Fritz was as prompt in action as he was rapid in resolve; so in a few
days after he had imparted to Madaleine and his mother his intention of
emigrating to America, his last good-byes were exchanged with the little
household in the Gulden Strasse--not forgetting the faithful Gelert, now
domiciled in the family, whom it was impossible to take with him on
account of the expense and trouble his transit would have occasioned,
besides which, the good doggie would be ever so much better looked after
by those left behind and would serve "as a sort of pledge," Fritz told
Madaleine, "of his master's return!"
Yes, within a week at the outside, he had left Lubeck once more, and was
on his way to that western "land of the free" which Henry Russell the
ballad writer, has sung of:-- where the "mighty Missouri rolls down to
the sea," and where imperial autocrats and conscription are undreamt
of--although, not so very, very many years ago, it was convulsed in the
throes of a civil war which could boast of as gigantic struggles between
hostile forces and as terrible and bloodthirsty battles as those which
had characterised that Franco-German campaign, in which Fritz had but so
recently participated and been heartily sick of before it terminated!
The love of colonisation seems to be the controlling spirit of modern
times.
Some sceptics in the truth of historical accuracy, have whispered their
suspicions that, the "New World" was actually discovered at a date long
anterior to the age of Columbus; but, even allowing that there might be
some stray scrap of fact for this assertion, it may be taken for granted
that the first nucleus of our present system of emigration, from the
older continent to the "new" one, originated in the little band of
thirty-nine men left behind him by Christopher in Hispaniola, at the
close of his first "voyage beyond seas," in the year 1493, or
thereabouts. This small settlement failed, as is well-known, and the
bones of the Genoese mariner who founded it have been mouldering in dust
for centuries. Sir Walter Raleigh--the gallant imitator of Columbus,
treading so successfully in his footsteps as to illustrate the old adage
of the pupil excelling the master, the original expounder, indeed, of
the famous "Westwards Ho!" doctrine since preached so ably by latter-day
enthusiasts--has also departed to that bourne from whence no traveller
returns. So have, likewise, a host of others, possessing names proudly
borne on the chronicle of fame as martyrs to the universal spread of
discovery and spirit of progress. But, the love of enterprise, and
consequent expansion of civilisation and commercial venture, inaugurated
by the brave old pioneers of Queen Elizabeth's day, have not ceased to
impel similar seekers after something beyond ordinary humdrum life. The
path of discovery, although narrowed through research, has not yet been
entirely exhausted; for "fresh fields and pastures new," as hopeful as
those about which Milton rhapsodised and as plenteously flowing with
typical milk and honey as the promised land of the Israelites, are being
continually opened up and offered to the oppressed and pauperised
populations of Europe. Thus, the tide of emigration, swelled from the
tiny ocean-drop which marked its first inception more than three hundred
years ago to its present torrentine proportions and bearing away
frequently entire nationalities on its bosom, still flows from the east
to the west, tracing the progress of civilisation from its Alpha to its
Omega, as steadily as when it originally began--aye, and as it will
continue to flow on, until the entire habitable globe shall be peopled
as with one family by the intermixture and association of alien races!
It is curious how this migratory spirit has permeated through the odd
corners of the old world, leading the natives of different countries to
flock like sheep to every freshly spoken of colony; and how, by such
means, Englishmen, Celts, Germans, French, Hollanders, Italians,
Norsemen, Africans, as well as the "Heathen Chinee," are scattered in a
mixed mass over the whole face of the earth now-a-days, as widely as the
descendants of Noah were dispersed from the plain of Shinar after their
unsuccessful attempt at building the tower of Babel--the result being,
that some of the highest types of advancement are at present to be found
where, but a few years back, uncultivated savages, as rude but perhaps
not 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 colonised
countries. Like the majority of other Germans who had emigrated before
him, he was aiming for "the States," where, according to the popular
idea in Europe, money can be had for nothing in the shape of any
expenditure of labour, time, or trouble. Really, the ne'er-do-well and
shiftless seem to regard America as a sort of Tom Tiddler's ground for
the idle, the lazy, and the dissolute--although, mind you, Fritz was
none of these, having made up his mind to work as hard in the New World
as he would have been forced to do in the Old for the fortune he could
not win there, and which he had been forced to turn his back on.
Bremerhaven to Southampton; Southampton to Sandy Hook, as he had told
his mother; and, in ten days altogether, the ocean steamer he travelled
in, one of the North German line, had landed him safely in New York.
Seven years before, when he would have reached the "Empire City" during
the height of the Secession War, he might have sold himself to a "bounty
jumper," as the enlisting agents of the northern army were termed, for a
nice little sum in "greenback" dollars; now, he found sharpers, or
"confidence men," ready to "sell" him in a similar way--only, that the
former rogues would have been satisfied with nothing less than his body
and life, as an emigrant recruit for Grant or Sherman's force; while the
present set cared but for his cash, seeking the same with ravenous maw
almost as soon as he had landed at Castle Garden!
Fritz had taken a steerage passage, so as to save money; and, being
dressed in shabby clothes, in keeping with his third-class ticket, the
loafers about the Battery, at the end of Manhattan Island, on which the
town of New York is built, thought he was merely an ignorant German
peasant whom they might easily impose on. They, however, soon found
that he had not been campaigning six months for nothing, and so their
efforts at getting him to part with the little capital he had were
pretty well thrown away--especially as Fritz, in his anxiety to find
some 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 the
vicinity of the emigrant depot, as the majority of his countrymen
generally do, apparently in the expectation that employment will come in
search of them.
