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WITH   POOR   IMMIGRANTS 
TO  AMERICA 


MACMILLAN  AND  CO.,  LIMITED 

LONDON  •  BOMBAY  •  CALCUTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 

NEW  YORK  •  BOSTON  •  CHICAGO 
DALLAS  •  SAN  FRANCISCO 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.   OF  CANADA,  LTD. 

TORONTO 


.   WITH 

POOR   IMMIGRANTS 
TO  AMERICA  . 


BY 

STEPHEN   GRAHAM 

AUTHOR    OF    '  WITH    THE    RUSSIAN    PILGRIMS    TO    JERUSALEM 


WITH   32  ILLUSTRATIONS   FROM  PHOTOGRAPHS 
BY  THE  AUTHOR 


MACMILLAN   AND  CO.,  LIMITED 

ST.  MARTIN'S  STREET,  LONDON 

1914 


COPYRIGHT 


NOTE 

A  TRANSLATION  of  this  book  has  appeared  serially 
in  Russia  before  publication  in  Great  Britain  and 
America.  The  matter  has  accordingly  been  copy 
righted  in  Russia. 

My  acknowledgments  are  due  to  the  Editor  of 
Harper  s  Magazine  for  permission  to  republish  the 
story  of  the  journey. 

I  wish  to  express  my  thanks  to  Mrs.  James 
Muirhead,  Miss  M.  A.  Best,  and  to  Mr.  J.  Cotton 
Dana,  who,  with  unsparing  energy  and  hospitality, 
helped  me  to  see  America  as  she  is. 

STEPHEN  GRAHAM. 

VLADIKAVKAZ,  RUSSIA. 


825346 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

PROLOGUE    .  .  .  .  .  .       xi 

I.  THE  VOYAGE  .  .  .  .  i 

II.  THE  ARRIVAL  OF  THE  IMMIGRANT^  .  41 

III.  THE  PASSION  OF  AMERICA  AND  THE  TRADITION  OF 

BRITAIN    .  .  .  .  .  -54 

IV.  INEFFACEABLE  MEMORIES  OF  NEW  YORK  .  .72 
V.  THE  AMERICAN  ROAD      A    .             .             .            .84 

VI.  THE  REFLECTION  OF  THE  MACHINE             .  .102 

VII.  RUSSIANS  AND  SLAVS  AT  SCRANTON            .  .121 

VIII.  AMERICAN  HOSPITALITY  -k  .             .            .  .138 

IX.  OVER  THE  ALLEGHANIES     .            .             .  .158 

X.  DECORATION  DAY    .             .             .             .  .     174 

XI.  WAYFARERS  OF  ALL  NATIONALITIES            .  .185 

XII.  CHARACTERISTICS      .....     205 

XIII.  ALONG  ERIE  SHORE             .            .             .  .221 

XIV.  THE  AMERICAN  LANGUAGE.            .             .  .     241 
XV.  THROUGH  THE  HEART  OF  THE  COUNTRY  .  .     248 

XVI.  THE  CHOIR  DANCE  OF  THE  RACES  .  .270 

XVII.  FAREWELL,  AMERICA!  ....     290 

INDEX  .......     303 

vii 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

FACE   PAGE 

1.  The  emigrants  in  sight  of  the  grey-green  statue  of  Liberty 

in  New  York  Harbour       ....  Frontispiece 

2.  Russian  women  on  board — 

(a)  The  peasant          ....  ..12 

(£)  The  intellectual  and  revolutionary  type    .  .          .12 

3.  The  boisterous  Flemings         .          .          .          .  .          .16 

4.  (a)  The  dreamy  Norwegian  with  the  concertina  .          .        20 
(V)  The  endless  dancing         ...  .          .        20 

5.  (a)  A  Russian  Jew         .                              .  .24 
(£)   "  A  patriarchal  Jew,  very  tall  and  gaunt,  hauled  along 

a  small  fat  woman  of  his  race  " 24 

6.  "  One  of  the  young  ladies  was  being  tossed  up  in  a  blanket 

with  a  young  Irish  lad"  (p.  25)  .          .          .          .        28 

7.  (a)  English .3° 

(£)  Russians  —  Fedya,     Satiron,     Alexy,     Yoosha,     Karl, 

Maxim  Holost  .......        36 

8.  Dainty   Swedish    girls    and    their    partners    looking  over 

the  sea    .........        44 

9.  Apple  orchards  in  blossom  on  the  spurs  of  the  Catskills    .        84 

10.  On  the  way  to  school :  my  breakfast  party       .          .          .92 

11.  The  tramp's  dressing-room      .  .  .no 

12.  By  the    side   of  the   highway  to    Michigan:    the   electric 

freight  train      .          .          .          .          .          .          .          .120 

1 3.  An  Indiana  farm  :  the  wind-well  behind  it,  the  wheatfield 

in  front    .  ......      14° 


x  WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS 

FACE   PAGE 

14.  "The  cream-vans  come  along  and  buy  up  all  the  cream" 

(p.  257)  .  .      148 

15.  "Ploughed  upland   all   dotted   over  with  white  heaps  of 

fertiliser"  (p.  158) 154 

1 6.  "  Slovaks  working  on  the  line  with  pick  and  shovel"          .      164 

17.  The  Slav  children  of  Snow-Shoe  Creek   .          .          .          .172 

1 8.  Italians  working  with  the  "mixer"  on  the  Meadville  Pike      196 

19.  Ingenious  photographs  of  American  types         .          .          .      208 

20.  The  Lithuanian  who  sat  behind  the  asphalt  and  coal-oil 

scatterer .          .          ..          .          .          .          .          .222 

21.  "Johnny  Kishman,  a  German  boy,  got  off  his  bicycle  to 

find  out  what  manner  of  man  I  was"  (p.  229)      .          .      230 

22.  Erie  Shore.      "Amidst  old  logs,  under  a  stooping  willow 

tree,  I  made  my  bed"  (p.  231) .  .     232 

23.  The  sower .               248 

24.  The  store  on  wheels       .....  .254 

25.  "I  had  an  interesting  talk  with  an  ancient  man  by  the 

side  of  the  road  " 258 

26.  "  Old  Samuel  Judie,  lying  on  a  bank,  and  philosophising 

on  life"  (p.  265) 266 

27.  At  the  fountain  in  the  park  :  a  hot  day  in  Chicago   .          .270 


PROLOGUE 

FROM  Russia  to  America ;  from  the  most  backward 
to  the  most  forward  country  in  the  world ;  from 
the  place  where  machinery  is  merely  imported  or 
applied,  to  the  place  where  it  is  invented ;  from  the 
land  of  Tolstoy  to  the  land  of  Edison  ;  from  the 
most  mystical  to  the  most  material ;  from  the 
religion  of  suffering  to  the  religion  of  philanthropy. 

Russia  and  America  are  the  Eastern  and  Western 
poles  of  thought.  Russia  is  evolving  as  the  greatest 
artistic  philosophical  and  mystical  nation  of  the 
world,  and  Moscow  may  be  said  already  to  be  the 
literary  capital  of  Europe.  America  is  showing 
itself  as  the  site  of  the  New  Jerusalem,  the  place 
where  a  nation  is  really  in  earnest  in  its  attempt  to 
realise  the  great  dream  of  human  progress.  Russia 
is  the  living  East ;  America  is  the  living  West — 
as  India  is  the  dead  East  and  Britain  is  the  dying 
West.  Siberia  will  no  doubt  be  the  West  of  the 

X  , 

future. 

For  one  who  knows  Russia  well  America  is  full 
of  a  great  revelation.  The  contrast  in  national 
spirit  is  so  sharp  that  each  helps  you  to  see  the 


XI 


xii          WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS 

other  more  clearly.  The  American  people  are  now 
on  the  threshold  of  a  great  progressive  era ;  they 
feel  themselves  within  sight  of  the  realisation  of 
many  of  their  ideals.  They  have  been  hampered 
badly  by  the  trusts  and  the  "bosses"  and  the 
corrupt  police,  but  they  are  now  proving  that  these 
obstacles  are  merely  temporary  anomalies,  caused 
by  the  overwhelmingly  sudden  growth  of  popula 
tion  and  prosperity.  A  few  years  ago  it  could  with 
truth  be  said  that  material  conditions  were  worse  in 
the  United  States  than  in  the  Old  World.  But  it 
has  been  clear  all  the  time  that  the  corruption 
existent  in  the  country  was  truly  foreign  to  the 
country's  temper. 

The  common  citizen  is  becoming  the  watch 
dog  of  the  police-service.  Tammany  has  fallen. 
Women  are  getting  the  suffrage,  state  by  state. 
The  nation  is  unanimous  in  its  cry  for  a  pure  state, 
a  clean  country,  and  an  uncorrupted  people.  All 
diseases  are  to  be  healed.  Couples  who  wish  to 
be  married  must  produce  health-certificates.  The 
mentally  deficient  and  hereditary  criminals  are  to 
be  segregated.  Blue  -  books,  or  rather  what  the 
Americans  call  White-books,  are  going  to  form  the 
Bible  of  a  new  nation.  The  day  is  going  to  be 
rationally  divided  into  eight  hours'  work,  eight 
hours'  pleasure,  eight  hours'  sleep — or  rather,  eight 
hours'  looking  at  machinery,  eight  hours'  pleasure, 
eight  hours'  sleep,  for  machinery  is  going  to  accom 
plish  all  the  ugly  toil.  Everybody  is  to  be  well 


PROLOGUE  xiii 

dressed,  well  housed,  comfortable.  America  is 
raging  against  drink,  against  the  exploitation  of 
immigrants,  against  the  fate  of  the  white  slave, 
against  any  one  who  has  done  anything  immoral. 
It  will  nationally  expel  a  Russian  genius  like  Gorky. 
It  makes  great  difficulty  of  admitting  to  its  shores 
any  one  who  has  ever  been  in  prison.  It  is  so  in 
earnest  about  the  future  of  America  that  it  has  set 
up  what  is  almost  an  insult  to  Europe — the  ex 
amination  of  Ellis  Island.  Any  one  who  has  gone 
through  the  ordeal  of  the  poor  emigrant,  as  I  did, 
going  into  America  with  a  party  of  poor  Russians 
in  the  steerage,  and  has  been  medically  examined 
and  clerically  cross -questioned  about  his  life  and 
ethics,  knows  that  America  is  a  materialist  and  pro 
gressive  country,  and  that  she  is  no  longer  a  harbour 
of  refuge  for  the  weak,  but  a  place  where  a  nation 
is  determined  to  have  health  and  strength  and 
prosperity. 

Now  in  Russia,  when  you  arrive  there,  you  find 
no  such  tyranny  as  that  of  Ellis  Island  awaiting 
you.  You  have  come  to  the  land  of  charity.  If 
there  is  any  question  it  is  of  whether  you  are  a 
Russian  Jew  wanting  to  be  recognised  as  an 
American  citizen.  Their  charity  does  not  extend 
to  the  Jews.  But  disease  does  not  stand  in  your 
way,  neither  does  crime;  ethics  are  not  inquired 
into ;  Mylius  or  Mrs.  Pankhurst  or  Miss  Marie 
Lloyd  receive  their  passports  without  a  frown.  You 
have  come  to  the  nation  to  whom  are  precious  the 


xiv          WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS 

sick,  the  mentally  deficient,  the  criminal,  the  waste- 
ends  of  humanity,  the  poor  woman  on  the  streets, 
the  drunkard.  Her  greatest  novelist,  Dostoievsky, 
was  an  epileptic ;  her  national  poet,  Nekrasof,  was 
a  drunkard ;  Vrubel,  one  of  her  greatest  painters, 
was  an  imbecile ;  Chekhof,  her  great  tale  -  writer, 
was  a  hopeless  consumptive.  She  is  not  opposed 
to  the  good  and  the  sound,  but  the  suffering  are 
dearer  to  her,  more  comprehensible.  She  loves 
the  drunkard,  and  says  "  Yes,  you  are  right  to  be 
drunk;  you  are  probably  a  good  man.  It  is  what 
you  are  likely  to  be  in  this  world  of  enigmas." 
She  loves  the  white  slave,  but  does  not  wish  to 
shut  her  in  a  home  for  such.  The  Russians,  so  far 
from  segregating  the  diseased  and  the  fallen,  fre 
quently  fall  in  love  with  them  and  marry  them. 
They  are  sorry  for  the  crippled  children,  but  do  not 
wish  they  had  never  been  born.  They  see  in 
them  a  reminder  of  the  true  lot  of  man  upon  the 
world.  They  make  such  children  holy,  and  set 
them  at  the  church  doors.  Russia  does  not  execute 
the  murderer  except  under  martial  law,  but  she 
sends  him  to  Siberia  to  understand  life  and  be 
resurrected.  Thus,  in  The  Crime  and  Punishment, 
Raskolnikof  the  murderer,  goes  to  Siberia  with 
little  Sonia,  the  white  slave,  who  whispers  to  him 
all  the  way  the  promises  of  St.  John's  Gospel. 

In  America  the  man  who  is  tramping  the  road 
and  will  not  work  is  an  object  of  enmity.  He  is 
almost  a  criminal.  He  is  not  wanted.  He  will 


PROLOGUE  xv 

receive  little  hospitality,  must  chop  wood  for  his 
breakfast  or  steal.  His  life  is  a  blasphemy  breathed 
against  the  American  ideal.  But  in  Russia  none  is 
looked  upon  more  kindly  than  the  man  on  the  road, 
the  tramp  or  the  pilgrim.  There  are  a  million  or 
so  of  them  on  the  road  in  the  summer.  They  are 
characteristic  of  Russia.  In  them  the  Russian 
confesses  that  he  is  a  stranger  and  a  pilgrim  upon 
the  earth. 

The  Christianity  of  Russia  is  the  Christianity  of 
death,  of  renunciation,  of  what  is  called  the  podvig^ 
the  turning  away  from  the  empire  of  "  the  world  " 
as  proposed  by  Satan  on  the  mountain,  the  wasting 
of  the  ointment  rather  than  the  raising  of  the  poor, 
the  giving  the  lie  to  Satan,  the  part  of  Mary  rather 
than  the  part  of  Martha. 

But  the  Christianity  of  America  is  the  Christi 
anity  of  Life,  of  affirmation,  of  "  making  good,"  of 
accepting  "  the  world "  and  preparing  for  Christ's 
second  coming,  of  obedience  to  the  law,  of  alms 
giving.  America  is  the  great  almsgiver,  appealed 
to  for  money  from  the  ends  of  the  earth,  and  for 
every  object.  If  Russia  can  give  faith,  America 
can  give  the  rest.  It  is  impossible  for  America  to 
say  with  St.  Peter  "  Silver  and  gold  have  I  none, 
but  such  as  I  have  give  I  thee."  The  Americans 
believe  in  money*  and  the  pastor  of  a  fashionable 
church  is  able  to  say,  "  I  preach  to  fifty  million 
dollars  every  Sunday  morning."  But  as  Mme. 
Novikof,  in  one  of  her  brilliant  conversations,  once 


xvi         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS 

said,  "  What  is  greater  than  the  power  of  money  ? 
v  Why,  contempt  of  money."  There  are  no  people 
in  the  world  who  keep  fewer  account-books  than 
the  Russians.  They  fling  about  their  wealth  or  the 
pennies  of  their  poverty  with  the  generous  assurance 
that  the  bond  of  brotherhood  is  greater  than  their 
fear  of  personal  deprivation. 

The  Americans  are  great  collectors.  It  may  be 
said  collecting  is  the  genius  of  the  West ;  empty  - 
handedness  is  the  glory  of  the  East. 

The  Russians  are  a  sad  and  melancholy  people. 
But  they  do  not  want  to  lose  their  melancholy  or  to 
exchange  it  for  Western  self-satisfaction.  It  is  a 
divine  melancholy.  As  their  great  contemporary 
poet  Balmont  writes  : 

I  know  what  it  is  to  moan  endlessly — 

In  the  long  cold  Winter  to  wait  in  vain  for  Spring, 

But  I  know  also  that  the  nightingale's  song  is  beautiful  to  us 

just  because  of  its  sadness, 
And  that  the  silence  of  the  snowy  mountain   peaks  is   more 

beautiful  than  the  lisping  of  streams — 

which  is  somewhat  of  a  contrast  to  a  conversation 
reported  in  one  of  Professor  Jacks'  books  : 

Passenger^  looking  out  of  the  train  window  at  the  snowy 
ranges  of  the  Rockies  :  "  What  mountains  !  " 

American,  puzzled  for  a  moment:  "  I  guess  I  h'ant  got 
\any  use  for  those,  but  ef  you're  thinking  of  buying  real 
estate.  .  .  ." 

