work, work. Go America. Not work much, yah?”
The others stared, first at Thomas, then each other. Then they broke down in howls of laughter.
“You slave in Germany?” asked the Pole.
“No. I…”
“You slave now. Five years.”
The laughing returned. Thomas blushed as he stifled his anger, which had led to his exodus. He had resolved to not come to blows ever again for fear of killing another. To do so he knew that his consumption of beer now would have to be minimal. Having regained his composure, he tried at least to identify with one of them.
“In France, you say, C’ la…?” Thomas gestured for help.
“C’est la vie!” The Frenchman exulted. “How say in German?”
Thomas thought. “Mach nichts.”
The Pole remembered the phrase as being one that his neighbor had used often. A transplanted Jew from Germany, the neighbor had repeated it until it became a greeting between them. Both thought it helped them face down life’s turmoil, especially the trouble that being Jewish seemed to ensure was their lot.
“Mox nix!” He elbowed Thomas.
Thomas grinned. He cared little that his companion had mispronounced the phrase that meant, “It matters not.”
What was important was to be able to relate to the two whom he had met only a week ago. Socially awkward as a child, Thomas had withdrawn ever further from others as they teased him for having parents from two different religious traditions. He now feared that he might not be able to adapt to the societal norms of America. He also feared that teasing would make his anger boil over as it had at school. The most vicious of the taunts that had been slung resurfaced in his mind:
“Do you know which saint Thomas prays to?”
“Saint Martin Luther.”
“Ha, ha, ha. Listen. Why did Thomas nail his homework on the schoolhouse door?”
“Why?”
“Because he was pretending to be a carpenter.”
Guffawing and hooting had followed. Then another had piped up.
“Why did the teacher say the homework Thomas nailed to the door was terrible?”
“Tell us!”
“Because instead of attacking the Catholics, the paper attacked Lutherans!”
Remembering his pain only caused him to withdraw whenever he was the butt of jokes now. Thomas sought to focus on his future. After serving his indentured servitude, he planned to move to a large city. His journeys to Munich had been fun; his short time in Rotterdam had enthralled him. The smells, differently dressed people, buildings, and sounds of the port city remained etched in his mind; he knew that only another large port city in America would be adequate for him.
Even though he would be isolated from his dream because of having to labor on a farm he planned to learn about his future options by study and inquiry. Therefore he spent hours studying the map of America given to him by Arnold. Next, he made a list of possible ports that he could eventually move to: Portland, Portsmouth, Boston, Providence, New Haven, Bridgeport, Stanford, New York, Philadelphia, either one of two Wilmington’s, Baltimore, Washington, Norfolk, Charleston, Savannah, Jacksonville. He needed help to shorten his list. After much searching Thomas found a passenger who had lived in America for 29 years and spoke German. This acquaintance graciously instructed Thomas on what to expect once they docked. More importantly for Thomas he helped to pare the long list down to three possibilities.
“Well I imagine you want to live in a state. You see the land where Jacksonville is isn’t a state yet.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. It is still quite a wild place. The mosquitoes there are as big as birds, the alligators eat anyone foolish enough to go near the waters inland, the sharks do the same to those who swim in the ocean, and the Indians…”
Thomas’ eyes grew wider as the descriptions unfolded. Then his mentor smiled.
“Do you remember Baron von Munchhausen?”
“That fraud? I remember he said he single handedly defeated the National Assembly during the French Revolution and that he saved Marie Antoinette.” Thomas chuckled as he recalled the baron’s wild tales. “And that he killed monsters and flew threw the air on cannonballs.”
“Yes. Let me warn you, Thomas.”
Thomas stopped laughing.
“In America there are those who would make the baron’s adventures sound boring.”
“What?”
“Many Americans like to exaggerate. Especially the politicians. The lies they tell make the Baron look honest.”
“What do they say?”
“That if they are elected they will change everything to what people are wanting. The worst of them love to continue to blame everything on those who were in office before they were elected. They especially try to get new immigrants to vote for them. To hear them speak you would think they are God. You know how they win office?”
