefound a job of some sort to his hand; but, writing and speaking Englishand French fluently in addition to his native tongue, besides being agood correspondent and book-keeper, he did not feel disposed to throwaway his talents on mere manual labour. He had emigrated to "make hisfortune," or, at all events, to achieve a position in which he couldhope to build up a home for the dear ones left behind at Lubeck; andthere would not be much chance of his accomplishing this by engaginghimself out as a day labourer--to assist some skilled carpenter orbricklayer--which was the only work offered him.
"No, sir; nary an opening here!" was the constant reply he met with atevery merchant's office he entered from Wall Street upwards alongBroadway until he came to Canal Street; when, finding the shops, or"stores" as the Americans call them, going more in the "dry goods" orhaberdashery line, he wended his way back again "down town,"investigating the various establishments lying between the mainthoroughfare and the North and East rivers, hoping to find a situationvacant in one of the shipping houses thereabouts.
But, "No, sir; all filled up, I guess," was still the stereotypedresponse to his applications, with much emphasis on the "sir"--themajority of the Manhattanese uttering this word, as Fritz thought, in ahighly indignant tone, although, as he discovered later on, this was thegeneral pronunciation adopted throughout the States.
"I suppose," he said to one gentleman he asked, and who was, it seemedto Fritz, the master, or "boss," of the establishment, from the fact ofhis lounging back in a rocking chair contiguous to his des
k, andbalancing his feet instead of his hands on the latter,--"I suppose it'sbecause I can give no references to former employers here, that all themen I speak to invariably decline my services?"
"No, sirree; I reckon not," was the reply. "Guess we don't care a cusswhere you come from. We take a man as we find him, for just what he isworth, without minding what he might have been in the old country, orbothering other folks for his ka-racter, you bet! I reckon, mister,you'd better start right away out West if you want work. Book-keepersand sich-like are played out haar; we're filled up to bustin' with 'em,I guess!"
It was good advice probably; but, still, Fritz did not care to act uponit. Having been accustomed all his life to the shipping trade, hewished to find some opening in that special branch of business; and, ifhe went inland to Chicago or elsewhere, he thought, he would beabandoning his chances for securing the very sort of work he preferredto have. Besides, going away from the neighbourhood of ships and quaysand the sea would be like cutting adrift every old association withLubeck and Europe; while, in addition, he had directed his letters fromhome to be sent to the "Poste Restante, New York," and if he left thatcity, why he would never hear how Madaleine and his mother were gettingon in his absence!
So, for days and days he patrolled the town in vain; seeking for work,and finding none. The place, as his candid informer had said, wasfilled with clerks like himself in search of employment; and they,linguists especially, were a drug in the market--the cessation of theFranco-German War having flooded the country with foreign labour.
What should he do?
Before making a move, as everybody advised him, he determined to awaitthe next mail steamer. This would bring him a letter from home, inanswer to the one he had written, immediately on landing, telling of hissafe arrival in the New World. He was dying to have, if only, a linefrom those dear ones he had left with a good-bye in the Gulden Strasse,recounting all that had happened since he had started from home--hispassage across the Atlantic having lasted, according to his morbidimagination, at least as long as the war he had lately served through!
At last, a letter came; and, as it really put fresh heart in him--cheering up his drooping energies and banishing a sort of despondentfeeling which had begun to prey upon him, altering him completely fromhis former buoyant self--he made up his mind in his old prompt fashionto visit some of the other seaports on the coast, "Down East," asAmericans say, in order to try whether he might not be able there to geta billet.
He had very little money left now; for, he had not brought much with himfrom home, originally and the greater part of what he had in his pocketswhen he came ashore had melted away in paying for his board and lodgingwhile remaining in New York. Although he had put up at the cheapestboarding-house he could find, it was far dearer than the most expensiveaccommodation in Lubeck or even at a first-class hotel in any large townon the Continent. Living in such a city was actually like eating hardcash!
Fritz saw that he would have to proceed on his journey along the coastas cheaply as possible:-- he had not much to spare for railway andsteamboat fares.
With this resolution staring him in the face, he made his way oneafternoon to the foot of Canal Street, from the quays facing which, onthe North River, start the huge floating palaces of steamers thatnavigate the waters of Long Island Sound--visiting on their way thoseNew England States where, it may be recollected, the Pilgrim Fatherslanded after their voyage in the _Mayflower_, of historic renown, acouple of odd centuries ago.
One of these vessels had "Providence" marked on her; and the name atonce arrested the attention of Fritz.
"Himmel!" he said to himself, with a superstitious sort of feeling likethat which he used to ridicule in old Lorischen when she read omens inMouser's attitudes and cat language of a night--"this looks lucky;perhaps providence is going to interpose on my behalf, and relieve mefrom all the misery and anxiety I'm suffering! At all events, I will goon board and see where the steamer is bound for."
No sooner said than done.
Fritz stepped on to the gangway; and, quickly gaining the vessel, askedone of the deck hands he saw forward where she was going to.
"Ha-o-ow?" repeated the man--meaning "what?"
"Where are you bound for?" said Fritz again.
"Providence, Rhode Island, I guess, mister. Can't ye see it writ up?"
"And where's that?" further inquired Fritz.
"New England way, I reckon, whar I wer raised."
"Any ships or shipping trade there?"
The man laughed out heartily.
"Jerusalem, that's prime, anyhow!" he exclaimed. "Any ships atProvidence? Why, you might as well ask if thar wer any fish in the sea!Thar are heaps and heaps on 'em up to Rhode Island, mister, from ascoop up to a whaler; so I guess we can fix you up slick if you comeaboard!"
"All right, I will," said Fritz; "that is, if the fare is not too high."
"Guess two-fifty won't break you, hey?" responded the deck hand, meaningtwo-and-a-half dollars.
"No," said Fritz; "I think I can manage that. What time do you start?"
"Five o'clock sharp."
"That will just give me time to fetch my valise," said Fritz, thinkingaloud.
"Where away is that?" asked the man.
"Chatham Street," answered Fritz, "just below the town hall."
"Oh, I know, mister, well enough whar Chatham Street is! Yes, you'llhave plenty of time if you look smart."
"Thank you, I will," said Fritz; and, going back to the boarding-housewhere he had been stopping, he soon returned to the quay with the littlevalise that carried all his impedimenta--reaching the steamer just inthe nick of time as she was casting off.
As he jumped on to her deck, the gangway was withdrawn.
"All aboard?" sang out the captain from the pilot-house on the hurricanedeck.
"Aye, aye, all aboard," was the response from Fritz's friend the deckhand, who, with only a red flannel shirt on and a pair of checktrousers--very unsailorlike in appearance altogether--stood in the bows.
"Then fire away and let her rip!" came the reply from the captain above,followed by the tinkle of an electric bell in the engine-room, thesteamer's paddles revolving with a splash the moment afterwards andurging her on her watery way.
Round the Battery at Manhattan Point she glided, and up the East Riverthrough Hell Gate into Long Island Sound--one of the most shelteredchannels in the world, and more like a lake or lagoon than an arm of thesea--leaving a broad wake of creamy green foam behind her like a mill-race, and quivering from stem to stern with every revolution of hershaft, with every throb of her high-pressure engines!
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