The  phrase,  real  estate  \ 

Britain  is  seated  in  the  mean.  Compared  with 
America  she  is  semi-Eastern.  Despite  the  blood- 


PROLOGUE  xvii 

relationship  of  the  American  and  British  peoples 
they  are  more  than  an  ocean  apart.  We  receive 
without  much  thanks  American  songs  and  dances, 
boxers,  Carnegie  libraries,  and  plenty  of  money 
for  all  sorts  of  purposes.  But  our  backs  are  to 
America ;  we  look  towards  Russia  and  are  all  agog 
about  the  next  Russian  book  or  ballet  or  music. 
We  are  an  old  nation ;  as  far  as  the  little  island  is 
concerned  hope  has  died  down.  We  have  explored 
the  island.  America  will  take  a  long  time  to  ex 
plore  her  territory.  No  vast  tracts  and  inex 
haustible  resources  and  terrific  upheavals  of  Nature 
reflect  themselves  in  our  national  mood.  The 
American  working  man  has  a  true  passion  for  work, 
for  his  country,  for  everything  ;  the  British  working 
man  does  his  duty.  We  have  not  the  belief  in  life 
that  the  American  has  —  we  have  not  yet  the 
Russian's  belief  in  death. 

The  American  breathes  full  into  his  lungs  the 
air  of  life.  The  American  is  glad  at  the  sight  of 
the  strong,  the  victorious,  the  healthful.  How 
often,  in  novels  and  in  life,  does  the  American 
woman,  returning  from  a  sojourn  in  the  far  West, 
confess  to  her  admiration  of  the  cowboy !  She  is 
thrilled  by  the  sight  of  such  strong  wild  "husky'* 
fellows,  each  of  them  equal  to  four  New  Yorkers. 
In  England,  however,  the  town  girl  has  no  smiles 
for  the  strong  peasant ;  he  is  a  country  bumpkin,  no 
more.  She  wants  the  ideal,  the  unearthly.  In 
Russia  weakness  attracts  far  more  than  strength  ; 


xviii       WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS 

love  is  towards  consumptives,  cripples,  the  half- 
deranged,  the  impossibles.  The  Americans  do  not 
want  the  weak  one  ;  England  backs  the  "  little  un  " 
to  win  ;  Russia  loves  the  weak  one,  feeling  he  will 
be  eternally  beaten,  and  loves  him  because  he  will 
be  beaten.  But  America  loves  the  strong,  the 
healthy,  the  pure,  because  she  is  tired  of  Europe 
and  the  weakness  and  disease  and  sorrow  of 
Europeans. 


THE   VOYAGE 

AT  Easter  1912  I  was  with  seven  thousand  Russian 
peasants  at  the  Holy  Sepulchre  in  Jerusalem.  On 
Easter  Day  1913  I  arrived  with  Russian  emigrants 
at  New  York,  and  so  accomplished  in  two  consecu 
tive  years  two  very  different  kinds  of  pilgrimage, 
following  up  two  very  significant  life-movements  in 
the  history  of  the  world  of  to-day.  One  of  these 
belongs  to  the  old  life  of  Europe,  showing  the 
Middle  Ages  as  it  still  survives  under  the  con 
servative  regime  of  the  Tsars  ;  the  other  is  fraught 
with  all  the  possibilities  of  the  future  in  the  making 
of  the  New  America. 

It  was  in  March  that  I  decided  to  follow  up  the 
movements  of  the  people  out  of  the  depths  of  Europe 
into  America,  and  with  that  purpose  sought  out 

I—     -  K ,  a  well-known  immigration  agent  in 

the  East  End  of  London.  He  transhipped  Russians 
coming  via  Libau  and  London,  and  could  tell  me 
just  when  he  expected  the  next  large  detachment 
of  them. 

S  I  B 


2.         -WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  i 

"  Have  you  a  letter  of  introduction  ? "  asked 
the  agent. 

"  I  shouldn't  have  thought  any  was  necessary,"  I 
answered.  "  A  Russian  friend  advised  me  to  go  to 
you.  You  don't  stand  to  lose  anything  by  telling 
me  what  I  want  to  know." 

He  would  do  nothing  for  me  without  an  intro 
duction,  without  knowing  exactly  with  whom  he 
had  to  deal.  I  might  be  a  political  spy.  The 
hand  of  the  Tsar  was  long,  and  could  ruin 
men's  lives  even  in  America.  At  least  so  he 
thought. 

I  mentioned  the  name  of  a  revolutionary  an 
archist,  a  militant  suffragette.  He  said  a  letter 
from  her  would  suffice.  I  went  to  Hampstead 
and  explained  my  predicament  to  the  lady.  She 
wrote  me  a  note  to  a  mysterious  revolutionary 
who  was  living  above  Israel's  shop,  and  this 
missive,  when  presented,  was  promptly  taken  as 
a  full  credential.  The  mysterious  revolutionary 
was  on  the  point  of  death,  and  could  not  see 
me,  but  Israel  read  the  letter,  and  at  once  agreed 
that  he  was  ready  to  be  of  any  service  to  me  he 
could.  There  was  a  large  party  of  Russians  coming 
soon,  not  Russian  Jews,  but  real  Russian  peasants, 
and  he  would  let  me  know  as  soon  as  he,  could  just 
when  they  might  be  expected.  I  returned  to  my 
ordinary  avocations,  and  every  now  and  then  rang 
up  "  I.  K."  on  the  telephone,  and  asked,  Had  the 
Russians  come?  When  were  they  coming?  At 


i  THE  VOYAGE  3 

last  the  intelligence  came,  "  They  are  just  arriving. 
Hurry  down  to  Hayes  wharf  at  once." 

The  news  took  me  in  the  midst  of  other  things, 
but  I  dropped  all  and  rushed  to  London  Bridge. 
There,  at  Tooley  Street,  I  witnessed  one  of  the 
happenings  you'd  never  think  was  going  on  in 
London. 

A  long  procession  of  Russian  peasants  was  just 
filing  out  from  the  miserable  steamship  Perm.  They 
were  in  black,  white,  and  brown  sheepskins  and  in 
astrakhan  hats,  some  in  blue  blouses  and  peak-hats, 
some  in  brightly  embroidered  linen  shirts  ;  none 
wore  collars,  but  some  had  new  shiny  bowlers,  on 
which  the  litter  and  dust  of  the  port  was  continually 
falling, — bowlers  which  they  had  evidently  purchased 
from  German  hawkers  who  had  come  on  board  at 
some  point  in  the  journey.  The  women  wore  sheep 
skins  also,  many  of  them,  and  their  heads  were 
covered  with  shawls ;  they  had  their  babies  sewn 
up  in  little  red  quilts.  Beside  them  there  were 
pretty  town  girls  and  Jewesses  dressed  in  cottons 
and  serges  and  cheap  hats.  There  were  few  old 
people  and  many  young  ones,  and  they  carried  under 
their  arms  clumsy,  red-painted  wooden  boxes  and 
baskets  from  which  kettles  and  saucepans  dangled. 
On  their  backs  they  had  sacks,  and  in  their  hands 
several  of  them  had  crusts  of  bread  picked  up  in 
their  hurry  as  they  were  hustled  from  their  berths 
and  through  the  mess-room.  Some  of  the  sacks  on 
their  backs,  as  I  afterward  saw,  contained  nothing 


4  WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  i 

but  crusts  of  white  and  black  bread,  on  which, 
perhaps,  they  trusted  to  live  during  the  first  weeks 
in  America! 

They  were  all  rather  bewildered  for  the  moment, 
and  a  trifle  anxious  about  the  Customs  officers. 

"  What  is  this  town  ?  "  they  asked. 

"  For  what  are  the  Customs  men  looking? " 

"Where  is  our  agent — the  man  they  said  would 
be  here?" 

I  entered  into  conversation  with  them,  and  over 
and   over  again   answered  the   question,  "  What  is 
this  town  ?  "      I  told  them  it  was  London. 

II  Is  it  a  beautiful  town  ?"  they  asked. 
"Is  it  a  large  town?" 

"  Do  we  have  to  go  in  a  train  ?  " 

"  How  far  is  it?" 

"  Look  at  my  ticket ;  what  does  it  say  ?  " 

They  made  a  miscellaneous  crowd  on  the  quay 
side,  and  I  talked  to  them  freely,  answered  their 
questions,  and  in  turn  put  questions  of  my  own. 
They  came  from  all  parts  of  Russia,  even  from 
remote  parts,  and  were  going  to  just  as  diverse 
places  in  America  :  to  villages  in  Minnesota,  in 
Michigan,  in  Iowa;  to  Brooklyn,  to  Boston,  to 
Chicago.  I  realised  the  meaning  of  the  phrase, 
"  The  magic  word  Chicago."  I  told  them  how  many 
people  there  were  in  London,  how  much  dock 
labourers  get  a  week,  pointed  out  the  Tower  Bridge, 
and  calmed  them  about  the  non-appearance  of  their 
agent.  I  knew  him,  and  if  he  didn't  turn  up  I  would 


i  THE  VOYAGE  5 

lead  them  to  him.  They  might  be  calm  ;  he  knew 
Russian,  he  would  arrange  all  for  them. 

At  last  a  representative  of  my  East  End  friend 
appeared — David  the  Jew.  He  was  known  to  all 
the  dockers  as  David,  but  he  had  a  gilt  I.  K.  on  the 
collar  of  his  coat,  wore  a  collar,  had  his  hair  brushed, 
and  was  a  person  of  tremendous  importance  to  the 
eager  and  humble  emigrants.  Not  a  Jew,  no  !  No 
Jew  has  authority  in  Russia.  No  Jew  looked  like 
David,  and  so  the  patient  Christians  thought  him 
an  important  official  when  he  rated  them,  and 
shouted  to  them,  and  cursed  them  like  a  herdsman 
driving  home  a  contrary  lot  of  cows  and  sheep  and 
pigs. 

Another  Jew  appeared,  in  a  green  hat  and  fancy 
waistcoat,  and  he  produced  a  sheaf  of  papers  having 
the  names,  ages,  and  destinations  of  the  emigrants 
all  tabulated.  He  began  a  roll-call  in  one  of  the 
empty  warehouses  of  the  dock.  Each  peasant  as 
his  name  was  called  was  ticked  off,  and  was  allowed 
to  gather  up  his  belongings  and  bolt  through  the 
warehouse  as  if  to  catch  a  train.  I  ran  to  the  other 
side  and  found  a  series  of  vans  and  brakes,  such  as 
take  the  East-enders  to  Happy  Hampstead  on  a 
Bank  Holiday.  Into  these  the  emigrants  were 
guided,  and  they  took  their  seats  with  great  satis 
faction.  They  clambered  in  from  all  sides,  showing 
a  preference  for  getting  up  by  the  wheels,  and 
nearly  pulling  away  the  sides  of  the  frail  vehicles. 

The  vanmen  jested  after  their  knowledge  of  jests, 


6  WITH   POOR  IMMIGRANTS  i 

and  put  their  arms  round  the  pretty  girls'  waists. 
David  rushed  to  and  fro,  fretting  and  scolding. 
Loafers  and  clerks  collected  to  look  at  the  girls. 

"  Why  does  that  old  man  look  at  us  so  ?  He  ought 
to  be  ashamed  of  himself,"  said  a  pretty  Moscow 
girl  to  me.  "  He  is  dressed  like  twenty  or  twenty- 
five,  but  he  is  quite  old.  How  quizzically  he  looks 

ii 

at  us. 

"  He  is  forty,"  said  I. 

"Sixty!" 

"  That's  a  pretty  one,"  said  a  young  man  whose 
firm  imported  Koslof  eggs. 

"What  does  he  say?" 

"  He  says  that  you  are  pretty." 

"  Tell  him  I  thank  him  for  the  compliment ;  but 
he  is  not  interesting — he  has  not  a  moustache." 

All  the  vans  filled,  and  there  was  a  noise  and  a 
smell  of  Russia  in  the  grim  and  dreary  dockyard, 
and  such  a  chatter  of  young  men  and  women,  all 
very  excited.  At  last  David  got  them  all  in  order. 
I  stepped  up  myself,  and  one  by  one  we  went  off 
through  the  East  End  of  the  city. 

We  went  to  St.  Pancras  station.  On  the  way 
one  of  the  peasants  stepped  down  from  his  brake 
and,  entering  a  Jewish  hat-shop,  bought  himself  a 
soft  green  felt  and  put  his  astrakhan  hat  away  in  his 
sack.  He  was  the  subject  of  some  mirth,  and  also 
of  some  envy  in  the  crowd  that  sat  down  to 
coffee  and  bread  and  butter  at  the  Great  Midland 
terminus.  Under  the  terms  of  their  tickets  the 


i  THE  VOYAGE  7 

emigrants  were  fed  all  the  way  from  Libau  to  New 
York  without  extra  charge. 

They  were  all  going  from  Liverpool,  some  by  the 
Allan  Line,  some  by  the  White  Star,  and  others  by 
the  Cunard.  As  by  far  the  greatest  number  were 
going  on  the  Cunard  boat,  I  went  to  I.  K.  and 
booked  a  passage  on  that  line.  There  was  much  to 
arrange  and  write,  my  sack  to  pack,  and  many  good 
byes  to  utter — all  in  the  briefest  space  of  time. 

At  midnight  I  returned  to  the  station  and  took 
my  seat  in  the  last  train  for  Liverpool.  Till  the 
moment  before  departure  I  had  a  compartment  to 
myself;  but  away  down  at  the  back  of  the  train 
were  coach  after  coach  of  Russians,  all  stretched  on 
their  sheepskins  on  the  narrow  seats  and  on  the 
floor,  with  their  children  in  the  string  cradles  of  the 
parcel-racks.  They  were  crowded  with  bundles  and 
baskets  and  kettles  and  saucepans,  and  yet  they 
had  disposed  themselves  to  sleep.  As  I  walked 
along  the  corridor  I  heard  the  chorus  of  heavy 
breathing  and  snoring.  In  one  of  the  end  carriages 
a  woman  was  on  her  knees  praying — prostrating  and 
crossing  herself.  As  we  moved  out  of  St.  Pancras 
I  felt  as  I  did  when  upon  the  pilgrim  boat  going  to 
Jerusalem,  and  I  said  to  myself  with  a  thrill,  "  We 
have  mysterious  passengers  on  board."  The  sleep 
ing  Russians  gave  an  atmosphere  to  the  English 
train.  It  was  like  the  peculiar  feeling  that  comes 
to  the  other  people  in  a  house  when  news  is  given 
downstairs  that  a  new  baby  has  arrived. 


8  WITH   POOR  IMMIGRANTS  i 

A  man  stepped  into  my  compartment  just  as  the 
train  was  moving — a  jovial  Briton  who  asked  me  to 
have  a  cigar,  and  said,  when  I  refused,  that  he  was 
glad,  for  he  really  wanted  to  give  it  to  the  guard. 
He  wanted  the  guard  to  stop  the  express  for  him 
at  Wellingborough,  and  reckoned  that  the  cigar 
would  put  him  on  friendly  terms.  He  inquired 
whether  I  was  a  Mason,  and  when  I  said  I  was  not, 
proceeded  to  reveal  Masonic  secrets,  unbuttoning 
his  waistcoat  to  show  me  a  little  golden  sphere  which 
opened  to  make  a  cross. 

At  St.  Albans  he  gave  the  guard  the  cigar,  and 
the  charm  worked,  for  he  was  enabled  to  alight  at 
Wellingborough.  And  I  was  left  alone  with  my 
dreams. 


In  a  thunderstorm,  with  a  high  gale  and  showers 
of  blinding  hail  and  snow,  with  occasional  flashing 
forth  of  amazing  sunshine,  to  be  followed  by  deepest 
gloom  of  threatening  cloud,  we  collected  on  the  quay 
at  Liverpool — English,  Russians,  Jews,  Germans, 
Swedes,  Finns — all  staring  at  one  another  curiously, 
and  trying  to  understand  languages  we  had  never 
heard  before.  Three  hundred  yards  out  in  the 
harbour  stood  the  red -funnelled  Cunarder  which 
was  to  bear  us  to  America ;  and  we  waited  im 
patiently  for  the  boat  which  should  take  us  along 
side.  We  carried  baskets  and  portmanteaus  in  our 
strained  hands  ;  most  of  us  were  wearing  heavy 


i  THE  VOYAGE  9 

cloaks,  and  some  had  sacks  upon  their  backs,  so  we 
were  all  very  ready  to  rush  aboard  the  ferry-boat 
and  dump  our  burdens  on  its  damp  decks.  What 
a  stampede  there  was — people  pushing  into  port 
manteaus,  baskets  pushing  into  people  !  At  last  we 
had  all  crossed  the  little  gangway,  and  all  that 
remained  on  shore  were  the  few  relatives  and  friends 
who  had  come  to  see  the  English  off.  This  pathetic 
little  crowd  sang  ragtime  songs,  waved  their  hats 
and  handkerchiefs,  and  shouted.  There  was  a 
bandying  of  farewells  : 

"Ta-ta,  ta-ta-ta!" 

" Wish  you  luck!" 

