March in the crowded steerage of an immigrant ship does not know
what hardships are. I bless the stars that the immigration laws were
different then than they are now, otherwise I should not be among the
living. To stand the great hardships of a stormy sea when the rosy
picture of the promised land is before your mind’s eye is a severe
test for any boy’s nerve and physical stamina; but to face the same
hardships as a deported and penniless immigrant with no cheering
prospect in sight is too much for any person, unless that person is
entirely devoid of every finer sensibility. Many a night I spent on the
deck of that immigrant ship hugging the warm smoke-stack and adjusting
my position so as to avoid the force of the gale and the sharpness of
its icy chilliness. All I had was the light suit of clothes which I
carried on my back. Everything else I had converted into money with
which to cover my transportation expenses. There was nothing left
to pay for a blanket and mattress for my steerage bunk. I could not
rest there during the cold nights of March without much shivering and
unbearable discomfort. If it had not been for the warm smoke-stack I
should have died of cold. At first I had to fight for my place there
in the daytime, but when the immigrants understood that I had no warm
clothing they did not disturb me any longer. I often thought of my
yellow sheepskin coat and the black sheepskin cap, and understood
more clearly than ever my mother’s far-sightedness when she provided
that coat and cap for my long journeys. A blast of the everlasting
gales had carried away my hat, and a Turkish fez such as the Serbs of
Bosnia wear was the only head-gear I had. It was providential that I
had not succeeded in selling it in Prague. Most of my fellow emigrants
thought that I was a Turk and cared little about my discomforts. But,
nevertheless, I felt quite brave and strong in the daytime; at night,
however, when, standing alone alongside of the smoke-stack, I beheld
through the howling darkness the white rims of the mountain-high waves
speeding on like maddened dragons toward the tumbling ship, my heart
sank low. It was my implicit trust in God and in his regard for my
mother’s prayers which enabled me to overcome my fear and bravely face
the horrors of the angry seas.
* * * * *
On the fourteenth day, early in the morning, the flat coast-line of
Long Island hove in sight. Nobody in the motley crowd of excited
immigrants was more happy to see the promised land than I was. It was
a clear, mild, and sunny March morning, and as we approached New York
Harbor the warm sun-rays seemed to thaw out the chilliness which I had
accumulated in my body by continuous exposure to the wintry blasts
of the North Atlantic. I felt like a new person, and saw in every
new scene presented by the New World as the ship moved into it a new
promise that I should be welcome. Life and activity kept blossoming
out all along the ship’s course, and seemed to reach full bloom as we
entered New York Harbor. The scene which was then unfolded before my
eyes was most novel and bewildering. The first impressions of Budapest
and of Prague seemed like pale-faced images of the grand realities
which New York Harbor disclosed before my eager eyes. A countless
multitude of boats lined each shore of the vast river; all kinds of
craft ploughed hurriedly in every direction through the waters of the
bay; great masses of people crowded the numerous ferry-boats, and gave
me the impression that one crowd was just about as anxious to reach
one shore of the huge metropolis as the other was to reach the other
shore; they all must have had some important thing to do, I thought.
The city on each side of the shore seemed to throb with activity. I did
not distinguish between New York and Jersey City. Hundreds of other
spots like the one I beheld, I thought, must be scattered over the vast
territories of the United States, and in these seething pots of human
action there must be some one activity, I was certain, which needed me.
This gave me courage. The talk which I had listened to during two weeks
on the immigrant ship was rather discouraging, I thought. One immigrant
was bragging about his long experience as a cabinetmaker, and informed
his audience that cabinetmakers were in great demand in America;
another one was telling long tales about his skill as a mechanician; a
third one was spinning out long yarns about the fabulous agricultural
successes of his relatives out West, who had invited him to come there
and join them; a fourth confided to the gaping crowd that his brother,
who was anxiously waiting for him, had a most prosperous bank in some
rich mining-camp in Nevada where people never saw any money except
silver and gold and hardly ever a coin smaller than a dollar; a fifth
one, who had been in America before, told us in a rather top-lofty way
that no matter who you were or what you knew or what you had you would
be a greenhorn when you landed in the New World, and a greenhorn has
to serve his apprenticeship before he can establish his claim to any
recognition. He admitted, however, that immigrants with a previous
practical training, or strong pull through relatives and friends, had
a shorter apprenticeship. I had no practical training, and I had no
relatives nor friends nor even acquaintances in the New World. I had
nothing of any immediate value to offer to the land I was about to
enter. That thought had discouraged me as I listened to the talks of
the immigrants; but the activity which New York Harbor presented to my
eager eyes on that sunny March day was most encouraging.
