From Plotzk to Boston
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Mary Antin >> From Plotzk to Boston
This entire change in the scene, the peace that encircled everything
around us, seemed to give all the same feeling that I know I had. I
fancied that nature created it especially for us, so that we would be
allowed, in this pause, to think of our situation. All seemed to do so;
all spoke in low voices, and seemed to be looking for something as they
gazed quietly into the smooth depths below, or the twilight skies above.
Were they seeking an assurance? Perhaps; for there was something strange
in the absence of a crowd of friends on the shore, to cheer and salute,
and fill the air with white clouds and last farewells.
I found the assurance. The very stillness was a voice--nature's voice;
and it spoke to the ocean and said,
"I entrust to you this vessel. Take care of it, for it bears my children
with it, from one strange shore to another more distant, where loving
friends are waiting to embrace them after long partings. Be gentle with
your charge."
And the ocean, though seeming so still, replied, "I will obey my
mistress."
I heard it all, and a feeling of safety and protection came to me. And
when at last the wheels overhead began to turn and clatter, and the
ripples on the water told us that the "Polynesia" had started on her
journey, which was not noticeable from any other sign, I felt only a
sense of happiness. I mistrusted nothing.
But the old woman who remembered the matzo did, more than anybody else.
She made great preparations for being seasick, and poisoned the air with
garlic and onions.
When the lantern fixed in the ceiling had been lighted, the captain and
the steward paid us a visit. They took up our tickets and noticed all
the passengers, then left. Then a sailor brought supper--bread and
coffee. Only a few ate it. Then all went to bed, though it was very
early.
Nobody expected seasickness as soon as it seized us. All slept quietly
the whole night, not knowing any difference between being on land or at
sea. About five o'clock I woke up, and then I felt and heard the sea. A
very disagreeable smell came from it, and I knew it was disturbed by the
rocking of the ship. Oh, how wretched it made us! From side to side it
went rocking, rocking. Ugh! Many of the passengers are very sick indeed,
they suffer terribly. We are all awake now, and wonder if we, too, will
be so sick. Some children are crying, at intervals. There is nobody to
comfort them--all are so miserable. Oh, I am so sick! I'm dizzy;
everything is going round and round before my eyes--Oh-h-h!
I can't even begin to tell of the suffering of the next few hours. Then
I thought I would feel better if I could go on deck. Somehow, I got down
(we had upper berths) and, supporting myself against the walls, I came
on deck. But it was worse. The green water, tossing up the white foam,
rocking all around, as far as I dared to look, was frightful to me then.
So I crawled back as well as I could, and nobody else tried to go out.
By and by the doctor and the steward came. The doctor asked each
passenger if they were well, but only smiled when all begged for some
medicine to take away the dreadful suffering. To those who suffered from
anything besides seasickness he sent medicine and special food later
on. His companion appointed one of the men passengers for every twelve
or fifteen to carry the meals from the kitchen, giving them cards to get
it with. For our group a young German was appointed, who was making the
journey for the second time, with his mother and sister. We were great
friends with them during the journey.
The doctor went away soon, leaving the sufferers in the same sad
condition. At twelve, a sailor announced that dinner was ready, and the
man brought it--large tin pails and basins of soup, meat, cabbage,
potatoes, and pudding (the last was allowed only once a week); and
almost all of it was thrown away, as only a few men ate. The rest
couldn't bear even the smell of food. It was the same with the supper at
six o'clock. At three milk had been brought for the babies, and brown
bread (a treat) with coffee for the rest. But after supper the daily
allowance of fresh water was brought, and this soon disappeared and more
called for, which was refused, although we lived on water alone for a
week.
At last the day was gone, and much we had borne in it. Night came, but
brought little relief. Some did fall asleep, and forgot suffering for a
few hours. I was awake late. The ship was quieter, and everything sadder
than by daylight. I thought of all we had gone through till we had got
on board the "Polynesia"; of the parting from all friends and things we
loved, forever, as far as we knew; of the strange experience at various
strange places; of the kind friends who helped us, and the rough
officers who commanded us; of the quarantine, the hunger, then the happy
news, and the coming on board. Of all this I thought, and remembered
that we were far away from friends, and longed for them, that I might be
made well by speaking to them. And every minute was making the distance
between us greater, a meeting more impossible. Then I remembered why we
were crossing the ocean, and knew that it was worth the price. At last
the noise of the wheels overhead, and the dull roar of the sea, rocked
me to sleep.