"Ta-ta-a,  ole  Lloyd  George!  No  more  stamp- 
licking  ! " 

"  Good  luck,  old  boy !  " 

"  The  last  of  old  England !  " 

The  foreign  people  looked  on  and  smiled  non- 
comprehendingly  ;  the  English  and  Americans  huz 
zaed  and  grinned.  Then  away  we  went  over  the 
water,  and  thoughts  of  England  passed  rapidly  away 
in  the  interest  of  coming  nearer  to  civilisation's  toy, 
the  great  liner.  We  felt  the  romance  of  ocean  travel, 
and  also  the  tremulous  fear  which  the  ocean  inspires. 
Then  as  we  lay  in  the  lee  of  the  vast,  steep,  blood- 
and  soot-coloured  liner,  each  one  of  us  thought  of 
the  Titanic  and  the  third-class  passengers  who  went 
down  beneath  her  into  the  abyss. 

The  vastness  of  the  liner  made  our  ferry-boat 
look  like  a  matchbox.  A  door  opened  in  the  great 


io          WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  i 

red  wall  and  a  little  gangway  came  out  of  it  like  a 
tongue  coming  out  of  a  mouth.  We  all  picked  up 
our  bags  and  baggage  and  pushed  and  squirmed 
along  this  narrow  footway  that  led  into  the  mouth  of 
the  steamer  and  away  down  into  its  vast,  cavernous, 
hungry  stomach  :  English,  Russians,  Jews,  Germans, 
Poles,  Swedes,  Finns,  Flemings,  Spaniards,  Italians, 
Canadians,  passed  along  and  disappeared — among 
them  all,  I,  myself. 

There  were  fifteen  hundred  of  us  ;  each  man  and 
woman,  still  carrying  handbags  and  baskets,  filed 
past  a  doctor  and  two  assistants,  and  was  cursorily 
examined  for  diseases  of  the  eye  or  skin. 

"  Hats  and  gloves  off!  "  was  our  first  greeting  on 
the  liner.  We  marched  slowly  up  to  the  medical 
trio,  and  each  one  as  he  passed  had  his  eyelid  seized 
by  the  doctor  and  turned  inside  out  with  a  little 
instrument.  It  was  a  strange  liberty  to  take  with 
one's  person  ;  but  doctors  are  getting  their  own  way 
nowadays,  and  they  were  looking  for  trachoma. 
For  the  rest  the  passing  of  hands  through  our  hair 
and  examination  of  our  skin  for  signs  of  scabies  was 
not  so  rough,  and  the  cleaner-looking  people  were 
not  molested. 

Still  carrying  our  things  we  took  our  medical- 
inspection  cards  and  had  them  stamped  by  a  young 
man  on  duty  for  that  purpose.  Then  we  were 
shown  our  berths. 

There  was  a  spring  bed  for  each  person,  a 
towel,  a  bar  of  soap,  and  a  life-preserver.  The 


i  THE  VOYAGE  n 

berths  were  arranged,  two,  four,  and  six  in  a  cabin. 
Married  couples  could  have  a  room  to  themselves, 
but  for  the  rest  men  and  women  were  kept  in 
different  sets  of  cabins.  British  were  put  together, 
Scandinavians  together,  Russians  and  Jews  together. 
It  was  so  arranged  that  the  people  in  the  cabins 
understood  one  another's  language.  Notices  on  the 
walls  warned  that  all  emigrants  would  be  vaccinated 
on  deck,  whether  they  had  been  vaccinated  before 
or  not ;  that  all  couples  making  love  too  warmly 
would  be  married  compulsorily  at  New  York  if  the 
authorities  deemed  it  fit,  or  should  be  fined  or  im 
prisoned  ;  that  in  case  of  fire  or  smoke  being  seen 
anywhere  we  were  to  report  to  chief  steward,  but 
not  to  our  fellow-passengers ;  that  smoking  was  not 
allowed  except  on  the  upper  deck,  and  so  on.  The 
cabins  were  a  glittering,  shining  white  ;  they  were 
small  and  box-like  ;  they  possessed  wash-basins  and 
water  for  the  first  day  of  the  voyage,  but  not  to 
be  replenished  on  succeeding  days.  There  were 
general  lavatories  where  you  might  wash  in  hot  or 
cold  water,  and  there  were  bathrooms  which  were 
locked  and  never  used.  Each  cabin  had  a  little 
mirror.  The  cabins  were  steam-heated,  and  when 
the  passengers  were  dirty  the  air  was  foul.  Fresh 
air  was  to  be  found  on  the  fore  and  after  decks, 
except  in  time  of  storm,  when  we  were  barred  down. 
In  time  of  storm  the  smell  below  was  necessarily 
worse — atrocious,  for  most  of  the  people  were  very 
sick.  We  had,  however,  a  great  quantity  of  dark 


12  WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  i 

space  to  ourselves,  and  could  prowl  into  the  most 
lonesome  parts  of  the  vessel.  The  dark  recesses 
were  always  occupied  by  spooning  couples  who 
looked  as  if  they  had  embarked  on  this  journey 
only  to  make  love  to  one  another.  There  were 
parts  of  the  ship  wholly  given  over  to  dancing, 
other  parts  to  horse -play  and  feats  of  strength. 
There  was  an  immense  dining-room  with  ante 
chambers  and  there,  to  the  sound  of  the  jangling 
dinner-bell  echoing  and  wandering  far  or  near  over 
the  ship,  we  assembled  to  meals. 


The  emigrants  flocked  into  the  mess-room  from 
the  four  doors  to  twenty  immense  tables  spread 
with  knives  and  forks  and  toppling  platters  of  bread. 
Nearly  all  the  men  came  in  in  their  hats, — in  black 
glistening  ringlety  sheepskin  hats,  in  fur  caps,  in 
bowlers,  in  sombreros,  in  felt  hats  with  high  crowns, 
in  Austrian  cloth  hats,  in  caps  so  green  that  the 
wearer  could  only  be  Irish.  Most  of  the  young 
men  were  curious  to  see  what  girls  there  were  on 
board,  and  looked  eagerly  to  the  daintily  clad 
Swedish  women,  blonde  and  auburn-haired  beauties 
in  tight-fitting,  speckless  jerseys.  The  British  girls 
came  in  in  their  poor  cotton  dresses,  or  old  silk 
ones,  things  that  had  once  looked  grand  for  Sunday 
wear  but  now  bore  miserable  crippled  hooks  and 
eyes,  threadbare  seams,  gaping  fastenings — cheerful 
daughters  of  John  Bull  trapesing  along  in  the 


i  THE  VOYAGE  13 

shabbiest  of  floppy  old  boots.  Then  there  were 
the  dark  and  somewhat  forward  Jewesses,  talking 
animatedly  with  little  Jew  men  in  queer-shaped 
trousers  and  skimpy  coats  ;  there  were  slatternly 
looking  Italian  women  with  their  children,  intent 
on  being  at  home  in  whatever  circumstances. 
There  was  a  party  of  shapely  and  attractive 
Austrian  girls  that  attracted  attention  from  the 
others  and  a  regular  scramble  to  try  to  sit  next  to 
them  or  near  them.  No  one  ever  saw  a  greater 
miscellaneity  and  promiscuity  of  peoples  brought 
together  by  accident.  I  sat  between  a  sheepskin- 
wrapped  peasant  wife  from  the  depths  of  Russia 
and  a  neat  Danish  engineer,  who  looked  no  different 
from  British  or  American.  Opposite  me  were  two 
cowboys  going  back  to  the  Far  West,  a  dandified 
Spanish  Jew  sat  next  them  on  one  hand  and  two 
Norwegians  in  voluminous  knitted  jackets  on  the 
other.  At  the  next  table  was  a  row  of  boisterous 
Flemings,  with  huge  caps  and  gaudy  scarfs.  There 
were  Americans,  spruce  and  smart  and  polite  ;  there 
were  Italians,  swarthy  and  dirty,  having  their  black 
felt  hats  on  their  heads  all  through  the  meal  and 
resting  their  elbows  on  the  table  as  if  they'd  just 
come  into  a  public  -  house  in  their  native  land. 
There  were  gentle  youths  in  shirts  which  women 
folk  had  embroidered  in  Little  Russia ;  there  were 
black-bearded  Jewish  patriarchs  in  their  gaberdines, 
tall  and  gaunt. 

A  strange  gathering  of  seekers,  despairers,  wan- 


i4  WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  i 

derers,  pioneers,  criminals,  scapegoats.  I  thought 
of  all  the  reasons  that  had  brought  these  various  folk 
together  to  make  a  community,  that  had  brought 
them  all  together  to  form  a  Little  America.  From 
Great  Britain  it  is  so  often  the  drunkard  who  is  sent. 
Some  young  fellow  turns  out  to  be  wilder  than  the 
rest  of  his  family  ;  he  won't  settle  down'  to  the  sober, 
righteous,  and  godly  life  that  has  been  the  destiny  of 
the  others  ;  he  is  likely  to  disgrace  respectability,  so 
parents  or  friends  give  him  his  passage-money  and 
a  little  capital  and  send  him  away  across  the  sea. 
Henceforth  his  name  is  mentioned  at  home  with  a 
'ssh,  or  with  a  tear — till  the  day  that  he  makes  his 
fortune.  With  the  drunkard  go  the  young  forger 
or  embezzler  whose  shame  has  been  covered  up  and 
hidden,  but  who  can  get  no  "character"  from  his 
last  employer.  Then  there  are  the  unemployed, 
and  those  discontented  with  their  jobs,  the  out-of- 
works,  the  men  who  have  seen  no  prospect  in  the 
old  land  and  felt  no  freedom.  There  are  the  wan 
derers,  the  rovers,  the  wastrels,  so  called,  who  have 
never  been  able  to  settle  down  ;  there  are  also  the 
prudent  and  thoughtful  men  who  have  read  of 
better  conditions  and  go  simply  to  take  advantage 
of  them.  There  are  those  who  are  there  almost 
against  their  will,  persuaded  by  the  agents  of  the 
shipping  companies  and  the  various  people  in 
terested  to  keep  up  the  flow  of  people  into  America. 
There  are  the  women  who  are  going  out  to  their 
sweethearts  to  be  married,  and  the  wives  who  are 


i  THE  VOYAGE  15 

going  to  the  husbands  who  have  "made  good";  there 
are  the  girls  who  have  got  into  trouble  at  home  and 
have  slid  away  to  America  to  hide  their  shame ; 
there  are  girls  going  to  be  domestic  servants,  and 
girls  doomed  to  walk  the  streets, — all  sitting  down 
together,  equals,  at  a  table  where  no  grace  is  said  but 
the  whisper  of  hope  which  rises  from  each  heart. 

But  it  is  not  only  just  these  people  whom  I 
have  so  materially  and  separately  indicated.  The 
cheerful  lad  who  is  beginning  to  flirt  with  his  first 
girl  acquaintance  on  the  boat  has  only  a  few  hours 
since  dried  the  tears  off  his  cheeks  ;  they  are  nearly 
all  young  people  on  the  boat,  and  they  mostly  have 
loving  mothers  and  fathers  in  the  background,  and 
friends  and  sweethearts,  some  of  them.  And  there 
are  some  lonely  ones  who  have  none  who  care  for 
them  in  all  the  world.  There  are  young  men  who 
are  following  a  lucky  star,  and  who  will  never  be  so 
poor  again  in  their  lives,  boys  who  have  guardian 
angels  who  will  never  let  them  injure  their  foot  on 
the  ground,  boys  who  have  in  their  favour  good 
fairies,  boys  and  girls  who  have  old  folk  praying  for 
them.  And  there  is  the  prodigal  son,  as  well  as 
the  too  -  prodigal  daughter.  There  are  youngest 
brothers  in  plenty,  going  to  win  the  princess  in  a 
way  their  elder  brothers  never  thought  of;  young 
Hans  is  there,  Aladdin,  Norwegian  Ashepattle,  Ivan 
Durak — the  Angel  of  Life  is  there  ;  there  is  also 
the  Angel  of  Death. 

We  sat  down   together  to   our  first  meal, — the. 


16  WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  i 

whole  company  of  the  emigrant  passengers  broke 
bread  together  and  became  thereby  one  body, — a 
little  American  nation  in  ourselves,  i  I  am  sure  that 
had  the  rest  of  the  world's  people  been  lost  we 
could  have  run  a  civilisation  by  ourselves.  We  had 
/  peasants  to  till  the  soil,  colliers  to  give  us  fuel, 
weavers  and  spinners  to  make  cloth,  tailors  to  sew 
it  into  garments,  comely  girls  of  all  nations  to  be 
our  wives  ;  we  had  clerks  and  shop-keepers  and  Jews 
with  which  to  make  cities  ;  musicians  and  music- 
hall  artists  to  divert  us,  and  an  author  to  write  about 
it  all. 

Mugs  half-full  of  celery  soup  were  whisked  along 
the  tables  ;  not  a  chunk  of  bread  on  the  platters  was 
less  than  an  inch  thick  ;  the  hash  of  gristly  beef  and 
warm  potato  was  what  would  not  have  been  tolerated 
in  the  poorest  restaurant,  but  we  set  ourselves  to  eat 
it,  knowing  that  trials  in  plenty  awaited  us  and  that 
the  time  might  come  when  we  should  have  worse 
things  than  these  to  bear.  The  Swedes  and  the 
British  were  finicky  ;  the  Russians  and  the  Jews 
ate  voraciously  as  if  they'd  never  seen  anything  so 
good  in  their  lives. 

The  peasant  woman  next  to  me  crossed  herself 
before  and  after  the  meal ;  her  Russian  compatriots 
removed  their  hats,  and  some  of  them  said  grace  in 
a  whisper  to  themselves.  But  most  ate  even  with 
their  hats  on,  and  most  with  their  hands  dirty.  You 
would  not  say  we  ate  as  if  in  the  presence  of  God 
and  with  the  memories,  in  the  mind,  of  prayers  for 


THE  BOISTEROUS  FLEMINGS. 


i  THE  VOYAGE  17 

the  future  and  heart-break  at  parting  with  home ;  yet 
this  meal  was  for  the  seeing  eye  a  wonderful  religious 
ceremony,  a  very  real  first  communion  service.  The 
rough  food  so  roughly  dispensed  was  the  bread  and 
wine,  making  them  all  of  one  body  and  of  one  spirit 
in  America.  Henceforth  all  these  people  will  come 
nearer  and  nearer  to  one  another,  and  drift  farther  and 
farther  from  the  old  nations  to  which  they  belonged. 
They  will  marry  one  another,  British  and  Jewish, 
Swedish  and  Irish,  Russian  and  German;  they  will 
be  always  eating  at  America's  board ;  they  will 
be  speaking  the  one  language,  their  children  will 
learn  America's  ideals  in  America's  school.  Even 
from  the  most  aboriginal,  illiterate  peasant  on  board, 
there  must  come  one  day  a  little  child,  his  grandson 
or  great-grandson,  who  will  have  forgotten  the  old 
country  and  the  old  customs,  whose  heart  will  thrill 
to  America's  idea  as  if  he  had  himself  begotten  it. 


On  Sunday  morning  when  we  came  upstairs 
from  our  stuffy  little  cabin  we  were  gliding  past  the 
green  coast  of  Ireland,  and  shortly  after  breakfast- 
time  we  entered  the  beautiful  harbour  of  Queens- 
town,  blue-green,  gleaming,  and  perfect  under  a 
bright  spring  sun.  Hawkers  came  aboard  with 
apples,  knotted  sticks,  and  green  favours — the  day 
following  would  be  St.  Patrick's.  And  we  shipped 
a  score  of  Irish  passengers. 

Outside   Queenstown  a  different  weather  raged 

c 


i8  WITH   POOR  IMMIGRANTS  i 

over  the  Atlantic,  and  as  we  steamed  out  of  the  lagoon 
it  came  forward  to  meet  us.  The  clouds  came 
drifting  toward  us,  and  the  wind  rattled  in  the  masts. 
The  ocean  was  full  of  glorious  life  and  wash  of  wave 
and  sea.  A  crowd  of  emigrants  stood  in  the  aft  and 
watched  the  surf  thundering  away  behind  us  ;  the 
great  hillsides  of  green  water  rose  into  being  and 
then  fell  out  of  being  in  grand  prodigality.  Gulls 
hung  over  us  as  we  rushed  forward  and  poised  them 
selves  with  gentle  feet  outstretched,  or  flew  about 
us,  skirling  and  crying,  or  went  forward  and  over 
took  us.  Meanwhile  Ireland  and  Britain  passed 
out  of  view,  and  we  were  left  alone  with  the  wide 
ocean.  We  knew  that  for  a  week  we  should  not 
see  land  again,  and  when  we  did  see  land  that  land 
would  be  America. 


