There entered new life into the wet and surly groups on the quay. Men
stood on tiptoe and eagerly looked in the direction of Broadway, where
the wretched crowd now appeared. Others pressed forward to the point
where the ship was to land. It was now so near that they were already
casting over the ropes. Lambert, who still stood on the outer edge, saw
himself surrounded by a dense mass, and thus kept in a place he would
now have gladly surrendered to anyone whose eyes and heart could better
endure the sight of the utmost human wretchedness.
The scene of this misery was the deck of the ship above and below, of
which he now had an unobstructed view. Already, from a distance, had
the confusion caused by the commingled piles of bales, casks, trunks,
and baskets, between which wives and children were wandering about,
filled him with sad reflections. But his heart ceased to beat and his
chest to heave as, clearer and clearer, and now also very near, the
crying and scolding, weeping and lamenting of the unfortunate people
struck upon his ear. As his glance wandered from one pitiable object to
another, he everywhere saw countenances deathly pale and disfigured by
hunger and sickness, out of whose deep, sunken eyes dull despair and
frenzied anxiety fearfully glared. As they thus stood in motionless
groups it seemed as if they had lost all power and inclination to do
anything for themselves. Their heads were stretched forward like timid
sheep which the butcher's dog has driven to the door of the slaughter
house. Thus they hastened and hurried and crowded between the chests
and casks, and greedily gathered up their poor belongings. Elsewhere,
in confused quarreling and strife, they snatched bundles from each
other, and threatened each other with their fists, until the supercargo
intervened and with scolding and pushing and striking, separated them.
Lambert could endure the horrible sight no longer, and pressed back the
crowd which now surrounded him like a wall. As he involuntarily cast a
last glance over the deck it fell upon a form which he had not before
noticed, and at once he stopped as though struck by lightning.
Directly before him there leaned against a great pile of bales a young,
tall, slender maiden. Her right arm was thrust against the bales, the
hand supporting her head. Her other arm hung at her side. Her face, of
which he had only a side view, was so thin and pale that the long, dark
eyelashes were brought out with singular distinctness. The lustrous
black hair was wound around the head in comely braids, and her dress,
though poor and threadbare enough, was more tasty than that of the
other women, to whom she was evidently greatly superior in refinement.
As though a powerful enchantment had seized him, Lambert could not
withdraw his gaze from this face. He had never seen anything so
beautiful. He had not thought that anything so beautiful could be
found. Nearly breathless, without knowing what he was doing--even
forgetting where he was--he looked at the stranger as though she were
an apparition, until, with sad shaking of the head, she let her
supporting arm fall and, passing around the pile of goods against which
she had leaned, she disappeared from his sight.
At this moment, back on the Battery, there sounded a great shouting and
drumming and fifing. The crowd pressed forward, and was again pushed
back. The police who accompanied the immigrants had already had trouble
with the mob all the way through the city, and now, having to pass
through the compact mass on the quay to the gang-plank, were obliged to
use all their authority and to swing their clubs indiscriminately. So
it happened that over the living wall before him Lambert saw now and
then a pale, grief-stricken countenance, as the poor immigrants passed
over the narrow gangway to the deck of the ship. Here those who had
just returned on board immediately began to call for their wives and
children, some of whom, overcome by fatigue, did not move, while others
hastened to their husbands as soon as possible. A dreadful confusion
arose, which was increased by the ship's crew rushing into the crowd
and making room by pushing and striking indiscriminately. It had
reached its highest point when those on the quay, headed by the stout
Mr. Pitcher, in a close mass pushed on from behind and blocked up the
way to every one who, with his bundles and packs, desired to leave the
ship. The men screamed, the women cried, the children whimpered, the
captain and sailors cursed and swore. The police swung their clubs. It
was a dreadful chaos, in which Lambert's anxious glances were ever
peering about for the poor girl who was looking on the tumult which was
roaring around her, so lonely, so forsaken, so still and patient. As he
saw her form again emerge, now on the forward part of the deck, he held
back no longer. Without further thought, with a mighty spring from the
edge of the quay, he swung himself aboard of the ship and hastened to
the point where he had last seen her. He knew not why he did this. He
had no conception of what he should say to the maiden when he should
reach her. It seemed as though he was drawn by unseen hands, which it
was impossible for him to resist, and to whose guidance he willingly
committed himself.