Presently the ship passed by Castle Garden, and I heard some one say:
“There is the Gate to America.” An hour or so later we all stood
at the gate. The immigrant ship, _Westphalia_, landed at Hoboken
and a tug took us to Castle Garden. We were carefully examined and
cross-examined, and when my turn came the examining officials shook
their heads and seemed to find me wanting. I confessed that I had only
five cents in my pocket and had no relatives here, and that I knew of
nobody in this country except Franklin, Lincoln, and Harriet Beecher
St owe, whose “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” I had read in a translation. One of
the officials, who had one leg only, and walked with a crutch, seemed
much impressed by this remark, and looking very kindly into my eyes
and with a merry twinkle in his eye he said in German: “You showed
good taste when you picked your American acquaintances.” I learned
later that he was a Swiss who had served in the Union army during the
Civil War. I confessed also to the examining officials that I had no
training in the arts and crafts, but that I was anxious to learn, and
that this desire had brought me to America. In answer to the question
why I had not stayed at home or in Prague to learn instead of wandering
across the sea with so little on my back and nothing in my pocket, I
said that the Hungarian and Austrian authorities had formed a strong
prejudice against me on account of my sympathies with people, and
particularly with my father, who objected to being cheated out of
their ancient rights and privileges which the emperor had guaranteed
to them for services which they had been rendering to him loyally
for nearly two hundred years. I spoke with feeling, and I felt that
I made an impression upon the examiners, who did not look to me like
officials such as I was accustomed to see in Austria-Hungary. They had
no gold and silver braid and no superior airs but looked very much like
ordinary civilian mortals. That gave me courage and confidence, and I
spoke frankly and fearlessly, believing firmly that I was addressing
human beings who had a heart which was not held in bondage by cast-iron
rules invented by their superiors in authority. The Swiss veteran who
walked on crutches, having lost one of his legs in the Civil War, was
particularly attentive while I was being cross-examined, and nodded
approvingly whenever I scored a point with my answers. He whispered
something to the other officials, and they finally informed me that
I could pass on, and I was conducted promptly to the Labor Bureau
of Castle Garden. My Swiss friend looked me up a little later and
informed me that the examiners had made an exception in my favor and
admitted me, and that I must look sharp and find a job as soon as
possible.
* * * * *
As I sat in the Labor Bureau waiting for somebody to come along and
pick me out as a worthy candidate for some job, I could not help
surveying those of my fellow immigrants who, like myself, sat there
waiting for a job. I really believed that they were in a class below
me, and yet they had had no trouble in being admitted. They had not
needed favors on the part of the officials in order to be admitted.
I had, and therefore, I inferred, they must have appeared to the
officials to be more desirable. It was true, I said, arguing with
myself, that they had a definite trade; they undoubtedly had some
money; and they certainly looked more prosperous than I did, judging
by their clothes. But why should the possession of a trade, of money,
or of clothes stand so much higher in America than it did in Idvor,
my native village? We had a blacksmith, a wheelwright, and a barber
in Idvor; they were our craftsmen; and we had a Greek storekeeper who
had a lot of money and wore expensive city-made clothes, but there
was not one respectable Serb peasant in Idvor, no matter how poor,
who did not think that he was superior to these people who had only
a transient existence in our historic village. The knowledge of our
traditions and our implicit belief in them made us feel superior
to people who wandered about like gypsies with no traditions, and
with nothing to anchor them to a definite place. A newcomer to our
village was closely scrutinized, and he was judged not so much by his
skill in a craft, nor by his money, nor by his clothes, but by his
personality, by the reputation of his family, and by the traditions of
the people to whom he belonged. The examiners at Castle Garden seemed
to attach no importance to these things, because they did not ask me
a single question concerning my family, the history of my village,
or the history of the military frontier and of the Serb race. It was
no wonder, said I, consoling myself, that I appeared to them less
desirable than many of the other immigrants who would never have been
allowed to settle in Idvor, and whose society on the immigrant ship had
interested me so little, and, in fact, had often been repulsive to me,
because I could not help considering many of them a sort of spiritual
muckers. My admission by a special favor of the examiners was a puzzle
and a disappointment to me, but it did not destroy the firmness of my
belief that I brought to America something which the examiners were
either unable or did not care to find out, but which, nevertheless, I
valued very highly, and that was: a knowledge of and a profound respect
and admiration for the best traditions of my race. My mother and the
illiterate peasants at the neighborhood gatherings in Idvor had taught
me that; no other lesson had ever made a deeper impression upon me.