Then  we  all  began  to  know  one  another,  to  talk, 
to  dance,  to  sing,  to  play  together.  All  the  cabins 
were  abuzz  with  chatter,  and  along  the  decks  young 
couples  began  to  find  one  another  out  and  to  walk 
arm  and  arm.  Two  dreamy  Norwegians  produced 
concertinas,  and  without  persuasion  sat  down  in  dark 
corners  and  played  dance  music  for  hours,  for  days. 
Rough  men  danced  with  one  another,  and  the  more 
fortunate  danced  with  the  girls,  dance  after  dance, 
endlessly.  The  buffets  were  crowded  with  navvies 
clamouring  for  beer  ;  the  smoking-rooms  were  full 
of  excited  gamblers  thumbing  filthy  cards.  The 


i  THE  VOYAGE  19 

first  deck  was  wholly  in  electric  light,  you  mounted 
to  the  second  and  it  was  all  in  shadow,  you  went 
higher  still  and  you  came  to  daylight.  You  could 
spend  your  waking  hours  on  any  of  these  levels, 
but  the  lower  you  went  the  warmer  it  was.  On  the 
electric-light  deck  were  to  be  found  the  cleaner  and 
more  respectable  passengers ;  they  sat  and  talked 
in  the  mess-room,  played  the  piano,  sang  songs. 
Up  above  them  all  the  hooligans  rushed  about,  and 
there  also,  in  the  shadow,  in  the  many  recesses  and 
dark  empty  corners  young  men  and  women  were 
making  love,  looking  moonily  at  one  another, 
kissing  furtively  and  giving  by  suggestion  an 
unwonted  atmosphere  to  the  ship.  It  was  also 
on  this  deck  that  the  wild  couples  danced  and  the 
card-players  shuffled  and  dealt.  Up  on  the  open 
deck  were  the  sad  people,  and  those  who  loved  to 
pace  to  and  fro  to  the  march  music  of  the  racing 
steamer  and  the  breaking  waves. 

I  wandered  from  deck  to  deck,  everywhere ; 
opened  many  doors,  peered  into  many  faces,  sat  at 
the  card-table,  crushed  my  way  into  the  bar,  entered 
into  the  mob  of  dancers,  found  a  Russian  girl 
and  talked  to  her.  But  I  was  soon  much  sought 
for.  When  the  Russian-speaking  people  found  out 
I  had  their  language  they  followed  me  everywhere, 
asking  elementary  questions  about  life  and  work  and 
wages  in  America.  Even  after  I  had  gone  to  bed 
and  was  fast  asleep  my  cabin  door  would  open  and 
some  woolly- faced  Little  Russian  would  cry  out, 


20  WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  i 

"  Gospodin  Graham,  forgive  me,  please,  I  have  a 
little  prayer  to  make  you  ;  write  me  also  a  letter  to 
a  farmer." 

I  had  written  for  several  of  them  notes  which 
they  might  present  at  their  journey's  end. 

All  day  long  I  was  in  converse  with  Russians, 
Poles,  Jews,  Georgians,  Lithuanians,  Finns. 

"  Look  at  these  Russian  fatheads  (duraki)"  said 
a  young  Jew.  "Why  do  they  go  to  America? 
Why  do  they  leave  their  native  land  to  go  to  a 
country  where  they  will  be  exploited  by  every 
one?" 

"  Why  do  you  leave  it,  then  ?  "  asked  a  Russian. 

"  Because  I  have  no  rights  there,"  replied  the  Jew. 

"  Have  we  rights?  "  the  Russian  retorted. 

"  If  I  had  your  rights  in  Russia  I'd  never  leave 
that  country.  I'd  find  something  to  do  that  would 
make  me  richer  than  I  could  ever  be  in  America." 

There  were  three  or  four  peasants  around,  and 
another  rejoined,  "  But  you  could  have  our  rights 
if  you  wished." 

Whereupon  I  broke  in  : 

"  But  only  by  renouncing  the  Jewish  faith." 

"  That  is  exactly  the  truth,"  said  the  Jew. 

"  Yes,"  said  a  Russian  called  Alexy  Mitrophano- 
vitch,  "he  can  have  all  our  rights  if  he  renounces 
his  faith." 

"  If  I  am  baptized  to  get  your  rights  what  use  is 
that  to  you  ?  Why  do  Christians  ask  for  such  an 
empty  thing  ?" 


i  THE  VOYAGE  21 

"All  the  same,"  said  another  Russian,  "in  going 
to  America  you  will  break  your  faith,  and  so  will  we. 
I  have  heard  how  it  happens.  They  don't  keep 
the  Saints'  days  there." 

Alexy  Mitrophanovitch  was  a  fine,  tall,  healthy- 
looking  peasant  workman  in  a  black  sheepskin. 
With  him,  and  as  an  inseparable,  walked  a  broad- 
faced  Gorky-like  tramp  in  a  dusty  peak-hat.  The 
latter  was  called  Yoosha. 

"You  see  all  I've  got,"  said  Alexy  to  me,  "is 
just  what  I  stand  up  in.  Not  a  copeck  of  my  own 
in  my  pocket,  and  not  a  basket  of  clothes.  My 
friend  Yoosha  is  lending  me  eighty  roubles  so  as  to 
pass  the  officials  at  New  York,  but  of  course  I  give 
it  back  to  him  when  we  pass  the  barrier.  We 
worked  together  at  Astrakhan." 

"  Have  you  a  bride  in  Russia  ?  " 

No,  he  was  alone.  He  did  not  think  to  marry ; 
but  he  had  a  father  and  a  mother.  At  Astrakhan 
he  had  been  three  thousand  versts  away  from  his 
village  home,  so  he  wouldn't  be  so  much  farther 
away  in  America. 

He  was  going  to  a  village  in  Wisconsin.  A 
mate  of  his  had  written  that  work  was  good  there, 
and  he  and  Yoosha  had  decided  to  go.  They 
would  seek  the  same  farmer,  a  German,  Mr.  Joseph 
Stamb — would  I  perhaps  write  a  letter  in  English 
to  Mr.  Stamb  ?  .  .  . 

Both  he  and  Yoosha  took  communion  before 
leaving  Astrakhan.  I  asked  Alexy  whether  he 


22  WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  i 

thought  he  was  going  to  break  his  faith  as  the 
other  Russians  had  said  to  the  Jew.  How  was  he 
going  to  live  without  his  Tsar  and  his  Church  ? 

He  struck  his  breast  and  said,  "  There,  that  is 
where  my  Church  is !  However  far  away  I  go  I 
am  no  farther  from  God ! " 

Would  he  go  back  to  Russia  ? 

He  would  like  to  go  back  to  die  there. 

"Tell  me,"  said  he,  "do  they  burn  dead  bodies 
in  America  ?  I  would  not  like  my  body  to  be 
burned.  It  was  made  of  earth,  and  should  return 
to  the  earth." 

The  man  who  slept  parallel  with  me  in  my  cabin 
was  an  English  collier  from  the  North  Country. 
He  had  been  a  bad  boy  in  the  old  country,  and  his 
father  had  helped  him  off  to  America.  Whenever 
he  had  a  chance  to  talk  to  me,  it  was  of  whippet- 
racing  and  ledgers  and  prizes  and  his  pet  dog. 

"  As  soon  as  a  get  tha  monny  a'll  enter  that  dawg 
aht  Sheffield.  A  took  er  to  Durby ;  they  wawn't 
look  at  'er  there.  There  is  no  dawg's  can  stan'  agin 
her.  At  Durby  they  run  the  rabbits  in  the  dusk, 
an'  the  little  dawg  as  'ad  the  start  could  see  'em,  but 
ourn  moight  a  been  at  Bradford  fur  all  she  could 
see.  A'll  bet  yer  that  dawg's  either  dead  or  run 
away.  She  fair  lived  fer  me.  Every  night  she 
slep  in  my  bed.  Ef  ah  locked  'er  aht,  she  kick  up 
such  a  ra.  Then  I  open  the  door  an'  she'd  come 
straight  an'  jump  into  bed  an'  snuggle  'erself  up  an' 
fall  asleep.  .  .  ." 


i  THE  VOYAGE  23 

The  dirtiest  cabins  in  the  ship  were  allotted  to 
the  Russians  and  the  Jews,  and  down  there  at  nine 
at  night  the  Slavs  were  saying  their  prayers  whilst 
just  above  them  we  British  were  singing  comic 
songs  or  listening  to  them.  Most  of  us,  I  reckon, 
also  said  our  prayers  later  on,  quietly,  under  our 
sheets  ;  for  we  were,  below  the  surface,  very 
solitary,  very  apprehensive,  very  child -like,  very 
much  in  need  of  the  comfort  of  an  all -seeing 
Father. 

The  weather  was  stormy,  and  the  boat  lost  thirty- 
six  hours  on  the  way  over.  The  skies  were  mostly 
grey,  the  wind  swept  the  vessel,  and  the  sea  deluged 
her.  The  storm  on  the  third  night  considerably 
reduced  the  gaiety  of  the  ship  ;  all  night  long  we 
rolled  to  and  fro,  listening  to  the  crash  of  the  waves 
and  the  chorus  of  the  spring-mattresses  creaking  in 
all  the  cabins.  My  boy  who  had  left  the  "  dawg  " 
behind  him  got  badly  "  queered  up."  He  said  it 
was  "mackerel  as  done  it,"  a  certain  warm,  evil- 
looking  mackerel  that  had  been  served  him  for  tea 
on  the  Tuesday  evening.  Indeed  the  food  served 
us  was  not  of  a  sort  calculated  to  prepare  us  for  an 
Atlantic  storm — roast  corned  beef,  sausage  and  mash, 
dubious  eggs,  tea  that  tasted  strongly  of  soda, 
promiscuously  poked  melting  butter,  ice  cream. 
On  tumultuous  Tuesday  the  last  thing  we  ate  was 
ice  cream !  We  all  felt  pretty  abject  on  Wednesday 
morning. 

Our    sickness    was    the    stewards'    opportunity. 


24  WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  i 

They  interviewed  us,  sold  us  bovril  and  hawked 
plates  of  decent  ham  and  eggs,  obtained  from  the 
second-class  table  or  their  own  mess.  The  British 
found  the  journey  hard  to  bear,  though  they  didn't 
suffer  so  much  as  the  Poles  and  the  Austrians  and 
the  Russians.  I  found  the  whole  journey  compara 
tively  comfortable,  stormy  weather  having  no  effect 
on  me,  and  this  being  neither  my  first  nor  worst 
voyage.  Any  one  who  has  travelled  with  the 
Russian  pilgrims  from  Constantinople  to  Jaffa  in 
bad  weather  has  nothing  to  fear  from  any  shipboard 
horror  on  a  Cunarder  on  the  Atlantic. 

Only  two  of  the  Russians  went  through  the 
storm  happily,  Alexy  and  Yoosha.  They  had 
worked  for  nights  and  months  on  the  Caspian  Sea 
in  a  little  boat,  almost  capsizing  each  moment  as 
they  strained  at  their  draughts  of  salmon  and 
sturgeon  ;  one  moment  deep  down  among  the  seas, 
the  next  plunging  upward,  shooting  over  the  waves, 
stopping  short,  slithering  round — as  they  graphically 
described  it  to  me. 

When  the  storm  subsided  the  pale  and  con 
valescent  emigrants  came  upstairs  to  get  sea  air 
and  save  themselves  from  further  illness.  Corpse- 
like  women  lay  on  the  park  seats,  on  the  coiled 
rope,  on  the  stairs,  uttering  not  a  word,  scarcely 
interested  to  exist.  Other  women  were  being  walked 
up  and  down  by  their  young  men.  A  patriarchal 
Jew,  very  tall  and  gaunt,  hauled  along  a  small,  fat 
woman  of  his  race,  and  made  her  walk  up  and  down 


i  THE  VOYAGE  25 

with  him  for  her  health — a  funny  pair  they  looked. 
On  Wednesday  afternoon,  about  the  time  the  sun 
came  out,  one  of  the  boisterous  Flemings  tied  a  long 
string  to  a  tape  that  was  hanging  under  a  pretty 
French  girl's  skirts,  and  he  pulled  a  little  and  watched 
her  face,  pulled  a  little  more  and  watched  the  trouble, 
pulled  a  little  more  and  was  found  out.  Then 
several  of  the  corpse-like  ones  smiled,  and  interest 
in  life  was  seen  to  be  reviving. 

Next  morning  when  I  was  up  forward  with  my 
kodak,  one  of  the  young  ladies  who  had  been  so  ill 
was  being  tossed  in  a  blanket  with  a  young  Irish 
lad  of  whom  she  was  fond,  struggling  and  scratching 
and  rolling  with  a  young  fellow  who  was  kissing  her, 
whilst  four  companions  were  dangerously  hoisting 
them  shoulder  high,  laughing  and  bandying  Irish 
remarks.  Life  only  hides  itself  when  these  folk 
are  ill ;  they  will  survive  more  than  sea-sickness, 

/  The  white  dawn  is  haggard  behind  us  over  the 
black  waves,  and  our  great  strong  boat  goes 
thundering  away  ahead  of  the  sun.  It  is  mid- 
Atlantic,  and  we  stare  into  the  same  great  circle 
of  hungry  emptiness,  as  did  Columbus  and  his 
mariners.  Our  gaze  yearns  for  -land,  but  finds 
none  ;  it  rests  sadly  on  the  solitary  places  of  the 
ocean,  on  the  forlorn  waves  lifting  themselves  far 
away,  falling  into  nothingness,  and  then  wandering 
to  rebirth. 


26  WITH   POOR  IMMIGRANTS  i 

Nothing  is  happening  in  the  wide  ocean.  The 
minutes  add  themselves  and  become  hours.  We 
know  ourselves  far  from  home,  and  we  cannot  say  how 
far  from  the  goal,  but  still  very  far,  and  there  is  no 
turning  back.  |  "Would  there  were,"  says  the  foolish 
heart.  "Would  I  had  never  come  away  from  the 
warm  home,  the  mother's  love,  the  friends  who  care 
for  me,  the  woman  who  loves  me,  the  girl  who  has 
such  a  lot  of  empty  time  on  her  hands  now  that  I 
have  gone  away,  her  lover."  How  lonely  it  is  on 
the  steerage  deck  in  the  crowd  of  a  thousand 
strangers,  hearing  a  score  of  unknown  tongues 
about  your  ears,  hearing  your  own  language  so 
pronounced  you  scarce  recognise  it ! 

The  mirth  of  others  is  almost  unpardonable,  the 
romping  of  Flemish  boys,  pushing  people  right  and 
left  in  a  breakneck  game  of  touch  ;  the  excitement 
of  a  group  of  Russians  doing  feats  of  strength  ;  the 
sweet  happiness  of  dainty  Swedish  girls  dancing 
with  their  rough  partners  to  the  strains  of  an 
accordion.  How  good  to  escape  from  it  all  and 
trespass  on  the  steward's  promenade  at  the  very 
extremity  of  the  after- deck,  where  the  emigrants 
may  not  go,  and  where  they  are  out  of  sight  and  out 
of  hearing. 

The  ocean  is  retreating  behind  us  with  storm- 
scud  and  smoke  of  foam  threshed  out  from  our 
riven  road.  Vast  theatres  of  waves  are  falling  away 
behind  us  and  slipping  out  of  our  ken  backward 
into  the  homeward  horizon.  Above  us  the  sky  is 


i  THE  VOYAGE  27 

grey,  and  the  sea  also  is  grey,  waving  now  and  then 
a  miserable  flag  of  green. 

What  an  empty  ocean  !  There  is  nothing 
happening  in  it  but  our  ship.  And  for  me,  that 
ship  is  just  part  of  my  own  purpose :  there  is 
nothing  happening  but  what  I  willed.  The  slanting 
red  funnels  are  full  of  purpose,  and  the  volumes  of 
smoke  that  fly  backward  are  like  our  sighs,  regrets, 
hopes,  despairs,  the  outward  sign  of  the  fire  that  is 
driving  us  on. 


Up  on  the  steward's  promenade  on  Thursday 
morning  I  fell  into  conversation  with  a  young 
Englishman,  and  he  poured  out  his  heart  to  me. 
He  was  very  homesick,  and  had  spoken  to  no  one 
up  till  then.  He  was  in  a  long  cloak,  with  the 
collar  turned  up,  and  a  large  cloth  cap  was  stuck 
tightly  on  his  head  to  keep  it  from  the  wind. 
His  face  was  red  with  health,  but  his  forehead 
was  puckered,  and  his  eyes  seemed  ready  to  shed 
tears. 

"  Never  been  so  far  away  from  the  old  country 
before  ?  "  I  hazarded. 

-No." 

"  Would  you  like  to  go  back  ?" 

11  No." 

"  Are  you  going  to  friends  in  America  ?  " 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  I'm  going  on  my  own." 


28          WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  i 

"You  are  the  sort  that  America  wants,"  I 
ventured.  He  did  not  reply,  and  I  was  about  to 
walk  away,  snubbed,  when  another  thought  occurred 
to  me. 

"  I  once  left  the  old  country  to  seek  my  fortune 
elsewhere,"  said  I.  "I  felt  as  you  do,  I  expect. 
But  it  was  to  go  to  Russia." 