After he had approached her, lost sight of her, feared at last that he
should not again find her, he suddenly came near her. She had kneeled
on the deck before a couple of children--a boy and a girl from six to
eight years old--whose threadbare garments she was fixing, and was
speaking; to a woman who stood near with quite a small child in her
arms, and who was constantly scolding, till the husband came up and
dragged the children away, scolding and cursing. His wife followed him
without a word or look of thanks to her who was left behind. She slowly
arose and looked sadly at those who were leaving. She followed them,
tied a small piece of cloth which she had worn, about the neck of the
smallest child, and then slowly returned to the place where the family
had left her. Her countenance was more sad than before. Tears rolled
over her pale cheeks.
"Can I be of any help to you, madam?" asked Lambert.
The girl raised her dark eyelashes, and looked searchingly with her
large brown eyes at his kind, honorable face.
"Nobody can help me," said she.
"Have you no parents, no relatives, no friends?" asked Lambert.
"I have nobody--nobody," replied the maiden, and turned herself partly
away that she might hide the tears which now burst forth in streams
from her eyes.
Lambert's eyes also became moist. The trouble of the poor girl pressed
heavily on his heart.
"Can you not leave the ship?" he further inquired.
The unhappy one, without answering, only wept the more.
"Do not consider me too pressing, kind maiden, I have seen you standing
so forsaken that my pity has been awakened. And now you yourself say
that you are alone, that you have nobody to help you, and that nobody
can help you. Perhaps I can do so if you will confide in me. I will
surely do all that is in my power."
While the young man thus spoke the girl wept more and more gently. She
now again turned her pale face to him and said:
"I thank you, kind man. I thank you with my whole heart, and may God
bless you for the compassion you have felt for a poor, helpless
creature. But help--that indeed you cannot. Who could help me? By whose
help could I leave this ship?"
Her countenance took on an unusual expression. She looked, with staring
eyes, over the bulwarks into the water which rose and fell at the
ship's bow. "For me there is but one means of escape," she murmured.
At this moment a man, cursing, pressed through the crowd, which made
room for him in all directions. He was an under-sized, broad-shouldered
fellow with a red wig, a brutal countenance and a pair of green eyes
which glittered maliciously.
He put on quite an air, dressed in his ship uniform, and drew after him
a sturdy farmer, who seemed to follow him reluctantly and who looked at
the maiden with dull, staring eyes, while he in the uniform approached,
and with legs spread apart, called out in poor German:
"So, Miss Catherine Weise, I have soon picked up a man. He is the
richest farmer within ten miles, as he says himself, and needs a
capable maid-servant on his farm. He has already bid forty on my bare
recommendation. That indeed is scarcely the half, but perhaps he will
now give the whole amount, after he has himself seen you, and has
convinced himself that I did not lie to him. What do you think, Mr.
Triller? Isn't she a stunner? Are you now willing to fork over, ha?"
He struck the farmer on the shoulder and broke out in uproarious
laughter.
"Let it be forty-five, captain," said the farmer, "and I'll take her as
she stands."
"Not a shilling under ninety," cried the captain, "not a shilling, even
if I should have to keep her myself. No, she would gladly stay with me.
Isn't it true. Miss Catherine? She is a stunner."
"Don't touch her; if you don't want your skull cracked!" cried Lambert.
The captain took a step back and stared at the young farmer, whom he
had not before noticed, and who now stood before him with glowing eyes
and balled fists.
"Oho!" he exclaimed, "who are you? Do you know that I am Captain Van
Broom? Do you know that I shall at once throw you into the water? What
is your name? What do you want?"
He took a step back, having said the last words in a far less confident
tone. He did not think it prudent to have anything further to do with a
man of so resolute an appearance and so evidently superior to himself
in bodily strength.
"My name is Lambert Sternberg, from Canada Creek," said the young man.