“No.”
“By feeding our hopes with impossible nonsense that they never intend to do. They lie better even than the Baron.”
“It is that bad?”
“I’m afraid it is. Anyway, what I said about East Florida is mostly true. Except the mosquitoes aren’t as big as birds.”
“What about the Indians?”
“The Seminoles are a fierce tribe. They wrestle alligators for sport.”
“You’re beginning to sound like Baron…”
He grinned. “That’s the problem with living in America. There are so many parts that remain mysterious.”
“So should I take Jacksonville off the list?”
“Yes. Do you like hot weather?”
“How hot?”
“Very hot. Some of the cities on your list can be over 100 degrees in the summer.”
“Is it desert there?”
“No. I have traveled to Savannah and Charleston in the summer. It felt as if the air was made of water. You can’t cool off.”
“Please.” Thomas motioned for the list. He then crossed off the names of the three cities that were southernmost.
“Do you want to live in a large or small city?”
“A large one, of course. I liked Rotterdam.”
“Hmmm, how many cities would you like to shorten your list to?”
“I think three. You are wise like my grandfather. Please choose three for me.”
“New York.” He waited as Thomas circled that city on his list. “Boston.” He hesitated as he struggled to name the third. “How about Philadelphia?”
Thomas finished marking his list. “Thank you.”
“Please wait here. I have something to help you.”
Thomas watched as the man walked to his cabin, which was one of the ship’s few first-class lodgings. He wondered if someday he also might travel with such accommodations. Such daydreams made the present more tolerable. The cramped room that Thomas stayed in housed four others as well; it was built for two. Those who traveled below deck, emigrants from Russia and Europe who paid the lowest fare, risked not completing the voyage. Smallpox, typhus, dysentery, and other diseases thinned their ranks on many voyages. Their tight quarters ensured that infections spread easily and rapidly. Thomas stood when the man returned and thrust a book toward him.
Thomas took the well-worn book. “What’s this?”
“One part of it translates German words into English. The other part translates English words into German. It is yours.”
Thomas clutched the book as if it were gold. “Thank you, thank you. I don’t have enough money to buy such a book.”
“And here is my card. I own a store that specializes in German foods and drinks in New York. I have to return to it after we finish our holiday. If New York is your choice five years from now come visit me, please. I will give you a job.”
Thomas took the card and read it. “My mother must be praying for me. I can’t believe my good luck.”
When the ship docked in New York, the indentured servants learned that they had the same final destination. All Arn
old had told each of them was to look for a man holding a sign with his name on it. They were surprised to see only one man holding a sign that read: “Mr. Arnold Thompson’s indentured servants.” They were even more startled by the appearance of the one who met them. He looked to be about their age and dressed in currently fashionable attire complete with hat. His skin was ebony as his African ancestors’ had been. He waited until all three had gathered around him before speaking.
“All of you alls sent by Mr. Thompson?”
They nodded.
“Welcome to America. I be James.” He held out his hand toward them and shook each one of theirs.
“I Dominic.”
“I Thomas.”
“I Andre.”
“Sounds like good names to me. Let’s hope them government peoples we has to talk to thinks the same. They get fussy sometimes.”
“Hello, James.” The ship’s first mate strode toward him. “Here’s their contracts.”
James took the documents. “How’s the voyage this time around?”
“Not bad, really. Only three passengers died on the way over. Buried them at sea.”
James studied the contracts. “Okay, Mr. Latour, Mr. Feldman, and Mr. Schmidt. Let’s mosey on over to the government peoples and get you all signed up.”
He led his charges to the immigration office. The ground seemed to move under the departed passengers’ feet even though James’ gait appeared to be normal. They held out their arms to steady themselves.
“Is the earth moving?” asked Andre.
“Nope. Your body be feelin’ likes it still be back at sea,” James explained. “You all gets over it in a few days.”
Four hours later James led them back out of the immigration office and to their waiting wagon. He fed the two horses an apple and three carrots
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