He  looked  up  at  me  with  an  inquisitive  grimace. 
I  suggested  that  I  knew  what  it  was  to  part  with  a 
girl  I  loved,  and  a  mother  and  friends  and  comforts, 
and  to  go  to  a  strange  country  where  I  knew  no  one, 
and  thought  I  had  no  friends.  At  the  mention  of 
parting  with  the  girl  he  seemed  to  freeze,  but 
curiosity  tempted  him  and  he  let  me  tell  him  some 
of  my  story. 

"  I  reckon  that  England's  pretty  well  played  out," 
said  he. 

"  Not  whilst  it  sends  its  sons  out  into  the  world 
— you  to  America,  and  me  to  Russia,"  said  I  with  a 
smile.  "  It  will  only  be  played  out  when  we  haven't 
the  courage  to  go." 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  I  reckon  I  had  to  go,  there 
wasn't  anything  else  for  me  to  do.  It  wasn't  courage 
on  my  part.  I  didn't  want  to  go.  I  reckon  there 
ought  to  be  room  in  England  for  the  likes  of  me.  It 
isn't  as  if  I  had  no  guts.  I'm  as  fit  as  they  make 
them,  only  no  good  at  figures.  I  think  I  had  the 
right  to  a  place  in  England  and  a  decent  screw,  and 
England  might  be  proud  of  me.  I  should  always 
have  been  ready  to  fight  against  the  Germans  for 


"ONE  OF  THE  YOUNG  LADIES  WAS  BEING  TOSSED  UP  IN  A 
BLANKET  WITH  A  YOUNG  IRISH   LAD." 


i  THE  VOYAGE  29 

her.  I  joined  the  Territorials,  I  learned  to  shoot,  I 
can  ride  a  horse." 

"  Why  didn't  you  go  into  the  army  ?  " 

"  That's  not  the  place  for  a  decent  fellow. 
Besides,  my  people  wouldn't  allow  it,  and  my  girl's 
folks  would  be  cut  up.  And  I  reckon  there's  some 
thing  better  to  do  than  be  drilled  and  wait  for  a  war. 
My  people  wanted  me  to  be  something  respectable, 
to  go  into  the  Civil  Service,  or  a  bank,  or  an 
insurance  office,  or  even  into  the  wholesale  fruit 
business.  I  was  put  into  Jacob's,  the  fruit  firm,  but 
I  couldn't  work  their  rate.  I've  been  hunting  for 
work  the  last  five  months.  That  takes  it  out  of  you, 
don't  it  ?  How  mean  I  felt !  Everybody  looked  at 
me  in  such  a  way — you  know,  as  much  as  to  say 
1  You  loafer,  you  lout,  you  good-for-nothing,'  so  that 
I  jolly  well  began  to  feel  I  was  that,  too,  especially 
when  my  clothes  got  shabby  and  I  had  nothing 
decent  to  put  on  to  see  people." 

As  my  acquaintance  talked  he  rapidly  became 
simpler,  more  child-like,  confiding,  and  tears  stole 
down  his  cheek.  The  reserved  and  surly  lad 
became  a  boy.  "What  a  life,"  said  he,  "to  search 
work  all  day,  beg  a  shilling  or  so  from  my  mother 
in  the  evening,  meet  my  girl,  tell  her  all  that's 
happened,  then  at  night  to  finish  the  day  lying  in 
bed  trying  to  imagine  what  I'd  do  if  I  had  a 
thousand  a  year ! 

"  I  reckon  I  could  have  earned  a  living  with  my 
hands,  but  my  people  were  too  proud  ;  yes,  and  I 


30  WITH   POOR  IMMIGRANTS  i 

was  too  proud  also,  and  my  girl  might  not  have 
liked  it  Still,  I'd  have  done  anything  to  earn  a 
sovereign  and  take  her  to  the  theatre,  or  go  out 
with  her  to  the  country  for  a  day,  or  make  her  a 
nice  present  and  prove  I  wasn't  mean.  I  used  to  be 
generous.  When  I  had  a  job  I  gave  plenty  of 
presents ;  but  you  can't  give  things  away  when  you 
have  to  borrow  each  day.  You  even  walk  instead 
of  taking  a  car,  and  you  are  mean,  mean,  mean- 
mean  all  day.  Then  in  the  evening  you  talk  of 
marrying  a  girl,  of  having  a  little  home,  and  you 
dare  to  kiss  her  as  much  as  you  can  or  she  will  let, 
and  all  the  while  you  have  in  the  wide  world  only  a 
few  coppers — and  a  mother." 

We  went  and  leaned  over  the  ship  and  stared 
down  at  the  sea. 

Tears  !  I  suppose  millions  had  come  there  before 
and  made  that  great  salt  ocean  of  them. 

The  boy  now  lisped  his  confidence  to  me 
hurriedly,  happily,  tenderly. 

"  But  I  reckon  I've  got  a  good  mother,  eh  ? 
She  loved  me  more  than  I  dreamed.  How  she 
cried  on  Friday !  how  she  cried !  It  was  wild. 
Sometimes  I  used  to  say  I  hated  her.  I  used 
to  shout  out  angrily  at  her  that  I'd  run  away 
and  never  come  back.  That  was  when  she  said 
hasty  things  to  me,  or  when  she  wouldn't  give  me 
money.  I  used  to  think  I'd  go  and  be  a  tramp,  and 
pick  up  a  living  here  and  there  in  the  country,  and 
live  on  fruit  and  birds'  eggs,  sleeping  anywhere.  It 


i  THE  VOYAGE  31 

would  be  better  than  feeling  so  mean  at  home.  But 
then,  my  girl — every  night  I  had  to  see  her.  I  felt 
I  could  not  go  away  like  that,  never  to  come  home 
with  a  fortune — never,  never  to  be  able  to  marry 
her.  Every  night  she  put  her  arms  round  my  neck 
and  kissed  me,  and  called  me  her  old  soldier,  her 
dear  one — all  sorts  of  sweet  things.  I  reckon  we 
didn't  miss  one  night  all  this  last  year. 

"  Her  father's  all  right.  I  had  thought  he  would 
be  different.  I  was  a  bit  afraid  of  what  he'd  say  if 
he  got  to  hear.  But  she  told  him  on  her  own,  and 
one  night  she  took  me  home.  They  had  fixed  it 
up  themselves  without  asking  me,  and  he  was  very 
kind.  I  told  him  I  wanted  a  job,  and  I  thought 
p'raps  he  was  going  to  get  me  one.  But  no  ;  he 
was  a  queer  sort,  rather.  *  I'm  going  to  wipe  out 
that  story  of  yours/  he  says.  Then  he  goes  to  his 
bureau  and  writes  a  note  and  puts  it  in  an  envelope 
and  addresses  it  to  me.  '  Here  you  are,  young 
man,'  says  he.  I  opened  the  envelope  and  read 
one  word  on  a  slip  of  paper — AMERICA.  '  Millions 
have  told  your  story  before,'  says  he,  'and  have  had 
that  word  given  them  in  answer.  You  get  ready 
to  go  to  America;  I'll  find  you  your  passage- 
money  and  something  to  start  you  off  in  the  new 
country.  You'll  do  well  ;  you'll  make  good,  my 
boy,'  and  he  slapped  me  on  the  back. 

"  You  bet  I  felt  excited.  He  saw  my  mother 
and  told  her  his  plan.  She  said  she  couldn't  stand 
in  my  way.  I  got  the  Government  Handbook  on 


32  WITH   POOR  IMMIGRANTS  i 

the  United  States,  and  the  emigration  circular.  I 
read  up  America  at  the  public  library.  I  wonder 
I  hadn't  thought  of  it  before.  America  is  a  great 
country,  eh  ?  They  look  at  you  differently,  I  bet, 
and  a  strong  young  man's  worth  something  there. 
My  word,  when  I  come  back.  .  .  . 

"  I  wonder  if  I  shall  come  back  or  if  she'll  come 
out  to  me.  I  wonder  if  her  father  would  let  her. 
I  guess  he  would.  .  .  . 

"  She  loves  me.  My  word,  how  she  loves  me ! 
I  didn't  dream  of  it  before.  I  used  to  think  the 
harder  you  kissed,  the  more  it  meant ;  but  she 
kissed  me  in  a  new  way,  so  softly,  so  differently. 
She  said  I  was  hers,  that  I  would  be  safe  wherever 
I  went  in  the  wide  world,  and  I  was  never  to  feel 
afraid.  I've  got  to  do  without  her  now.  I  reckon 
no  other  girl  is  going  to  mean  much  to  me." 

He  looked  rather  scornfully  at  a  troop  of  pretty 
Swedes  who  had  invaded  our  sanctuary. 

"  It  is  queer  how  sure  I  feel  of  good  luck  because 
of  her  and  what  she  did.  I  feel  as  if  everything 
must  turn  my  way.  Downstairs  yesterday  they 
challenged  me  to  play  a  game  of  cards,  and  I  won 
fifty  cents  ;  but  I  felt  it  was  wrong  to  spend  my 
luck  that  way.  The  chap  wouldn't  play  any  more ; 
he  said  I  was  in  a  lucky  vein.  He  was  quite  right. 
Whatever  I  turn  my  hand  to,  I'm  bound  to  have 
unexpected  good  luck.  I  feel  so  sure  I'm  going  to 
get  a  job,  and  a  real  good  one,  too.  I  shan't  play 
any  more  cards  this  journey." 


i  THE  VOYAGE  33 

The  sun  had  come  out,  and  the  bright  light 
blazed  through  our  smoke,  and  I  felt  that  the 
boy's  faith  was  blazing  just  that  way  through  his 
regrets. 

The  sun  crept  on  and  overtook  us  on  his  own 
path,  and  then  at  last  went  down  in  front  of  us,  far 
away  in  the  waste  of  waters. 

My  acquaintance  and  I  went  away  to  the  last 
meal  of  the  day,  to  the  strangely  mixed  crowd  of 
prospective  Americans  at  the  table,  where  men  sat 
and  ate  with  their  hats  on,  and  where  no  grace  was 
said.  "  What  matter  that  they  throw  the  food  at 
us  ?  "  I  asked.  "  We  are  men  with  stout  hearts  in 
our  bosoms ;  we  are  going  to  a  great  country, 
where  a  great  people  will  look  at  us  with  creative 
eyes,  making  the  beautiful  out  of  the  ugly,  the  big 
and  generous  out  of  the  little  and  mean,  the  head 
stone  out  of  the  rock  that  the  builders  rejected." 

After  supper  I  left  my  friend  and  went  upstairs 
alone.  The  weather  had  changed,  and  the  electric 
lights  of  the  ship  were  blazing  through  the  rain, 
the  decks  were  wet  and  windswept,  and  the  black 
smoke  our  funnels  were  belching  forth  went 
hurrying  back  into  the  murky  evening  sky.  The 
vessel,  however,  went  on. 

Downstairs  some  were  dancing,  some  singing, 
some  writing  home  laboriously,  others  gossiping, 
others  lying  down  to  sleep  in  the  little  white  cabins. 
There  was  a  satisfaction  in  hearing  the  throbbing  of 

the  engines  and  feeling  the  pulse  of  the  ship.     We 

D 


34  WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  i 

were  idle,  we  passed  the  time,  but  we  knew  that 
the  ship  went  on. 

Going  above  once  more  at  nine,  I  found  the  rain 
had  passed,  the  sky  was  clear  and  the  night  full  of 
stars.  In  the  sea  rested  dim  reflections  of  the  stars, 
like  the  sad  faces  we  see  reflected  in  our  memory 
several  days  after  we  have  gone  from  home.  I  stood 
at  the  vessel's  edge  and  looked  far  over  the  glimmer 
ing  waves  to  the  horizon  where  the  stars  were 
walking  on  the  sea.  "What  will  it  be  like  in 
America  ?  "  whispered  the  foolish  heart.  "  What  will 
it  be  like  for  him  ? "  Then  sadness  came — the 
long,  long  thoughts  of  a  boy.  I  whispered  the 
Russian  verse : 

"  There  is  a  road  to  happiness, 
But  the  way  is  afar." 


And  yet,  next  morning,  I  saw  the  Englishman 
dancing  for  hours  with  a  pretty  Russian  girl  from  a 
village  near  Kiev — Phrosia,  the  sister  of  Maxim 
Holost,  a  fine  boy  of  eighteen  going  oilt  to  North 
Dakota.  I  had  noticed  the  Englishman  looking  on 
at  the  dancing,  and  then  suddenly,  to  my  surprise, 
at  a  break  in  the  tinkling  of  the  accordion,  he 
offered  his  arm  to  the  Russian  and  took  her  down 
the  middle  as  the  music  resumed.  .  .  . 

I  was  much  in  demand  among  the  Russians  on 
Friday  and  Saturday,  for  they  wanted  to  take  the 
English  language  by  storm  at  the  week-end.  I 


i  THE  VOYAGE  35 

taught  Alexy  by  writing  out  words  for  him,  and  six 
or  seven  peasants  had  copied  from  him  and  were 
busy  conning  "man,"  ''woman/'  "farm,"  "work," 
"give  me,"  "please,"  "bread,"  "meat,"  "is," 
"Mister,"  "show,"  "and,"  "how  much,"  "like," 
"more,"  "half,"  "good,"  "bad,"  the  numbers,  and 
so  on.  They  pronounced  these  words  with  willing 
gusto,  and  made  phrases  for  themselves,  calling  out 
to  me  : 

"Show  me  worrk,  pleez." 

"  Wer  is  Meester  Stamb  ?  " 

"  Khao  match  eez  bread  ?  " 

"Give  mee  haaf." 

Alexy  tried  his  English  on  one  of  the  waiters  at 
dinner  time. 

"  Littel  meet,  littel,  give  mee  more  meet." 

The  steward  grinned  appreciatively,  and  told  him 
to  lie  down  and  be  quiet. 

Maxim  and  his  sister  were  accompanied  by  a 
grizzled  peasant  of  sixty  or  so,  wearing  a  high 
sugar-loaf  hat  sloping  back  from  an  aged,  wrinkled 
brow.  This  was  Satiron  Federovitch,  the  only 
old  man  on  deck.  His  black  cloak,  deep  lined  with 
wadding,  was  buttoned  up  to  his  throat,  and  the 
simplicity  of  his  attire  and  the  elemental  lines  of 
his  face  gave  him  a  look  of  imperturbable  calm. 
Asked  why  he  was  going  to  America,  he  said  that, 
almost  every  one  else  in  the  village  had  gone1 
before  him.  A  Russian  village  had  as  it  were 
vanished  from  the  Russian  countryside  and  from 


36  WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  i 

the  Russian  map  and  had  transplanted  itself  to 
Dakota.  Poor  old  greybeard,  he  didn't  want  to 
go  at  all,  but  all  his  friends  and  relatives  had 
gone,  and  he  felt  he  must  follow. 

Holost  told  every  one  how  at  Libau  the  officials 
doubted  the  genuineness  of  his  passport,  and  he 
had  to  telegraph  to  his  village  police,  at  his  own 
expense,  to  verify  his  age  and  appearance.  The 
authorities  didn't  relish  the  idea  of  such  a  fine 
young  man  being  lost  by  any  chance  to  the  army. 
If  only  they  had  as  much  care  for  the  villages  as 
they  have  for  their  legions ! 

I  was  up  betimes  on  Saturday  morning  and 
watched  the  vessel  glide  out  of  the  darkness  of 
night  into  the  dusk  of  the  dawn.  The  electric 
light  up  in  the  main -mast,  the  eye  of  the  mast, 
squinted  lividly  in  the  half-light,  and  the  great 
phantom-like  ship  seemed  as  if  cut  out  of  shiny- 
white  and  blood-red  cardboard  as  it  moved  forward 
toward  the  west.  The  smoke  from  the  funnels  lay 
in  two  long  streamers  to  the  horizon,  and  the  rising 
sun  made  a  sooty  shadow  under  it  on  the  gleaming 
waves.  As  the  night-cloud  vanished  a  great  wind 
sprang  up,  blowing  off  America.  Old  Satiron  was 
coming  laboriously  upstairs,  and  he  slipped  out  on 
to  the  deck  incautiously. 

"  Gee  whizz !  "  The  mocking  American  wind 
caught  his  astrakhan  hat  and  gave  it  to  the  sea. 
Poor  old  Satiron,  he'll  turn  up  in  Dakota  with  a 
derby  on,  perhaps. 


ENGLISH. 


Fedya. 