"There live in the city of New York respectable citizens who know me
well; and what I want I will soon tell you, if you will kindly step
aside with me for a few moments."
"As you wish; as you wish," snarled the captain.
"In a moment," said Lambert. He approached the maiden, who stood
trembling violently, and said to her in a low tone, "Catherine Weise,
will you accept me as your protector, and permit me to do for you what,
under such circumstances, an honorable man should do for a helpless
maiden?"
A deep blush spread over Catherine's face She fixed her dark eyes upon
her questioner with a peculiar expression that made his inmost heart
flutter. She tried to answer, but there came no sound from her
trembling lips.
"Wait here for me," said the young man.
He turned to the captain and went with him to a retired part of the
deck. The robust farmer had turned aside and felt no further interest
in the deal, after he saw that another purchaser for the merchandise
was found, and which, all things considered, was entirely too dear for
him.
"Now, Mr. Broom," said Lambert, as he overtook him, "I am at your
service."
"I'll be----if I know what you want," said the captain.
"Simply this: To take that girl there, whom you call Catherine Weise,
with me from the ship, and that at once."
"Oho!" said the captain, "you are in a hurry. Has she told you how much
she owes us?"
"No," said Lambert, "but I have already heard the amount from you."
"Ninety pounds! sir, ninety pounds! That isn't a small matter," cried
the captain.
"I suppose you will be able to show that the maiden owes you so much.
You will then find me ready."
The captain cast a grim side-glance at the young man like a hyena
driven from his prey by a leopard. He would have liked to have the
beautiful booty for himself, but was far too shrewd a business man not
to avail himself of such a chance. Besides, the Messrs. Van Sluiten and
Co., in Rotterdam, and Mr. Pitcher, who was probably now in the ship's
office engaged with the book-keeper, had also a word to say. So he
spoke in what was for him an unusually courteous tone, instead of the
coarse one he had just used:
"If I can show it?--yes, sir. For what do you take Captain Van Broom?
With us about everything is booked twice, sir, in farthings and pence.
Are you surprised that the amount is so large? I will make it clear.
The girl is the daughter of the Rev. Mr. Weise, who died eight days
ago, and was buried with all honor at sea. He was a preacher in the
region from which most of my passengers come. On the way, I must say it
of him, he put himself to a good deal of trouble for his filthy people
and did for them more than his strength would bear, while they in
Southampton suffered with hunger and cold; and now on the voyage
provisions with us became somewhat scarce, and the water--well, one has
a heart in his breast, and I yielded to the preacher when he came to
borrow for his people. So it has happened that his account has run up a
little higher than is usual. At the best not much was to be got from
the old man, though there still remained the girl, for whom doubtless a
purchaser could be found. So I have taken the risk, and have by degrees
given them credit for a hundred pounds."
"You before said ninety."
"A hundred pounds, by----!" shrieked the captain.
"Come with me into the office. There I will show you in black and
white. You, there, supercargo, see to it that the thieving vagabonds do
not slip from aboard. And you, Mr. Jones, do not leave the gangplank;
and keep with you Jean and Jacob, and knock any one down who tries to
leave the ship without a pass. Should any one ask for me, he must wait
a moment. I have to speak with this gentleman. Will you follow me, Mr.
Sternberg?"
The captain opened the door of a low and spacious cabin which was built
on the deck. A dark-complexioned man, with immense brass rings in his
ears, sat at a table covered with thick books and papers, diligently
writing. Near him stood Mr. Pitcher, with his red, bloated, flabby
cheeks, and on his wig-covered head his three-cornered hat, looking
over his shoulder.
"Ah!" said the captain, "here you are, too, Mr. Pitcher. That fits
charmingly. Now we can make the matter clear at once. This is Mr.
Charles Pitcher, our general agent for New York. This--"
"I think I already have the honor," said Mr. Pitcher, lifting his hat.
"Are not you Mr. Sternberg from Canada Creek, whom I met two years ago
in Albany? Have you transacted your business with Mr. Brown? I lately
saw you with him on Broadway. Well, other people want to live too.