For a short time only. The ship was tossed about more than the day
before, and the great waves sounded like distant thunder as they beat
against it, and rolled across the deck and entered the cabin. We found,
however, that we were better, though very weak. We managed to go on deck
in the afternoon, when it was calm enough. A little band was playing,
and a few young sailors and German girls tried even to dance; but it was
impossible.
As I sat in a corner where no waves could reach me, holding on to a
rope, I tried to take in the grand scene. There was the mighty ocean I
had heard of only, spreading out its rough breadth far, far around, its
waves giving out deep, angry tones, and throwing up walls of spray into
the air. There was the sky, like the sea, full of ridges of darkest
clouds, bending to meet the waves, and following their motions and
frowning and threatening. And there was the "Polynesia" in the midst of
this world of gloom, and anger, and distance. I saw these, but
indistinctly, not half comprehending the wonderful picture. For the
suffering had left me dull and tired out. I only knew that I was sad,
and everybody else was the same.
Another day gone, and we congratulate one another that seasickness
lasted only one day with us. So we go to sleep.
Oh, the sad mistake! For six days longer we remain in our berths,
miserable and unable to eat. It is a long fast, hardly interrupted,
during which we know that the weather is unchanged, the sky dark, the
sea stormy.
On the eighth day out we are again able to be about. I went around
everywhere, exploring every corner, and learning much from the sailors;
but I never remembered the names of the various things I asked about,
they were so many, and some German names hard to learn. We all made
friends with the captain and other officers, and many of the passengers.
The little band played regularly on certain days, and the sailors and
girls had a good many dances, though often they were swept by a wave
across the deck, quite out of time. The children were allowed to play on
deck, but carefully watched.
Still the weather continued the same, or changing slightly. But I was
able now to see all the grandeur of my surroundings, notwithstanding the
weather.
Oh, what solemn thoughts I had! How deeply I felt the greatness, the
power of the scene! The immeasurable distance from horizon to horizon;
the huge billows forever changing their shapes--now only a wavy and
rolling plain, now a chain of great mountains, coming and going farther
away; then a town in the distance, perhaps, with spires and towers and
buildings of gigantic dimensions; and mostly a vast mass of uncertain
shapes, knocking against each other in fury, and seething and foaming in
their anger; the grey sky, with its mountains of gloomy clouds, flying,
moving with the waves, as it seemed, very near them; the absence of any
object besides the one ship; and the deep, solemn groans of the sea,
sounding as if all the voices of the world had been turned into sighs
and then gathered into that one mournful sound--so deeply did I feel the
presence of these things, that the feeling became one of awe, both
painful and sweet, and stirring and warming, and deep and calm and
grand.
I thought of tempests and shipwreck, of lives lost, treasures destroyed,
and all the tales I had heard of the misfortunes at sea, and knew I had
never before had such a clear idea of them. I tried to realize that I
saw only a part of an immense whole, and then my feelings were terrible
in their force. I was afraid of thinking then, but could not stop it. My
mind would go on working, till I was overcome by the strength and power
that was greater than myself. What I did at such times I do not know. I
must have been dazed.
After a while I could sit quietly and gaze far away. Then I would
imagine myself all alone on the ocean, and Robinson Crusoe was very real
to me. I was alone sometimes. I was aware of no human presence; I was
conscious only of sea and sky and something I did not understand. And as
I listened to its solemn voice, I felt as if I had found a friend, and
knew that I loved the ocean. It seemed as if it were within as well as
without, a part of myself; and I wondered how I had lived without it,
and if I could ever part with it.
The ocean spoke to me in other besides mournful or angry tones. I loved
even the angry voice, but when it became soothing, I could hear a sweet,
gentle accent that reached my soul rather than my ear. Perhaps I
imagined it. I do not know. What was real and what imaginary blended in
one. But I heard and felt it, and at such moments I wished I could live
on the sea forever, and thought that the sight of land would be very
unwelcome to me. I did not want to be near any person. Alone with the
ocean forever--that was my wish.
Leading a quiet life, the same every day, and thinking such thoughts,
feeling such emotions, the days were very long. I do not know how the
others passed the time, because I was so lost in my meditations. But
when the sky would smile for awhile--when a little sunlight broke a path
for itself through the heavy clouds, which disappeared as though
frightened; and when the sea looked more friendly, and changed its color
to match the heavens, which were higher up--then we would sit on deck
together, and laugh for mere happiness as we talked of the nearing
meeting, which the unusual fairness of the weather seemed to bring
nearer. Sometimes, at such minutes of sunshine and gladness, a few birds
would be seen making their swift journey to some point we did not know
of; sometimes among the light clouds, then almost touching the surface
of the waves. How shall I tell you what we felt at the sight? The birds
were like old friends to us, and brought back many memories, which
seemed very old, though really fresh. All felt sadder when the distance
became too great for us to see the dear little friends, though it was
not for a long time after their first appearance. We used to watch for
them, and often mistook the clouds for birds, and were thus
disappointed. When they did come, how envious we were of their wings! It
was a new thought to me that the birds had more power than man.