RUSSIANS. 
Satiron.        Alexy.      Yoosha.     Karl.      Maxim  Holost. 


i  THE  VOYAGE  37 

Saturday  was  a  day  of  preparation.  We  packed 
our  things,  we  wrote  letters  to  catch  the  mail,  we 
were  medically  inspected — some  of  us  were  vacci 
nated.  All  the  girls  had  to  take  off  their  blouses 
and  the  young  men  their  coats,  and  we  filed  past 
a  doctor  and  two  assistants.  One  man  washed  each 
bare  arm  with  a  brush  and  some  acid.  The  doctor 
looked  and  examined.  The  other  assistant  stood 
with  lymph  and  lancet  and  rapidly  jabbed  us.  The 
operation  was  performed  at  an  amazing  pace,  and 
was  only  an  unpleasant  formality.  Many  of  those 
who  were  thus  vaccinated  got  their  neighbours  to 
suck  out  the  vaccine  directly  they  returned  to  their 
cabins.  This  was  what  the  boy  who  had  left  the 
dog  behind  him  did.  He  didn't  want  blood-poison 
ing,  he  said.  Nearly  all  the  Russians  had  been 
vaccinated  five  or  six  times  already.  In  Russia 
there  is  much  disease  and  much  faith  in  medicine. 
In  England  good  drainage,  many  people  not  vacci 
nated,  little  smallpox  ;  in  Russia,  no  drains,  much 
vaccination,  and  much  of  the  dread  disease. 

On  Saturday  night  there  was  a  concert,  at  which 
all  the  steerage  were  present,  and  in  which  any 
one  who  liked  took  part.  But  English  music-hall 
songs  had  all  the  platform — no  foreign  musicians 
participated. 

Sunday  was  Easter  Day,  and  I  was  up  in  the 
dark  hours  of  the  morning  and  saw  the  dawn. 
Sunrise  showed  the  clouds  in  the  east,  but  in  north 
and  south  and  west  the  other  clouds  still  lay  asleep. 


38  WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  i 

Up  on  the  after-deck  of  the  great  tireless  steamer 
little  groups  of  cloaked  and  muffled  emigrants  stood 
gazing  over  the  now  familiar  ocean.  We  knew  it 
was  our  last  day  on  the  ship,  and  that  before  the 
dawn  on  the  morrow  we  should  be  at  the  American 
shore.  How  fittingly  was  it  Easter,  first  day  of 
resurrection,  festive  day  of  spring,  day  of  promise 
and  hope,  the  anniversary  of  happy  days,  of  first 
communions ! 

/In  the  wan  east  the  shadowy  wings  of  gulls  were 
flickering.  The  blood-red  sun  was  just  coming  into 
view,  streaked  and  segmented  with  blackest  cloud. 
He  was  striving  with  night,  fighting,  and  at  last 
gaining  the  victory.  High  above  the  east  and  the 
wide  circle  of  glory  stood  hundreds  of  attendant 
cloudlets,  arrayed  by  the  sun  in  robes  of  lovely 
tinting,  and  they  fled  before  him  with  messages  for 
us.  Then,  astonishing  thing,  the  sun  disappeared 
entirely  into  shadow.  Night  seemed  to  have  gotten 
the  victory.  But  we  knew  night  could  not  win. 

The  sun  reappeared  almost  at  once,  in  resplen 
dent  silver,  now  a  rim,  in  a  moment  a  perfect  shield. 
The  shield  had  for  a  sign  a  maiden,  and  from  her 
bosom  a  lovely  light  flooded  forth  upon  the  world. 
We  felt  that  we  ourselves,  looking  at  it,  were  growing 
in  stature  in  the  morning.  The  light  enveloped  us — 
it  was  divine. 

But  the  victory  still  waited.  All  the  wavelets  of 
the  eastern  sea  were  living  in  the  morning,  dancing 
and  mingling,  bewildering,  baffling,  delighting,  but 


i  THE  VOYAGE  39 

the  west  lay  all  unconquered,  a  great  black  ocean  of 
waves,  each  edged  with  signs  of  foam,  as  if  docketed 
and  numbered.  All  seemed  fixed  and  rigid  in  death. 
The  sun  disappeared  again  and  reappeared  anew, 
and  this  time  he  threw  into  the  world  ochre  and  fire. 
The  wide  half-circle  of  the  east  steamed  an  ochreous 
radiance  to  the  zenith.  The  sun  was  pallid  against 
the  beauty  he  had  shed  ;  the  lenses  of  the  eye  fainted 
upon  the  unearthly  whiteness.  It  was  hard  to  look 
upon  the  splendid  one,  but  only  at  that  moment 
might  he  be  seen  with  the  traces  of  his  mystery 
upon  him.  Now  he  was  in  his  grave-clothes,  all 
glistening  white,  but  at  noon  he  would  be  sitting 
on  the  right  hand  of  God. 
Easter !  / 

"Will  there  be  any  service  in  the  steerage 
to-day  ?  " 

"  No,  there  will  only  be  service  for  first  and 
second-class  passengers." 

"  Is  that  because  they  need  it  more  than  we  ?" 

There  was  no  answer  to  that  impolite  remark. 
Still  it  was  rather  amusing  to  find  that  the  Church's 
office  was  part  of  the  luxury  of  the  first  and  second 
class. 

The  third  class  played  cards  and  danced  and 
sang  and  flirted  much  as  usual.  They  had  need 
of  blessing. 

So  at  night  a  Baptist  preacher  organised  a  prayer- 
meeting  on  his  own  account,  and  the  English-speak- 


40  WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  i 

ing  people  sang  "Onward,  Christian  soldiers,"  in  a 
rather  half-hearted  way  at  eight  o'clock,  and  "  Jesus, 
lover  of  my  soul,  let  me  to  Thy  Bosom  fly,"  at  nine  ; 
and  there  was  a  prayer  and  a  sermon. 

A  few  hours  after  I  had  lain  down  to  sleep 
Maxim  Holost  put  his  head  in  at  my  cabin  and 
cried  out : 

"America!  Come  up  and  see  the  lights  of 
America." 

And  without  waiting  for  me  to  follow,  he  rushed 
away  to  say  the  same  thing  to  others,  "America! 
America ! " 


II 

THE  ARRIVAL  OF  THE   IMMIGRANT 

THE  day  of  the  emigrants'  arrival  in  New  York 
was  the  nearest  earthly  likeness  to  the  final  Day 
of  Judgment,  when  we  have  to  prove  our  fitness 
to  enter  Heaven.  Our  trial  might  well  have 
been  prefaced  by  a  few  edifying  reminders  from 
a  priest. 

It  was  the  hardest  day  since  leaving  Europe 
and  home.  From  5  A.M.,  when  we  had  breakfast, 
to  three  in  the  afternoon,  when  we  landed  at  the 
Battery,  we  were  driven  in  herds  from  one  place 
to  another,  ranged  into  single  files,  passed  in  review 
before  doctors,  poked  in  the  eyes  by  the  eye- 
inspectors,  cross-questioned  by  the  pocket-inspectors, 
vice  detectives,  and  blue-book  compilers. 

Nobody  had  slept  the  night  before.  Those  who 
approached  America  for  the  first  time  stood  on 
the  open  deck  and  stared  at  the  lights  of  Long 
Island.  Others  packed  their  trunks.  Lovers  took 
long  adieus  and  promised  to  write  one  another 
letters.  There  was  a  hum  of  talking  in  the  cabins, 
a  continual  pattering  of  feet  in  the  gangways,  a 

41 


42  WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  n 

splashing  of  water  in  the  lavatories  where  cleanly 
emigrants  were  trying  to  wash  their  whole  bodies 
at  hand-basins.  At  last  the  bell  rang  for  breakfast  : 
we  made  that  meal  before  dawn.  When  it  was 
finished  we  all  went  up  on  the  forward  deck  to 
see  what  America  looked  like  by  morning  light. 
A  little  after  six  we  were  all  chased  to  the  after- 
deck  and  made  to  file  past  two  detectives  and  an 
officer.  The  detectives  eyed  us  ;  the  officer  counted 
to  see  that  no  one  was  hiding. 

At  seven  o'clock  our  boat  lifted  anchor  and  we 
glided  up  the  still  waters  of  the  harbour.  The 
whole  prow  was  a  black  mass  of  passengers  staring 
at  the  ferry-boats,  the  distant  factories,  and  sky 
scrapers.  Every  point  of  vantage  was  seized,  and 
some  scores  of  emigrants  were  clinging  to  the 
rigging.  At  length  we  came  into  sight  of  the 
green-grey  statue  of  Liberty,  far  away  and  diminu 
tive  at  first,  but  later  on,  a  celestial  figure  in  a 
blaze  of  sunlight.  An  American  waved  a  starry 
flag  in  greeting,  and  some  emigrants  were  disposed 
to  cheer,  some  shed  silent  tears.  Many,  however, 
did  not  know  what  the  statue  was.  I  heard  one 
Russian  telling  another  that  it  was  the  tombstone 
of  Columbus. 

We  carried  our  luggage  out  at  eight,  and  in  a 
pushing  crowd  prepared  to  disembark.  At  8.30 
we  were  quick -marched  out  of  the  ship  to  the 
Customs  Wharf  and  there  ranged  in  six  or  seven 
long  lines.  All  the  officials  were  running  and 


ii       ARRIVAL  OF  THE  IMMIGRANT     43 

hustling,  shouting  out,  "Come  on!"  "  Hurry!" 
"  Move  along !  "  and  clapping  their  hands.  Our 
trunks  were  examined  and  chalk- marked  on  the 
run — no  delving  for  diamonds — and  then  we  were 
quick -marched  further  to  a  waiting  ferry-boat. 
Here  for  the  time  being  hustle  ended.  We  waited 
three-quarters  of  an  hour  in  the  seatless  ferry, 
and  every  one  was  anxiously  speculating  on  the 
coming  ordeal  of  medical  and  pocket  examination. 
At  a  quarter  to  ten  we  steamed  for  Ellis  Island. 
We  were  then  marched  to  another  ferry-boat,  and 
expected  to  be  transported  somewhere  else,  but 
this  second  vessel  was  simply  a  floating  waiting- 
room.  We  were  crushed  and  almost  suffocated 
upon  it.  A  hot  sun  beat  upon  its  wooden  roof; 
the  windows  in  the  sides  were  fixed  ;  we  could 
not  move  an  inch  from  the  places  where  we  were 
awkwardly  standing,  for  the  boxes  and  baskets 
were  so  thick  about  our  feet ;  babies  kept  crying 
sadly,  and  irritated  emigrants  swore  at  the  sound  of 
them.  All  were  thinking — "  Shall  I  get  through?" 
"  Have  I  enough  money  ?  "  "  Shall  I  pass  the 
doctor?"  and  for  a  whole  hour,  in  the  heat  and 
noise  and  discomfort,  we  were  kept  thinking  thus. 
At  a  quarter- past  eleven  we  were  released  in 
detachments.  Every  twenty  minutes  each  and 
every  passenger  picked  up  his  luggage  and  tried 
to  stampede  through  with  the  party,  a  lucky  few 
would  bolt  past  the  officer  in  charge,  and  the  rest 
would  flood  back  with  heart-broken  desperate  looks 


44  WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  n 

on  their  faces.  Every  time  they  failed  to  get 
included  in  the  outgoing  party  the  emigrants  seemed 
to  feel  that  they  had  lost  their  chance  of  a  job, 
or  that  America  was  a  failure,  or  their  coming  there 
a  great  mistake.  At  last,  at  a  quarter-past  twelve, 
it  was  my  turn  to  rush  out  and  find  what  Fate  and 
America  had  in  store  for  me. 

Once  more  it  was  "  Quick  march  ! "  and  hurrying 
about  with  bags  and  baskets  in  our  hands,  we  were 
put  into  lines.  Then  we  slowly  filed  up  to  a  doctor 
who  turned  our  eyelids  inside  out  with  a  metal 
instrument.  Another  doctor  scanned  faces  and 
hands  for  skin  diseases,  and  then  we  carried  our 
ship -inspection  cards  to  an  official  who  stamped 
them.  We  passed  into  the  vast  hall  of  judgment, 
and  were  classified  and  put  into  lines  again,  this 
time  according  to  our  nationality.  It  was  interesting 
to  observe  at  the  very  threshold  of  the  United 
States  the  mechanical  obsession  of  the  American 
people.  This  ranging  and  guiding  and  hurrying 
and  sifting  was  like  nothing  so  much  as  the  screen 
ing  of  coal  in  a  great  breaker  tower. 

It  is  not  good  to  be  like  a  hurrying,  bumping, 
wandering  piece  of  coal  being  mechanically  guided 
to  the  sacks  of  its  type  and  size,  but  such  is  the  lot 
of  the  immigrant  at  Ellis  Island. 

But  we  had  now  reached  a  point  in  the  examina 
tion  when  we  could  rest.  In  our  new  lines  we  were 
marched  into  stalls,  and  were  allowed  to  sit  and 
look  about  us,  and  in  comparative  ease  await  the 


ii       ARRIVAL  OF  THE  IMMIGRANT      45 

pleasure  of  officials.  The  hall  of  judgment  was 
crowned  by  two  immense  American  flags.  The 
centre,  and  indeed  the  great  body  of  the  hall,  was 
filled  with  immigrants  in  their  stalls,  a  long  series 
of  classified  third-class  men  and  women.  The  walls 
of  the  hall  were  booking-offices,  bank  counters, 
inspectors'  tables,  stools  of  statisticians.  Up  above 
was  a  visitors'  gallery  where  journalists  and  the 
curious  might  promenade  and  talk  about  the  melt 
ing-pot,  and  America,  "  the  refuge  of  the  oppressed." 
Down  below,  among  the  clerks'  offices,  were  exits  ; 
one  gate  led  to  Freedom  and  New  York,  another 
to  quarantine,  a  third  to  the  railway  ferry,  a  fourth 
to  the  hospital  and  dining-room,  to  the  place  where 
unsuitable  emigrants  are  imprisoned  until  there  is  a 
ship  to  take  them  back  to  their  native  land. 

Somewhere  also  there  was  a  place  where  marriages 
were  solemnised.  Engaged  couples  were  there 
made  man  and  wife  before  landing  in  New  York. 
I  was  helping  a  girl  who  struggled  with  a  huge 
basket,  and  a  detective  asked  me  if  she  were  my 
sweetheart.  If  I  could  have  said  "Yes,"  as  like 
as  not  we'd  have  been  married  off  before  we  landed. 
America  is  extremely  solicitous  about  the  welfare 
of  women,  especially  of  poor  unmarried  women 
who  come  to  her  shores.  So  many  women  fall 
into  the  clutches  of  evil  directly  they  land  in  the 
New  World.  The  authorities  generally  refuse  to 
admit  a  poor  friendless  girl,  though  there  is  a 
great  demand  for  female  labour  all  over  the  United 


46  WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  n 

States,  and  it  is  easy  to  get  a  place  and  earn  an 
honest  living. 

It  was  a  pathetic  sight  to  see  the  doubtful  men 
and  women  pass  into  the  chamber  where  examina 
tion  is  prolonged,  pathetic  also  to  see  the  Russians 
and  Poles  empty  their  purses,  exhibiting  to  men 
with  good  clothes  and  lasting  "jobs"  all  the  money 
they  had  in  the  world. 

At  half-past  two  I  gave  particulars  of  myself  and 
showed  the  coin  I  had,  and  was  passed. 

"  Have  you  ever  been  arrested  ? "  asked  the 
inspector. 

Well,  yes,  I  had.  I  was  not  disposed  to  lie.  I 
had  been  arrested  four  or  five  times.  In  Russia 
you  can't  escape  that. 

"  For  a  crime  involving  moral  turpitude  ? "  he 
went  on. 

"  No,  no." 

"  Have  you  got  a  job  in  America?"  (This  is  a 
dangerous  question  ;  if  you  say  '  Yes  '  you  probably 
get  sent  back  home ;  it  is  against  American  law  to 
contract  for  foreign  labour.) 

I  explained  that  I  was  a  tramp. 

This  did  not  at  all  please  the  inspector.  He 
would  not  accept  that  definition  of  my  occupation, 
so  he  put  me  down  as  author. 

"  Are  you  an  anarchist  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Are  you  willing  to  live  in  subordination  to  the 
laws  of  the  United  States  ?" 


ii       ARRIVAL  OF  THE  IMMIGRANT      47 

"Yes." 

"  Are  you  a  polygamist  ?  " 

"  What  does  that  mean  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Do  you  believe  a  man  may  possess  more  than 
one  wife  at  a  time  ?  " 

"Certainly  not." 

"  Have  you  any  friends  in  New  York?" 

"  Acquaintances,  yes." 

11  Give  me  the  address." 

I  gave  him  an  address. 

"  How  much  money  have  you  got  ?"..."  Show 
me,  please !  "  .  .  .  And  so  on.  I  was  let  go. 

At  three  in  the  afternoon  I  stood  in  another 
ferry-boat,  and  with  a  crowd  of  approved  immigrants 
passed  the  City  of  New  York.  Success  had  melted 
most  of  us,  and  though  we  were  terribly  hungry,  we 
had  words  and  confidences  for  one  another  on  that 
ferry-boat.  We  were  ready  to  help  one  another  to 
any  extent  in  our  power.  That  is  what  it  feels  like 
to  have  passed  the  Last  Day  and  still  believe  in 
Heaven,  to  pass  Ellis  Island  and  still  believe  in 
America. 