Excuse me, Mr. Sternberg; excuse me. Take a seat. What brings you to us
at this time, Mr. Sternberg?"
"It is on account of Catherine Weise," said the captain, in whose eyes
the simple countryman, with whom the rich Mr. Pitcher desired to have
dealings, had assumed a quite different appearance. "I told you about
her yesterday, Mr. Pitcher."
Between Mr. Pitcher and the captain there now took place a short but
earnest conversation, of which Lambert understood nothing, as it was
carried on in Dutch. They ought to have let the girl go free, but the
hateful man at the desk opened a large book and said: "Catherine Weise,
folio 470 to 475, beginning September sixth of last year, in Rotterdam,
brought until to day, April fifteenth, 1758, port of New York,
amounting to L89, 10s.--"
"Ninety-nine pounds," corrected Captain Van Broom.
"Ninety-nine pounds," repeated the man with the ear-rings. "The
gentleman will require a conveyance from us to which the proper
signatures are attached. For this we charge one pound. Here is the
form. Please give me the specifications as I write."
The dark-complexioned man took a sheet of parchment and read, in a
leaden, business-like voice:
"_In nomine dei_: Between Lambert Sternberg, of Canada Creek, and
Joanna Catherine Weise, of Zellerfeld, in the electorate of Hanover,
aged twenty years, single, the following service contract--shall we say
six years, Mr. Sternberg." It is the usual period--for six successive
years from this date, under the following conditions mutually agreed
upon:
"_Pro primo_: Joanna Catherine Weise, born, etc.; agrees of her own
free will, and after due consideration, to bind herself to Mr. Lambert
Sternberg to go with him, or under his direction, to West Canada Creek,
in the province of New York, and there, from the day on which she shall
have arrived in the before-named district, for six successive years to
give him true and faithful required maid-service, under no pretense to
relax it, much less, without the consent of Lambert Sternberg, to
forsake his service.
"To this, _pro secundo_, Lambert Sternberg promises--"
"It is enough," said Lambert.
"How?" said he with the ear-rings.
"It is enough," said Lambert. "I wish first to talk over the conditions
with the maiden."
"My dear sir, consider the circumstances," called out Mr. Pitcher, in a
friendly, helpful tone. "When a man pays L99 he can dictate the
conditions."
"That may be," replied Lambert. "However, it is my privilege to deal in
my own way."
"As you wish--altogether as you wish," said Mr. Pitcher. "We force
nobody. You also wish--"
"Simply a receipt in full for Catherine Weise."
"As you please," said Mr. Pitcher.
While he with the ear-rings wrote out the receipt, and Lambert counted
out the money on the table--it was the same that he had received an
hour before from Mr. Brown--Mr. Pitcher and the captain grimaced
sneeringly behind the back of the simpleton who was so easily limed,
and never once looked at the famous account he was satisfying.
"So," said Mr. Pitcher, "this is finished. Now we will--"
"Drink to your happy journey," said the captain, as he reached for a
rum-flask which stood near on the rack.
"And to the _et cetera_, _et cetera_," cried Mr. Pitcher.
"Good morning, Messrs.," said Lambert, gathering up the receipt, the
half-finished contract and Catherine's passage-ticket, and hurrying out
of the cabin as though the deck under him was afire. Brutal laughter
rung behind him. He stood still a moment. His cheeks glowed. His heart
beat furiously against his ribs. Every convulsed fiber of his body
urged him to turn back and take vengeance on the mean scoundrels for
their laughter. But he thought of the poor girl--how much more she had
endured, and that he could do nothing better for her than to release
her from such a hell, as soon as possible.
The deck had now been somewhat cleared. The more fortunate ones, who
needed not to fear the book in the hands of the man with the ear-rings,
had already left the ship. Those who were obliged to stay sat and stood
around in groups. Stupid indifference or uncertainty characterized
their wan appearance. Curious gazers moved about among them, some of
whom had come desirous of making contracts similar to the one which lay
crushed in Lambert's coat-pocket. The heavy farmer, who had before made
a bid on Catherine, was now speaking with another girl, who had adorned
her rags with a couple of red ties, and laughed heartily at the broken
German, and at the jokes of the man. They seemed to be already agreed
on a bargain.