In this way the days went by. I thought my thoughts each day, as I
watched the scene, hoping to see a beautiful sunset some day. I never
did, to my disappointment. And each night, as I lay in my berth, waiting
for sleep, I wished I might be able even to hope for the happiness of a
sea-voyage after this had been ended.
Yet, when, on the twelfth day after leaving Hamburg, the captain
announced that we should see land before long, I rejoiced as much as
anybody else. We were so excited with expectation that nothing else was
heard but the talk of the happy arrival, now so near. Some were even
willing to stay up at night, to be the first ones to see the shores of
America. It was therefore a great disappointment when the captain said,
in the evening, that we would not reach Boston as soon as he expected,
on account of the weather.
A dense fog set in at night, and grew heavier and heavier, until the
"Polynesia" was closely walled in by it, and we could just see from one
end of the deck to the other. The signal lanterns were put up, the
passengers were driven to their berths by the cold and damp, the cabin
doors closed, and discomfort reigned everywhere.
But the excitement of the day had tired us out, and we were glad to
forget disappointment in sleep. In the morning it was still foggy, but
we could see a little way around. It was very strange to have the
boundless distance made so narrow, and I felt the strangeness of the
scene. All day long we shivered with cold, and hardly left the cabin. At
last it was night once more, and we in our berths. But nobody slept.
The sea had been growing rougher during the day, and at night the ship
began to pitch as it did at the beginning of the journey. Then it grew
worse. Everything in our cabin was rolling on the floor, clattering and
dinning. Dishes were broken into little bits that flew about from one
end to the other. Bedding from upper berths nearly stifled the people in
the lower ones. Some fell out of their berths, but it was not at all
funny. As the ship turned to one side, the passengers were violently
thrown against that side of the berths, and some boards gave way and
clattered down to the floor. When it tossed on the other side, we could
see the little windows almost touch the water, and closed the shutters
to keep out the sight. The children cried, everybody groaned, and
sailors kept coming in to pick up the things on the floor and carry them
away. This made the confusion less, but not the alarm.
Above all sounds rose the fog horn. It never stopped the long night
through. And oh, how sad it sounded! It pierced every heart, and made us
afraid. Now and then some ship, far away, would answer, like a weak
echo. Sometimes we noticed that the wheels were still, and we knew that
the ship had stopped. This frightened us more than ever, for we imagined
the worst reasons for it.
It was day again, and a little calmer. We slept now, till the afternoon.
Then we saw that the fog had become much thinner, and later on we even
saw a ship, but indistinctly.
Another night passed, and the day that followed was pretty fair, and
towards evening the sky was almost cloudless. The captain said we should
have no more rough weather, for now we were really near Boston. Oh, how
hard it was to wait for the happy day! Somebody brought the news that we
should land to-morrow in the afternoon. We didn't believe it, so he said
that the steward had ordered a great pudding full of raisins for supper
that day as a sure sign that it was the last on board. We remembered the
pudding, but didn't believe in its meaning.
I don't think we slept that night. After all the suffering of our
journey, after seeing and hearing nothing but the sky and the sea and
its roaring, it was impossible to sleep when we thought that soon we
would see trees, fields, fresh people, animals--a world, and that world
America. Then, above everything, was the meeting with friends we had not
seen for years; for almost everybody had some friends awaiting them.
Morning found all the passengers up and expectant. Someone questioned
the captain, and he said we would land to-morrow. There was another long
day, and another sleepless night, but when these ended at last, how busy
we were! First we packed up all the things we did not need, then put on
fresh clothing, and then went on deck to watch for land. It was almost
three o'clock, the hour the captain hoped to reach Boston, but there was
nothing new to be seen. The weather was fair, so we would have seen
anything within a number of miles. Anxiously we watched, and as we
talked of the strange delay, our courage began to give out with our
hope. When it could be borne no longer, a gentleman went to speak to the
captain. He was on the upper deck, examining the horizon. He put off the
arrival for the next day!
You can imagine our feelings at this. When it was worse the captain came
down and talked so assuringly that, in spite of all the disappointments
we had had, we believed that this was the last, and were quite cheerful
when we went to bed.