Two  or  three  of  us  hastened  to  a  restaurant.  I 
sat  down  at  a  little  table  and  waited.  So  did  the 
others,  but  we  were  making  a  mistake,  for  there 
were  no  waiters.  We  had  as  yet  to  learn  the 
mechanism  of  a  "  Quick  Lunch  "  shop  ;  there  was  a 
certain  procedure  to  be  observed  and  followed,  we 
must  learn  it  if  we  wanted  a  dinner.  I  watched  the 
first  American  citizen  who  came  in,  and  did  as  he 


48  WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  n 

did.  First  I  went  to  the  cashier  and  got  a  paper 
slip  on  which  were  printed  many  numbers  5,  10,  15, 
25,  and  so  on  in  intervals  of  fives.  These  repre 
sented  cents,  and  were  so  arranged  for  convenience 
in  adding  and  for  solid  profit.  At  this  restaurant 
nothing  cost  less  than  five  cents  (twopence  halfpenny), 
and  there  were  no  intermediaries  between  five  and 
ten,  ten  and  fifteen,  and  so  forth.  The  unit  then 
was  five  cents,  and  not  as  in  England  two  cents 
(one  penny).  Obviously  this  means  enormous  in 
crease  of  takings  in  the  long  run.  That  five-cent 
unit  is  part  of  the  foundation  of  American  prosperity. 
I  obtained  my  slip  so  numbered.  Then  I  took  a 
tray  from  a  stack  of  trays  and  a  glass  from  an  array 
of  glasses,  a  fork  and  a  knife  from  the  fork  basket, 
and  I  went  to  the  roast  chicken  counter  and  asked 
for  roast  chicken.  A  plate  of  hot  roast  chicken  was 
put  on  my  tray,  and  the  white-hatted  cook  punched 
off  twenty-five  cents  on  my  slip.  I  went  to  another 
counter  and  received  a  plate  of  bread  and  butter, 
and  to  yet  another  and  sprinkled  pepper  and  salt 
from  the  general  sprinklers.  I  went  and  drew  iced 
water.  Then,  like  the  slave  of  the  lamp  working 
for  himself,  I  put  the  whole  on  my  little  table. 
When  I  had  finished  my  first  course  I  put  my  plate 
aside  and  took  my  tray  to  the  cook  and  received 
a  second,  and  when  I  had  finished  that  I  fetched 
my  coffee. 

"Well,"  thought  I,  looking  round,  "no  waiters, 
that  means  no  tips  ;  there  is  not  even  a  superfluous 


ii       ARRIVAL  OF  THE  IMMIGRANT      49 

mendicant  boy  in  charge  of  the  swinging  doors." 
So  I  began  to  learn  that  in  America  the  working 
man  pays  no  tips. 

My  companions  at  the  other  tables  were  getting 
through  with  their  dinners  and  looking  across  at 
one  another  with  congratulatory  smiles.  We  would 
have  sat  together,  but  in  this  shop  one  table 
accommodated  one  customer  only — an  unsociable 
arrangement.  I  waited  for  them  to  finish,  so  that 
we  could  go  out  together. 

Whilst  doing  so  a  man  came  up  to  me  from 
another  table  and  said  very  quietly : 

"Just  come  over?  " 

"  This  morning,"  I  replied. 

He  brightened  up  and  asked : 

"  Looking  for  a  job  ?  " 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  I  am  being  offered  one 
already  ?  "  said  I. 

"  That's  about  it,  two  dollars." 

"  Two  dollars  a  day  ?  " 

"  That's  the  idea." 

"  What's  the  work  ?  " 

"  Brick-making." 

It  was  brick-making  up  country  for  some  Trust 
Company.  I  said  I  was  staying  in  New  York, 
couldn't  go  just  yet.  He  might  try  my  acquaint 
ances.  I  pointed  them  out. 

One  of  them,  a  Pole,  said  he  would  go.     The 

/  contractor  went  out  with  us,  and  we  accompanied 

him  to  his  office.     We  took  a  street  car.     The  fare 

E 


50  WITH   POOR  IMMIGRANTS  n 

was  five  cents,  a  "  nickel,"  and  it  was  necessary  to 
put  the  coin  in  the  slot  of  the  conductor's  money 
box  before  entering.  The  conductor  stood  stiff,  like 
an  intelligent  bit  of  machinery,  and  we  were  to  him 
fares  not  humans.  The  five  cents  would  take  me 
to  the  other  end  of  the  city  if  I  wished  it,  but  there 
was  no  two-cent  fare  in  case  I  wished  to  go  a  mile. 
That  five-cent  unit  again ! 

We  sat  in  the  car  and  looked  out  of  the  windows, 
interested  in  every  sight  and  sound.  First  we  had 
glimpses  of  the  East  Side  streets,  all  push-carts  and 
barrows,  like  Sukhareva  at  Moscow.  Then  we  saw 
the  dark  overhead  railway  and  heard  the  first 
thunder  of  the  Elevated  train.  We  went  up  the 
Bowery,  unlike  any  other  street  in  the  world  ;  we 
noted  that  it  was  possible  to  get  a  room  there  for 
twenty  cents  a  night.  We  stared  curiously  at  the 
life-sized  carved  and  painted  Indians  outside  the  cigar 
stores,  and  at  the  gay  red-and-white  stripe  of  the 
barbers'  revolving  poles. 

We  alighted  just  by  a  barber's  shop.  The  agent 
showed  us  his  office  and  told  us  to  come  in  if  we 
changed  our  minds  and  would  like  the  job.  There 
we  left  the  Pole,  and  indeed  saw  him  no  more. 

There  were  two  others  beside  myself — a  Russian 
and  a  Russian  Jew.  As  the  Jew  and  I  both  wanted 
a  shave  we  all  went  into  the  barber's  shop.  We 
were  still  carrying  our  bags,  and  were  rather  a  strange 
party  to  enter  a  shop  together.  But  the  barbers,  a 
pleasant  array  of  close-shaven  smiling  Italians,  were 


ii       ARRIVAL  OF  THE  IMMIGRANT      51 

not  put  out  in  the  least.  They  were  ready  to  shave 
any  living  thing.  Their  job  was  to  shave  and  take 
the  cash,  and  not  to  be  amused  at  the  appearance 
of  the  customers. 

In  America  the  barber's  shop  has  a  notice  outside 
stating  the  number  of  barbers.  If  the  number  is 
high  it  is  considerable  recommendation.  Then  the 
briskly  revolving  pole  suggests  that  it's  your  turn 
next  and  no  waiting. 

I  was  put  into  an  immense  velvet- bottomed 
adjustable  chair,  my  legs  were  steadied  on  a  three- 
foot  stand,  and  the  barber  turning  a  handle  caused 
the  back  of  the  chair  to  collapse  gently  so  that  my 
head  and  body  pointed  towards  the  doorway  like 
the  cannon  mouth.  Then  the  shave  commenced, 
and  the  barber  twirled  my  head  about  and  around 
as  if  it  were  on  a  revolving  hinge.  And  how 
laborious  he  was!  In  America,  quick  lunch  and 
slow  shave  ;  in  England  quick  shave  and  slow  lunch) 
And  fifteen  cents  for  a  shave,  and  thirty-five  for  a 
hair-cut. 

"  That's  a  high  price,"  said  I. 

"  Union  rate,"  said  he.     "  We  are  now  protected    \ 
against  the  public." 

The  Jew,  however,  paid  five  cents  less ;  he  had 
bargained  beforehand.  He  said  it  was  the  last  cent 
he'd  pay  for  a  shave  in  that  country  ;  he'd  buy  a 
safety  razor.  The  Russian  smiled  ;  he  hadn't 
shaved  yet,  and  didn't  intend  to,  ever. 

At  this  point  the  Jew  parted  company  with  us. 


52  WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  n 

He  was  going  to  find  a  friend  of  his  in  Stanton 
Street.  The  Russian  and  I  made  for  a  lodging- 
house  in  Third  Avenue.  At  a  place  ticketed 
"  Rooms  by  the  day  or  month,"  we  rang  the  bell, 
rang  the  bell  and  waited,  rang  again.  We  were  to 
be  initiated  into  another  mystery  of  New  York,  the 
mechanical  door,  the  door  which  has  almost  an 
intelligence  of  its  own.  Down  came  a  German 
woman  at  last,  and  gave  us  a  rare  scolding.  Why 
hadn't  we  turned  the  handle  and  come  in  ?  Why 
had  we  brought  her  down  so  many  flights  of  stairs  ? 

It  appeared  that  by  turning  a  handle  in  her  room 
on  the  second  floor  she  liberated  the  catch  in  the 
lock,  and  all  the  visitor  had  to  do  was  to  turn  the 
handle  and  walk  in. 

"  I  heard  a  rattle  in  the  lock,"  said  I.  "  I 
wondered  what  it  meant." 

"  How  long've  you  been  in  America  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  A  few  hours.  We  want  rooms  for  a  few  days 
while  we  look  about." 

"  Days  ?  My  lodgers  take  rooms  for  years.  I 
haven't  any  one  staying  less  than  six  months." 

This  was  just  "  boosting "  her  rooms,  but  I 
didn't  know.  I  took  it  for  a  good  sign.  If  her 
tenants  stayed  long  terms  the  place  must  be  very 
clean.  But  it  was  only  "  boosting."  Still  the 
rooms  looked  decent,  and  we  took  them.  They 
were  the  same  price  as  similar  rooms  in  the  centre 
of  London,  ten  shillings  a  week,  but  dearer  than 
in  Moscow  where  one  would  pay  fifteen  roubles 


ii       ARRIVAL  OF  THE  IMMIGRANT      53 

(seven  and  a  half  dollars  or  thirty  shillings)  a  month 
for  such  accommodation.  The  floors  were  carpeted, 
the  sheets  were  white,  there  was  a  good  bathroom 
for  each  four  lodgers,  no  children,  and  all  was  quiet. 
Laundry  was  collected,  there  was  no  charge  for  the 
use  of  electric  light,  you  received  a  latch-key  on  the 
deposit  of  twenty-five  cents,  and  could  come  in  any 
hour  of  the  day  or  night.  In  signing  the  registra 
tion  book  I  saw  I  was  the  only  person  of  Anglo- 
Saxon  name,  all  were  Germans,  Swedes,  Italians, 
Russians.  With  British  caution  I  hid  a  twenty -five 
dollar  bill  in  the  binding  of  one  of  the  most  insignifi 
cant  of  my  books,  so  that  if  I  were  robbed  of  the 
contents  of  my  pocket-book  I  should  still  have  a 
stand-by.  But  my  suspicions  were  begotten  only  of 
ignorance.  My  fellow-lodgers  were  all  hard-work 
ing,  self-absorbed  New  Yorkers,  who -took  no  thought 
of  their  neighbours,  either  for  good  or  evil. 


Ill 

THE  PASSION  OF  AMERICA  AND  THE 
TRADITION  OF  BRITAIN 

I  CAME  to  America  to  see  men  and  women  and  not 
simply  bricks  and  mortar,  to  understand  a  national 
life  rather  than  to  moan  over  sooty  cities  and 
industrial  wildernesses.  Hundreds  of  thousands  of 
healthy  Europeans  passed  annually  to  America.  I 
wanted  to  know  what  this  asylum  or  refuge  of  our 
wanderers  actually  was,  what  was  the  life  and  hope 
it  offered,  what  America  was  doing  with  her  hands, 
what  she  was  yearning  for  with  her  heart.  I  wished 
to  know  also  what  was  her  despair. 

On  my  second  day  in  New  York  I  was  deploring 
the  sky-scraper,  when  a  young  American  lifted  her 
arms  above  her  head  in  yearning  and  aspiration 
saying,  "  Have  you  seen  the  Woolworth  Building? 
It  is  a  bird's  flight  of  stone  right  away  up  into  the 
sky,  it  is  higher  and  newer  than  anything  else  in  New 
York,  its  cream-coloured  walls  are  pure  and  undefiled. 
It  is  a  commercial  house,  to  be  let  to  ten  thousand 
business  tenants.  But  it  is  like  a  cathedral  ;  its 
foundations  are  on  the  earth,  but  its  spire  is  up 

54 


in         THE  PASSION  OF  AMERICA         55 

among  the  stars  ;  if  you  go  to  it  at  sundown  and  look 
upward  you  will  see  the  angels  ascending  and 
descending,  and  hear  the  murmur  of  Eternity 
about  it." 

I  had  always  thought  of  the  sky-scraper  as  a 
black  grimy  street-front  that  went  up  to  an  unearthly 
height,  a  Noah's  Ark  of  sodden  and  smoky  bricks. 
That  is  what  a  sky-scraper  would  tend  to  be  in 
London.  I  had  forgotten  the  drier,  cleaner  atmo 
sphere  of  New  York. 

I  went  to  see  the  Woolworth  Building,  and  I 
found  it  something  new.  It  was  beautiful.  It  was 
even  awe-inspiring. 

In  the  evening  I  asked  an  American  literary 
man  whom  I  met  at  a  club  what  he  thought  was  the 
raison  dt>tre  of  the  Woolworth ;  was  it  not  simply 
the  desire  to  build  higher  than  all  other  houses — the 
wish  to  make  a  distinct  commercial  hit  ? 

He  "put  me  wise." 

"  First  of  all,"  said  he,  "  New  York  is  built  on 
the  little  island  of  Manhattan.  The  island  is  all 
built  over,  and  so,  as  we  cannot  expand  outward 
we've  got  to  build  upward.  Ground  rent,  too,  has 
become  so  high  that  we  must  build  high  for 
economy's  sake." 

I  remarked  on  the  number  of  men  who  lost  their 
lives  in  the  building  of  sky-scrapers.  "  For  every 
minute  of  the  day  there  was  a  man  injured  in  some 
town  or  other  of  the  United  States,"  so  I  had 
read  in  an  evening  paper. 


56  WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  m 

He  said  the  Americans  were  playing  large,  and 
must  expect  to  lose  a  few  men  in  the  game.  He 
expected  the  America  of  the  future  would  justify  all 
sacrifices  made  just  now,  and  he  gave  me  in  the 
course  of  a  long  talk  his  view  of  the  passion  of 
America. 

"  The  Woolworth  Building  is  only  an  inadequate 
symbol  of  our  faith,"  said  he.  "You  British  and  the 
Germans  and  French  are  working  on  a  different 
principle,  you  are  playing  the  small  game,  and 
playing  it  well.  You  stake  your  efficiency  on  the 
perfection  of  details.  In  the  German  life,  for 
instance,  nothing  is  too  small  to  be  thought  unmerit- 
ing  of  attention." 

I  told  him  the  watchword  of  the  old  chess 
champion  Steinitz,  "  I  do  not  vant  to  vin  a  pawn  ; 
it  is  enough  if  I  only  veakens  a  pawn." 

"You  play  chess  ?  "  said  he,  laughing.  "  That's 
it  exactly.  He  did  not  care  to  sacrifice  pieces  ;  he 
was  entirely  on  the  defensive  in  his  chess,  eh  ? 
And  in  life  he  would  be  the  same,  hoarding  his 
pennies  and  his  dollars,  and  economising  and 
saving.  That's  just  how  the  American  is  different. 
He  doesn't  mind  taking  great  risks  ;  he  is  playing 
the  large  game,  sacrificing  small  things,  hurrying  on, 
building,  destroying,  building  again,  conquering, 
dreaming.  We  are  always  selling  out  and  re-invest 
ing.  You  are  concentrating  on  yourselves  as  you 
are  ;  we  want  to  leave  our  old  bodies  and  conditions 
behind  and  jump  to  a  new  humanity.  If  an 


in         THE  PASSION  OF  AMERICA         57 

American  youth  could  inherit  the  whole  world  he 
would  not  care  to  improve  it  if  he  saw  a  chance  of 
selling  it  to  some  one  and  getting  something  better." 

"  The  spirit  of  business,"  I  suggested. 

"  Call  it  what  you  will." 

"  But,"  said  I,  "does  not  this  merely  result  in  a 
town  full  of  a  hustling,  mannerless  crowd ;  trolley- 
cars  dashing  along  at  life-careless  speed ;  a  nation 
at  work  with  loosely  constructed  machinery ;  callous 
indifference  on  the  part  of  the  living  towards  those 
whom  they  kill  in  their  rush  to  the  goal  ?  " 

My  new  acquaintance  looked  at  me  in  a  way 
that  seemed  to  say  "You — Britisher."  He  was  a 
great  enthusiast  for  his  country,  and  I  had  been 
sent  to  him  by  friends  in  London  who  wanted  me  to 
get  to  the  heart  of  America,  and  not  simply  have 
my  teeth  set  on  edge  by  the  bitter  rind. 

"You  think  the  end  will  justify  the  proceed 
ings  ?  "  I  added. 