II
THE HARDSHIPS OF A GREENHORN
My first night under the Stars and Stripes was spent in Castle Garden.
It was a glorious night, I thought; no howling of the gales, no
crashing of the waves, and no tumbling motion of the world beneath my
feet, such as I had experienced on the immigrant ship. The feeling of
being on _terra firma_ sank deep into my consciousness and I slept the
sound sleep of a healthy youth, although my bed was a bare floor. The
very early morning saw me at my breakfast, enjoying a huge bowl of
hot coffee and a big chunk of bread with some butter, supplied by the
Castle Garden authorities at Uncle Sam’s expense. Then I started out,
eager to catch a glimpse of great New York, feeling, in the words of
the psalmist, “as a strong man ready to run a race.” An old lady sat
near the gate of Castle Garden offering cakes and candies for sale.
A piece of prune pie caught my eye, and no true Serb can resist the
allurements of prunes. It is a national sweetmeat. I bought it, paying
five cents for it, the only money I had, and then I made a bee-line
across Battery Park, at the same time attending to my pie. My first
bargain in America proved a failure. The prune pie was a deception;
it was a prune pie filled with prune pits, and I thought of the words
of my fellow passenger on the immigrant ship who had said: “No matter
who you are or what you know or what you have you will be a greenhorn
when you land in America.” The prune-pie transaction whispered into
my ear: “Michael, you are a greenhorn; this is the first experience
in your life as a greenhorn. Cheer up! Get ready to serve your
apprenticeship as a greenhorn before you can establish your claim to
any recognition,” repeating the words of my prophetic fellow passenger
who had served his apprenticeship in America. No prophet ever uttered a
truer word.
The old Stevens House, a white building with green window-shutters,
stood at the corner of Broadway and Bowling Green. When I reached
this spot and saw the busy beehive called Broadway, with thousands
of telegraph-wires stretching across it like a cobweb between huge
buildings, I was overawed, and wondered what it meant. Neither
Budapest, nor Prague, nor Hamburg had looked anything like it. My
puzzled and panicky expression and the red fez on my head must have
attracted considerable attention, because suddenly I saw myself
surrounded by a small crowd of boys of all sizes, jeering and laughing
and pointing at my fez. They were newsboys and bootblacks, who appeared
to be anxious to have some fun at my expense. I was embarrassed and
much provoked, but controlled my Serbian temper. Presently one of the
bigger fellows walked up to me and knocked the fez off my head. I
punched him on the nose and then we clinched. My wrestling experiences
on the pasturelands of Idvor came to my rescue. The bully was down in a
jiffy, and his chums gave a loud cheer of ringing laughter. I thought
it was a signal for general attack, but they did not touch me nor
interfere in any way. They acted like impartial spectators, anxious to
see that the best man won. Suddenly I felt a powerful hand pulling me
up by the collar, and when I looked up I saw a big official with a club
in his hand and a fierce expression in his eye. He looked decidedly
unfriendly, but after listening to the appeals of the newsboys and
bootblacks who witnessed the fight he softened and handed me my fez.
The boys who a little while before had jeered and tried to guy me,
evidently appealed in my behalf when the policeman interfered. They
had actually become my friends. When I walked away toward Castle
Garden, with my red fez proudly cocked up on my head, the boys cheered.
I thought to myself that the unpleasant incident was worth my while,
because it taught me that I was in a country where even among the
street urchins there was a strong sentiment in favor of fair play even
to a Serbian greenhorn. America was different from Austria-Hungary.