Lambert hastened as fast as he could to the farther part of the deck,
where he had already seen Catherine in the same place where he had left
her. But as he came near her he stopped. It seemed to him that nothing
had yet been accomplished--that all yet remained to be done. She now
turned and saw him. A melancholy smile spread over her countenance.
"Is it not true? Nobody can help me," said she.
"Here is your receipt and your ticket," said Lambert.
His strong, brown hands shook as he gave her the papers, and her thin
white hands trembled as she took them. A burning red spread over her
countenance.
"Have you done this for me?" said she.
Lambert did not reply, and was greatly agitated as she immediately
bowed down, caught his hands and pressed them against her weeping face
and lips.
"Kind maiden--kind maiden! what are you doing?" stammered Lambert.
"Don't weep. I was glad to do it. I am fortunate to have been able to
render you this service. Were it possible I would do the same for all
the other unfortunates here. But now let us away. I have but a few
hours left. I must begin my homeward journey. I would be glad first to
know that you are in safety. Do you know anyone in the city, or in its
vicinity to whom I can take you?"
Catherine shook her head.
"Have you no friends among the immigrants who perhaps expect you to
accompany them on their farther journey?"
"I have nobody--nobody!" said the girl. "You see everyone thinks only
of himself, and alas! everybody has enough of his own to look after."
Lambert stood helpless. He thought for a moment about his old business
friend, Mr. Brown. But, alas! Mrs. Brown was not a kind woman. To her,
her husband's predilection for the Germans seemed very ridiculous. It
did not very well please her to welcome strangers. He knew no other
house in the city, except the inn where he had left his horse, and
which in other respects was not desirable, especially as to the company
which gathered there. He looked at Catherine as though advice must come
from her, but her eyes had an anxious and strained expression.
"Do you mean to give me over to other people?" said she.
"What do you mean?" asked Lambert.
"Kind sir, you have already done so much for me, and are reluctant now
to tell me that you can do no more for me. I will need a long, long
time with my service to pay the heavy debt. I know it well. But I would
cheerfully serve you and your parents as long as I live, and even give
my life for you. Now you wish to take me to others. Speak freely. I
will gladly bind myself for as many years as they desire and make good
your recommendation." She smiled sadly and picked up a small bundle
that lay near her. "I am ready," said she.
"Catherine!" said Lambert.
She looked inquiringly at him.
"Catherine!" said he again. His chest heaved and fell as though he was
summoning up all his strength to speak calmly. "I live far from here,
full twenty days' travel, on the utmost border, the farthest settler,
in an impoverished region, open to the inroad of our enemies, and which
last year suffered from them a dreadful visitation. But if you will go
with me--"
A joyful perplexity showed itself in Catherine's wan face.
"How can you ask?" said she.
"Well may I ask," replied Lambert, "and well must I ask. It remains
with you. Your evidence of indebtedness is in your own hands and I will
never again take it in mine. You are free to come and to go. And so,
Catherine Weise, I ask you once more, will you as a free maiden go with
me to my home, if I promise you on the honor of a man that I will care
for you, help and protect you as a brother should his sister?"
"I will go with you, Lambert Sternberg," said Catherine.
Breathing deeply, she laid her hand in his offered right hand.
Then they hastened over the deck. Catherine nodded tearfully to one and
another. She could not speak. Her heart was too full for speech. No one
returned her silent farewell, except with dumb and hopeless looks which
cut her to the heart. On the long and terrible journey from her home
until now, according to her strength and beyond her strength, she had
tried to mitigate the boundless wretchedness around her. She could do
no more than leave the hapless creatures to their fate. Alas! what a
fate awaited those who were here cast on a strange shore like the
scattered fragments of a wreck that has been the dreadful sport of the
waves. Tears of pity dimmed her eyes. Her senses forsook her. When,
holding her bundle of clothing in her hand, she felt her feet standing
on solid ground, she knew not how she had got off the ship.
Catherine said nothing, but in her inmost heart she cried out again and
again: "God be praised!"