Still, he soon discovered that New York was overstocked with just the
species of labour he was able to supply.
Of course, if he had been at the pitch of desperation, he might have
found a job of some sort to his hand; but, writing and speaking English
and French fluently in addition to his native tongue, besides being a
good correspondent and book-keeper, he did not feel disposed to throw
away his talents on mere manual labour. He had emigrated to "make his
fortune," or, at all events, to achieve a position in which he could
hope to build up a home for the dear ones left behind at Lubeck; and
there would not be much chance of his accomplishing this by engaging
himself out as a day labourer--to assist some skilled carpenter or
bricklayer--which was the only work offered him.
"No, sir; nary an opening here!" was the constant reply he met with at
every merchant's office he entered from Wall Street upwards along
Broadway until he came to Canal Street; when, finding the shops, or
"stores" as the Americans call them, going more in the "dry goods" or
haberdashery line, he wended his way back again "down town,"
investigating the various establishments lying between the main
thoroughfare and the North and East rivers, hoping to find a situation
vacant in one of the shipping houses thereabouts.
But, "No, sir; all filled up, I guess," was still the stereotyped
response to his applications, with much emphasis on the "sir"--the
majority of the Manhattanese uttering this word, as Fritz thought, in a
highly indignant tone, although, as he discovered later on, this was the
general pronunciation adopted throughout the States.
"I suppose," he said to one gentleman he asked, and who was, it seemed
to Fritz, the master, or "boss," of the establishment, from the fact of
his lounging back in a rocking chair contiguous to his desk, and
balancing his feet instead of his hands on the latter,--"I suppose it's
because I can give no references to former employers here, that all the
men I speak to invariably decline my services?"
"No, sirree; I reckon not," was the reply. "Guess we don't care a cuss
where you come from. We take a man as we find him, for just what he is
worth, without minding what he might have been in the old country, or
bothering other folks for his ka-racter, you bet! I reckon, mister,
you'd better start right away out West if you want work. Book-keepers
and 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 upon
it. Having been accustomed all his life to the shipping trade, he
wished to find some opening in that special branch of business; and, if
he went inland to Chicago or elsewhere, he thought, he would be
abandoning his chances for securing the very sort of work he preferred
to have. Besides, going away from the neighbourhood of ships and quays
and the sea would be like cutting adrift every old association with
Lubeck and Europe; while, in addition, he had directed his letters from
home to be sent to the "Poste Restante, New York," and if he left that
city, why he would never hear how Madaleine and his mother were getting
on 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, was
filled with clerks like himself in search of employment; and they,
linguists especially, were a drug in the market--the cessation of the
Franco-German War having flooded the country with foreign labour.
What should he do?
Before making a move, as everybody advised him, he determined to await
the next mail steamer. This would bring him a letter from home, in
answer to the one he had written, immediately on landing, telling of his
safe arrival in the New World. He was dying to have, if only, a line
from 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--his
passage across the Atlantic having lasted, according to his morbid
imagination, 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 despondent
feeling which had begun to prey upon him, altering him completely from
his former buoyant self--he made up his mind in his old prompt fashion
to visit some of the other seaports on the coast, "Down East," as
Americans say, in order to try whether he might not be able there to get
a billet.
He had very little money left now; for, he had not brought much with him
from home, originally and the greater part of what he had in his pockets
when he came ashore had melted away in paying for his board and lodging
while remaining in New York. Although he had put up at the cheapest
boarding-house he could find, it was far dearer than the most expensive
accommodation in Lubeck or even at a first-class hotel in any large town
on the Continent. Living in such a city was actually like eating hard
cash!
Fritz saw that he would have to proceed on his journey along the coast
as cheaply as possible:-- he had not much to spare for railway and
steamboat fares.
With this resolution staring him in the face, he made his way one
afternoon to the foot of Canal Street, from the quays facing which, on
the North River, start the huge floating palaces of steamers that
navigate the waters of Long Island Sound--visiting on their way those
New England States where, it may be recollected, the Pilgrim Fathers
landed after their voyage in the _Mayflower_, of historic renown, a
couple of odd centuries ago.
One of these vessels had "Providence" marked on her; and the name at
once arrested the attention of Fritz.
"Himmel!" he said to himself, with a superstitious sort of feeling like
that which he used to ridicule in old Lorischen when she read omens in
Mouser's attitudes and cat language of a night--"this looks lucky;
perhaps providence is going to interpose on my behalf, and relieve me
from all the misery and anxiety I'm suffering! At all events, I will go
on 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, asked
one 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 at
Providence? 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 a
scoop up to a whaler; so I guess we can fix you up slick if you come
aboard!"
"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, meaning
two-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, thinking
aloud.
"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'll
have plenty of time if you look smart."
"Thank you, I will," said Fritz; and, going back to the boarding-house
where he had been stopping, he soon returned to the quay with the little
valise that carried all his impedimenta--reaching the steamer just in
the 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 hurricane
deck.
"Aye, aye, all aboard," was the response from Fritz's friend the deck
hand, who, with only a red flannel shirt on and a pair of check
trousers--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, the
steamer's paddles revolving with a splash the moment afterwards and
urging her on her watery way.
Round the Battery at Manhattan Point she glided, and up the East River
through Hell Gate into Long Island Sound--one of the most sheltered
channels in the world, and more like a lake or lagoon than an arm of the
sea--leaving a broad wake of creamy green foam behind her like a mill-
race, and quivering from stem to stern with every revolution of her
shaft, with every throb of her high-pressure engines!