I never forgot the lesson and never had a single reason to change my
opinion.
A gentleman who had witnessed the fight joined me on my return trip to
Castle Garden, and when we reached the employment bureau he offered
me a job. When I learned that one of my daily duties would be to
milk a cow, I refused. According to Serb traditions, milking a cow
is decidedly a feminine job. Another gentleman, a Swiss foreman on a
Delaware farm, offered me another job, which was to drive a team of
mules and help in the work of hauling things to the field preparatory
for spring planting. I accepted gladly, feeling confident that I knew
all about driving animals, although I had never even seen a mule in
all my experiences in Idvor. We left for Philadelphia that forenoon
and caught there the early afternoon boat for Delaware City, where we
arrived late in the afternoon.
As we passed through Philadelphia I asked the Swiss foreman whether
that was the place where a hundred years before famous Benjamin
Franklin flew his kite, and he answered that he had never heard of
the gentleman, and that I must have meant William Penn. “No,” said I,
“because I never heard of this gentleman.” “You have still to learn a
thing or two about American history,” said the Swiss foreman, with a
superior air. “Yes, indeed,” I said, “and I intend to do it as soon
as I have learned a thing or two about the English language”; and I
wondered whether the Swiss foreman who had never heard of Benjamin
Franklin and his kite had really learned a thing or two in American
history, although he had lived some fifteen years in the United States.
There were quite a number of farmers on the Delaware boat, every one
of them wearing a long goatee but no mustache; such was the fashion
at that time. Every one of them had the brim of his slouch hat turned
down, covering his eyes completely. As they conversed they looked
like wooden images; they made no gestures and I could not catch the
expression of their hidden eyes; without these powerful aids to
the understanding of the spoken word I could not make out a single
syllable in their speech. The English language sounded to me like an
inarticulate mode of speech, just as inarticulate as the joints of
those imperturbable Delaware farmers. I wondered whether I should ever
succeed in learning a thing or two in this most peculiar tongue. I
thought of the peasants at the neighborhood gatherings in Idvor, and of
their winged words, each of which found its way straight into my soul.
There also appeared before my mental vision the image of Baba Batikin,
with fire in his eye and a vibratory movement of his hand accompanying
his stirring tales of Prince Marko. How different and how superior
those peasants of Idvor appeared to me when I compared them with the
farmers on that Delaware boat! “Impossible,” said I, “that a Serb
peasant should be so much superior to the American peasant!” Something
wrong with my judgment, thought I, and I charged it to my being a
greenhorn and unable to size up an American farmer.
At the boat-landing in Delaware City a farm-wagon was awaiting us, and
we reached the farm at supper-time. The farm-buildings were fully a
mile from the town, standing all by themselves; there was no village
and there were no neighbors, and the place looked to me like a camp.
There was no village life among American farmers, I was told, and
I understood then why those farmers on the Delaware boat were so
devoid of all animation. The farm-hands were all young fellows, but
considerably older than myself, and when the foreman introduced me to
them, by my Christian name, I found that most of them spoke German with
a Swiss accent, the same which the foreman had who brought me from New
York. One of them asked me how long I had been in the country, and when
I told him that I was about twenty-four hours in the country, he smiled
and said that he thought so, evidently on account of the unmistakable
signs of a greenhorn which he saw all over me.
The first impression of an American farm was dismal. In the messroom,
however, where supper was served, everything was neat and lovely, and
the supper looked to me like a holiday feast. I became more reconciled
to the American farm. The farm-hands ate much and spoke very little,
and when they finished they left the dining-room without any ceremony.
I was left alone, and moved my chair close to a warm stove and waited
for somebody to tell me what to do next. Presently two women came in
and proceeded to clear the supper-table; they spoke English and seemed
to pay no attention to me. They probably thought that I was homesick
and avoided disturbing me. Presently I saw a young girl, somewhat
younger than myself. She pretended to be helping the women, but I soon
discovered that she had another mission. Her appearance reminded me of
a young Vila, a Serbian fairy, who in the old Serbian ballads plays a
most wonderful part. No hero ever perished through misfortune who had
the good fortune to win the friendship of a Vila. Supernatural both in
intelligence and in physical skill, the Vilæ could always find a way
out of every difficulty. I felt certain that if there ever was a Vila
this young girl was one. Her luminous blue eyes, her finely chiselled
features, and her graceful movements made a strange impression upon me.