The morning was glorious. It was the eighth of May, the seventeenth day
after we left Hamburg. The sky was clear and blue, the sun shone
brightly, as if to congratulate us that we had safely crossed the stormy
sea; and to apologize for having kept away from us so long. The sea had
lost its fury; it was almost as quiet as it had been at Hamburg before
we started, and its color was a beautiful greenish blue. Birds were all
the time in the air, and it was worth while to live merely to hear their
songs. And soon, oh joyful sight! we saw the tops of two trees!
What a shout there rose! Everyone pointed out the welcome sight to
everybody else, as if they did not see it. All eyes were fixed on it as
if they saw a miracle. And this was only the beginning of the joys of
the day!
What confusion there was! Some were flying up the stairs to the upper
deck, some were tearing down to the lower one, others were running in
and out of the cabins, some were in all parts of the ship in one minute,
and all were talking and laughing and getting in somebody's way. Such
excitement, such joy! We had seen two trees!
Then steamers and boats of all kinds passed by, in all directions. We
shouted, and the men stood up in the boats and returned the greeting,
waving their hats. We were as glad to see them as if they were old
friends of ours.
Oh, what a beautiful scene! No corner of the earth is half so fair as
the lovely picture before us. It came to view suddenly,--a green field,
a real field with grass on it, and large houses, and the dearest hens
and little chickens in all the world, and trees, and birds, and people
at work. The young green things put new life into us, and are so dear
to our eyes that we dare not speak a word now, lest the magic should
vanish away and we should be left to the stormy scenes we know.
But nothing disturbed the fairy sight. Instead, new scenes appeared,
beautiful as the first. The sky becomes bluer all the time, the sun
warmer; the sea is too quiet for its name, and the most beautiful blue
imaginable.
What are the feelings these sights awaken! They can not be described. To
know how great was our happiness, how complete, how free from even the
shadow of a sadness, you must make a journey of sixteen days on a stormy
ocean. Is it possible that we will ever again be so happy?
It was about three hours since we saw the first landmarks, when a number
of men came on board, from a little steamer, and examined the passengers
to see if they were properly vaccinated (we had been vaccinated on the
"Polynesia"), and pronounced everyone all right. Then they went away,
except one man who remained. An hour later we saw the wharves.
Before the ship had fully stopped, the climax of our joy was reached.
One of us espied the figure and face we had longed to see for three long
years. In a moment five passengers on the "Polynesia" were crying,
"Papa," and gesticulating, and laughing, and hugging one another, and
going wild altogether. All the rest were roused by our excitement, and
came to see our father. He recognized us as soon as we him, and stood
apart on the wharf not knowing what to do, I thought.
What followed was slow torture. Like mad things we ran about where there
was room, unable to stand still as long as we were on the ship and he on
shore. To have crossed the ocean only to come within a few yards of him,
unable to get nearer till all the fuss was over, was dreadful enough.
But to hear other passengers called who had no reason for hurry, while
we were left among the last, was unendurable.
Oh, dear! Why can't we get off the hateful ship? Why can't papa come to
us? Why so many ceremonies at the landing?
We said good-bye to our friends as their turn came, wishing we were in
their luck. To give us something else to think of, papa succeeded in
passing us some fruit; and we wondered to find it anything but a great
wonder, for we expected to find everything marvellous in the strange
country.
Still the ceremonies went on. Each person was asked a hundred or so
stupid questions, and all their answers were written down by a very slow
man. The baggage had to be examined, the tickets, and a hundred other
things done before anyone was allowed to step ashore, all to keep us
back as long as possible.
Now imagine yourself parting with all you love, believing it to be a
parting for life; breaking up your home, selling the things that years
have made dear to you; starting on a journey without the least
experience in travelling, in the face of many inconveniences on account
of the want of sufficient money; being met with disappointment where it
was not to be expected; with rough treatment everywhere, till you are
forced to go and make friends for yourself among strangers; being
obliged to sell some of your most necessary things to pay bills you did
not willingly incur; being mistrusted and searched, then half starved,
and lodged in common with a multitude of strangers; suffering the
miseries of seasickness, the disturbances and alarms of a stormy sea for
sixteen days; and then stand within, a few yards of him for whom you did
all this, unable to even speak to him easily. How do you feel?
Oh, it's our turn at last! We are questioned, examined, and dismissed! A
rush over the planks on one side, over the ground on the other, six wild
beings cling to each other, bound by a common bond of tender joy, and
the long parting is at an END.