I imagined that she could hear the faintest sound, that she could see
in the darkest night, and that, like a real Vila, she could feel not
only the faintest breezes but even the thoughts of people near her.
She certainly felt my thoughts. Pointing to a table in a corner of the
dining-room, she directed my attention to writing-paper and ink, placed
there for the convenience of farm-hands. I understood her meaning,
although I did not understand her words. I spent the evening writing a
letter to my mother. This was my wish, and the Vila must have read it
in my face.
One of the farm-hands, a Swiss, came in after a while in order to
remind me that it was bedtime and to inform me that early in the
morning he would wake me up and take me to the barn, where my job would
be assigned to me. He kept his word, and with lantern in hand he took
me long before sunrise to the barn and introduced me to two mules which
he put in my charge. I cleaned them and fed them while he watched and
directed; after breakfast he showed me how to harness and hitch them
up. I took my turn in the line of teams hauling manure to the fields.
He warned me not to apply myself too zealously to the work of loading
and unloading, until I had become gradually broken in, otherwise I
should be laid up stiff as a rod. The next day I was laid up, stiffer
than a rod. He was much provoked, and called me the worst “greenhorn”
that he ever saw. But, thanks to the skilled and tender care of the
ladies on the farm, I was at my job again two days later. My being a
greenhorn appealed to their sympathy; they seemed to have the same kind
of soul which I had first observed in my American friends who paid my
fare from Vienna to Prague.
One of my mules gave me much trouble, and the more he worried me the
more amusement he seemed to furnish to the other farm-hands, rough
immigrants of foreign birth. He did not bite, nor did he kick, as
some of the mules did, but he protested violently against my putting
the bridle on his head. The other farm-hands had no advice to offer;
they seemed to enjoy my perplexity. I soon discovered that the
troublesome mule could not stand anybody touching his ears. That was
his ticklish spot. I finally got around it; I never took his bridle off
on working-days, but only removed the bit, so that he could eat. On
Sunday mornings, however, when I had all the time I wanted, I took his
bridle off, cleaned it, and put it on, and did not remove it again for
another week. The foreman and the superintendent discovered my trick
and approved of it, and so the farm-hands lost the amusement which they
had had at my expense every morning at the harnessing hour. I noticed
that they were impressed by my trick and did not address me by the name
of greenhorn quite so often. They were also surprised to hear me make
successful attempts to speak English. Nothing counts so much in the
immigrant’s bid for promotion to a grade above that of a greenhorn as
the knowledge of the English language. In these efforts I received a
most unexpected assistance, and for that I was much indebted to my red
fez.
On every trip from the barnyard to the fields, my mules and I passed
by the superintendent’s quarters, and there behind the wall of neatly
piled-up cord-wood I observed every now and then the golden curls of my
American Vila. She cautiously watched there, just like a Serbian Vila
at the edge of a forest. My red fez perched up on a high seat behind
the mules obviously attracted and amused her. Whenever I caught her eye
I saluted in regular Balkan fashion, and it was a salute such as she
had never seen before in the State of Delaware. Her curiosity seemed to
grow from day to day, and so did mine.
One evening I sat alone near the warm stove in the messroom and she
came in and said: “Good evening!” I answered by repeating her greeting,
but pronounced it badly. She corrected me, and, when I repeated her
greeting the second time, I did much better, and she applauded my
genuine effort. Then she proceeded to teach me English words for
everything in the dining-room, and before that first lesson was over I
knew some twenty English words and pronounced them to her satisfaction.
The next day I repeated these words aloud over and over again during
my trips to the fields, until I thought that even the mules knew them
by heart. At the second lesson on the following evening I scored a
high mark from my teacher and added twenty more words to my English
vocabulary. As time went on, my vocabulary increased at a rapid rate,
and my young teacher was most enthusiastic. She called me “smart,”
and I never forgot the word. One evening she brought in her mother,
who two weeks previously had taken care of me when I was laid up from
overzealous loading. At that time she could not make me understand a
single word she said. This time, however, I had no difficulty, and she
was greatly surprised and pleased. My first examination in English was
a complete success.