"  Oh  yes,"  he  said.  "You  know  we've  only 
been  fifty  years  on  this  job ;  there's  nothing  in 
modern  America  more  than  fifty  years  old.  Think 
of  what  we've  done  in  the  time — clearing,  building, 
engineering ;  think  of  the  bridges  we've  built,  the 
harbours,  the  canals,  the  great  factories,  the  schools. 
We've  been  taxed  to  the  last  limit  of  physical 
strength,  and  only  to  put  down  the  pavement  and 
the  gas-pipes,  so  to  speak,  the  things  you  found 
ready  made  for  you  when  you  were  born,  but  which 
we  had  to  lay  on  the  prairie.  We  are  only  now 


58  WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  m 

beginning  to  look  round  and  survey  the  foundations 
of  civilisation.  Still  most  of  us  are  hurrying  on, 
but  the  end  will  be  worth  the  trials  by  the  way  ;  we 

"Are  whirling  from  heaven  to  heaven 
And  less  will  be  lost  than  won." 

f  "  But  is  it  not  a  miserable,  heartless  struggle  for 
the  individual?"  said  I.  "  For  instance,  to  judge  by 
the  story  of  The  Jungle  I  should  gather  that  the 
lot  of  a  Russian  family  come  fresh  to  Chicago  was 
terrible." 

"  Oh,  you  mustn't  take  Sinclair  literally.  He  is 
a  Socialist  who  wants  to  show  that  society,  as  it  is 
at  present  constituted,  is  so  bad  that  there  is  no 
hope  except  in  revolution.  There  is  heartbreak 
often,  but  the  struggle  is  not  heartless.  It  is  amaz 
ingly  full  of  hope.  If  you  go  into  the  worst  of  our 
slums  you'll  find  the  people  hopeful,  even  in  ex 
tremity.  /  I've  been  across  to  London,  and  I  never 
saw  such  hopeless-looking  people  as  those  who  live 
in  your  East  Ham  and  West  Ham  and  Poplar  and 
the  rest  of  them." 

"  There  is  hope  with  us  too,"  I  protested. 
"  The  people  in  our  slums  are  very  rebellious, 
they  look  forward  to  the  dictatorship  of  Will 
Thorne  or  George  Lansbury." 

"Ah  well,"  my  friend  assented,  "that's  your 
kind  of  hope — rebelliousness,  hatred  of  the  splendid 
and  safe  machine.  That's  just  it.  We  haven't 
your  rebelliousness  and  quarrelsomeness.  The 


in         THE  PASSION  OF  AMERICA         59 

new-come  immigrant  is  always  quarrelling  with  his 
neighbours.  It  is  only  after  a  while  that  America 
softens  him  and  enriches  his  heart.  The  vastness 
of  America,  the  abundance  of  its  riches  is  infectious  ; 
it  makes  the  heart  larger.  The  immigrant  feels  he 
has  room,  life  is  born  in  him." 

"  But,"  said  I,  "the  great  machine  is  here  as  in 
Europe.  A  man  is  known  by  his  job  here  just  as 
much  as  with  us,  isn't  he?  He  is  labelled  and 
known,  he  fills  a  fixed  place  and  has  a  definite 
rotation.  Every  man  says  to  him  4 1  see  what  you 
are,  I  know  what  you  are ;  you  are  just  what  I  see 
and  no  more.'  His  neighbour  takes  him  for  granted 
thus.  Out  of  that  horrible  taking-for-granted  springs 
rebelliousness  and  hate  of  the  great  machine.  You 
must  be  as  rebellious  as  we  are." 

"  No,  no."  My  companion  wouldn't  have  it. 
"We  don't  look  at  people  that  way  in  America. 
But  you're  right  about  looks.  It's  looks  that  make 
people  hate.  It's  eyes  that  make  them  curse  and 
swear  and  hate.  Every  day  hundreds  and  thousands 
of  eyes  look  at  one.  I  think  eyes  have  power  to 
create.  If  thousands  and  thousands  of  people  pass 
by  a  man  and  look  at  him  with  their  eyes  they 
almost  change  him  into  what  they  see.  If  in  the 
course  of  years  millions  of  eyes  look  at  an  in 
dividual  and  see  in  him  just  some  little  bolt  in  a 
great  machine,  then  his  tender  human  heart  wants 
to  turn  into  iron.  The  ego  of  that  man  has  a  for 
lorn  and  terrible  battle  to  fight.  He  thinks  he  is 


60  WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  m 

fighting  himself;  he  is  really  fighting  the  millions 
of  creative  eyes  who  by  faith  are  changing  flesh  and 
blood  into  soulless  machinery.". 

"And  here  ?"  I  queried. 

He  laughed  a  moment,  and  then  said  seriously, 
"  Here  it  is  different  Here  we  are  playing  large. 
Oh,  the  dwarfing  power,  the  power  to  make  you 
mean,  that  the  millions  of  eyes  possess  in  a  country 
that  is  playing  the  small  game !  They  make  you 
feel  mean  and  little,  and  then  you  become  mean. 
They  kill  your  heart.  Your  dead  little  heart  with 
draws  the  human  films  and  the  tenderness  and  im 
aginativeness  from  your  eyes,  and  you  also  begin  to 
look  out  narrowly,  dwarfingly,  compellingly.  You 
eye  the  people  in  the  streets,  in  the  cars,  in  the 
office,  and  they  can't  help  becoming  what  you  are." 

"  But  some  escape,"  said  I. 

"  Yes,  some  go  and  smash  windows  and  get  sent 
to  gaol,  some  become  tramps,  and  some  come  to 
America.  In  Giant  Despair's  dungeon  poor  Chris 
tian  exclaims,  '  What  a  fool  I  am  to  remain  here 
when  I  have  in  my  heart  a  key  which  I  am  per 
suaded  will  unlock  any  of  the  doors  of  this  castle. 
Strange  that  it  has  only  now  occurred  to  me  that 
all  I  need  to  do  is  to  lift  my  hand  and  open  the 
door  and  go  away.'  Then  poor  Christian  books  a 
passage  to  America  or  Australia.  He  starts  for  the 
New  World  ;  and  the  moment  he  puts  his  foot  on 
the  vessel  he  begins  to  outgrow.  He  was  his  very 
smallest  and  meanest  under  the  pressure  of  the  Old 


in         THE  PASSION  OF  AMERICA         61 

World  ;  when  the  pressure  is  removed  he  begins 
to  expand.  He  is  free.  He  is  on  his  own.  He 
is  sailing  to  God  as  himself.  The  exception  has 
beaten  the  rule.  Now  I  hold  as  a  personal  belief 
that  we  are  all  exceptions,  that  we  take  our  stand 
before  God  as  tender  human  creatures  of  His,  each 
unique  in  itself.  The  emigrant  on  the  boat  has  the 
delicious  feelings  of  convalescence,  of  getting  to  be 
himself  again.  He  basks  in  the  sun  of  freedom. 
The  sun  itself  seems  like  the  all-merciful  Father, 
the  Good  Shepherd  who  cares  for  each  one  and 
knows  each  by  name,  leading  him  out  to  an  earthly 
paradise." 

''That  paradise  is  America,  eh?"  said  I  rather 
mockingly,  and  then  I  paused  and  added,  "  But 
America  ought  to  be  really  a  paradise ;  it  is  pathetic 
to  think  of  the  difference  between  America  as  the 
Russian  thinks  it  to  be  and  America  as  it  is.  It  is 
a  shame  that  your  trusts  and  tariffs  and  corrupt 
police  should  have  made  America  a  worse  place  to 
live  in  than  the  Old  World.  I  know  it  is  the  land 
of  opportunity,  opportunity  to  become  rich,  to  get 
on,  to  be  famous ;  but  for  the  poor  immigrant  it  is 
rather  the  land  of  opportunism,  a  land  where  he 
himself  is  the  opportunity,  which  not  he  but  other 
people  have  the  chance  to  seize." 

My  friend  was  scandalised.  "  I  think  it  gives 
every  one  an  opportunity,"  said  he,  "even  the 
drunkard  and  the  thief  and  the  embezzler  whom 
you  so  incharitably  hand  over  to  us.  You  know  the 


62  WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  m 

saying,  '  It  takes  an  ocean  to  receive  a  muddy  stream 
without  defilement.'  The  ocean  of  American  life 
cleanses  many  a  muddy  stream  of  the  Old  World." 

"  Still,"  said  I,  "  not  to  abandon  oneself  utterly  to 
ideas,  is  it  not  true  that  Pittsburg  actually  destroys 
thousands  of  Slav  immigrants  yearly?  It  utterly 
destroys  them.  They  have  no  children  who  come  to 
anything — they  are  just  wiped  out.  I  gather  so 
much  from  your  Government  survey  of  Pittsburg." 

"Well,"  said  he,  "that  survey  is  just  part  of  the 
New  America,  of  the  new  national  conscience. 
Terrible  things  do  happen,  witness  the  enormous 
white-slave  traffic.  You  have  just  come  to  us  at 
the  right  moment  to  see  the  initiation  of  sweeping 
changes.  President  Wilson  is  like  your  David  Lloyd 
George,  only  he  has  more  power,  because  he  has 
more  people  at  his  back.  We  are  just  beginning  a 
great  progressive  era.  On  the  other  hand,  America 
is  not  the  place  of  the  weak.  That's  why  we  send 
so  many  back  home  from  Ellis  Island.  We've  got 
something  else  to  do  than  try  and  put  Humpty 
Dumpty  up  on  the  wall  again.  When  the  weaker 
get  past  Ellis  Island  into  our  fierce  national  life 
they  are  bound  to  go  to  the  wall.  We  haven't  time 
even  to  be  sorry,  and  if  questioned  we  can  only 
answer  that  we  believe  the  sacrifice  will  be  justified." 

I  recalled  to  my  mind  the  startling  objection  of 
Ivan  Karamazof  in  the  greatest  of  Russian  novels. 
"When  God's  providence  is  fulfilled  we  shall  under 
stand  all  things  ;  we  shall  see  how  the  pain  and 


in         THE  PASSION  OF  AMERICA         63 

death  of,  for  instance,  a  little  child  could  be  necessary. 
I  understand  of  course  what  an  upheaval  of  the 
universe  it  will  be  when  everything  in  heaven  and 
earth  blends  in  one  hymn  of  praise,  and  everything 
that  lives  and  has  lived  cries  aloud,  '  Thou  art  just, 
O  Lord,  for  Thy  ways  are  revealed ' ;  but  to  my 
mind  the  pain  of  one  little  child  were  too  high  a 
price  to  pay."  Ivan  Karamazof  would  certainly 
have  renounced  the  grand  future  of  America  bought 
by  the  exploitation  of  thousands  of  weak  and  help 
less  ones. 

Still  I  suppose  the  past  must  take  care  of  itself, 
and  the  America  which  stands  to-day  on  the 
threshold  of  a  new  era  has  more  thought  and  tender 
ness  for  the  victims  of  its  commercial  progress.  It  is 
making  up  its  mind  to  save  the  foreign  women  and 
their  little  babies.  For  the  rest,  America  plays  large, 
as  my  friend  said.  There  is  a  spaciousness  with  her, 
there  is  contrast,  there  is  life  and  death,  virtue  and 
sin,  things  to  laugh  over  and  things  to  cry  over. 
The  little  baby  buds  are  taken  away  and  branches 
are  lopped,  but  the  mustard  grows  a  great  tree. 

There  is  a  chance  in  America,  a  chance  that  you 
may  be  a  victim,  but  also  a  chance  that  you  may 
be  in  at  the  mating  of  the  King. 


Several  months  later,  when  I  had  tramped  some 
six  hundred  American  miles,  and  talked  to  all  manner 
of  persons,  I  realised  that  America  was  superlatively 
a  place  of  hope.  I  had  been  continually  asking 


64  WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  m 

myself,  "What  is  America?  What  is  this  new  nation  ? 
How  are  they  different  from  us  at  home  in  England? " 
And  one  morning,  sitting  under  a  bush  in  Indiana, 
the  answer  came  to  me  and  I  wrote  it  down.  They 
are  fundamentally  people  who  have  crossed  the 
Atlantic  Ocean,  and  we  are  stay-at-homes.  They 
are  adventurous,  hopeful  people.  They  are  people 
who  have  thrown  themselves  on  the  mercy  of  God 
and  Nature. 

We  live  in  a  tradition ;  they  live  in  an  expecta 
tion.  We  are  remedying  the  old  state ;  they  are 
building  the  new.  We  are  loyal  to  the  ideas  of 
our  predecessors  ;  they  are  agape  to  divine  the  ideas 
of  generations  yet  to  come. 

It  is  possible  to  come  to  Britain  and  see  what 
Britain  is,  but  if  you  go  to  America  the  utmost  you 
can  see  is  what  America  is  becoming.  And  when 
you  see  the  Briton  you  see  a  man  steadfast  at  some 
post  of  duty,  but  the  American  is  something  to-day 
but  God- knows -what  to-morrow.  Our  noblest 
epitaph  is  "  He  knew  his  job  "  ;  theirs,  "  He  sacrificed 
himself  to  a  cause." 

^  Observe,  "that  state  of  life  unto  which  it  shall 
please  God  to  call  me,"  puts  the  Briton  in  a  static 
order  of  things.  He  is  in  his  little  shop,  or  at  the 
forge,  or  in  the  coal  yard.  Within  his  sight  is  the 
Norman  tower  of  the  village  church.  He  is  known 
to  the  priest  by  his  name  and  his  job.  He  is  part 
of  the  priests'  cure  of  souls.  His  life  is  functionised 
at  the  village  altar  and  not  at  the  far  shrines  of 


in         THE  PASSION  OF  AMERICA         65 

ambition.  He  belongs  to  the  peasant  world.  Even 
though  he  is  English  he  is  as  the  Russian,  "one 
of  God's  faithful  slaves." 

Thousands  of  English,  Scotch,  and  Irish,  simple 
souls,  say  their  prayers  to  God  each  night,  not 
because  they  are  pillars  of  a  chapel  or  have  lately 
been  "  saved,"  but  because  they  have  been  brought 
up  in  that  way  of  life  and  in  that  relation  to  God. 
They  pray  God  sometimes  in  anguish  that  they  may 
be  helped  to  do  their  duty.  They  say  the  Lord's 
Prayer,  not  as  a  patter,  but  with  the  stark  simplicity 
which  you  associate  with  the  grey  wall  of  the  old 
church. 

These  village  folk  of  ours  are  like  old  trees. 
Close  your  eyes  to  the  visible  and  open  them  to 
the  invisible  world,  and  you  see  the  young  man  of 
to-day  as  the  stem,  his  father  as  the  branch,  his 
grandfather  the  greater  branch.  You  see  in  the 
shadow  rising  out  of  the  earth  the  ancient  trunk. 
You  think  of  many  people,  and  yet  it  is  not  father 
and  grandfather,  and  grandfather  and  great-grand 
father,  and  so  on,  but  one  tree,  the  name  of  which 
is  the  young  man  leafing  in  the  world  of  to-day. 
That  man  is  no  shoot,  no  seedling,  he  has  behind 
him  the  consciousness  of  the  vast  umbrageous  oak. 
When  he  says  "  Our  Father,  which  art  in  heaven," 
the  voice  comes  out  of  the  depths  of  the  earth,  and 
it  comes  from  father  and  grandfather,  and  from 
greybeard  after  greybeard  standing  behind  one 
another's  shoulders,  innumerably. 

F 


66  WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  m 

The  place  to  which  it  shall  please  God  to  call 
you  is  not  a  definite  locality  in  the  United  States 
of  America ;  the  dream  of  wealth  is  dreamed  inside 
each  cottage  door.  Each  man  is  intent  on  getting 
on,  on  realising  something  new.  He  is  revolving 
in  his  mind  ways  of  doing  more  business  ;  of  doing 
what  he  has  more  quickly,  more  economically ;  ways 
of  "  boosting,"  ways  of  buying.  Our  customers 
buy  from  us  :  his  customers  trade  with  him — they 
enter  into  harmony  with  him.  Store-keepers  and 
customers  sing  together  like  gnats  over  the  oak 
trees  ;  they  make  things  hum.  There  is  a  feeling 
that  whether  buying  or  selling  you  are  getting 
forward. 

The  British,  however,  put  a  great  question-mark 
in  front  of  this  American  life.  Do  those  who  are 
striving  know  what  they  want  in  the  end  of  ends  ? 
Do  those  toiling  in  the  wood  know  what  is  on  the 
other  side  ? 

The  late  Price  Collier  remarked  that  the  German 
thinks  he  has  done  something  when  he  has  an  idea 
and  the  Frenchman  when  he  has  made  an  epigram  ; 
it  may  be  inferred  that  the  American  thinks  he  has 
done  something  when  he  has  made  his  pile.  The 
ultimate  earthly  prize  for  "boosting"  and  bargaining 
is  a  vulgar  solatium,  —  a  big  house,  an  abundant 
person,  a  few  gold  rings,  an  adorned  wife,  a  high- 
power  touring  car.  Out  in  those  wider  spaces  where 
lagging  and  outdistanced  competitors  are  not  taken 
into  your  counsel  you  still  handle  business.  But  now 


in         THE  PASSION  OF  AMERICA         67 

it  is  in  "  graft "  that  you  deal.  You  are  engineering 
trusts,  and  cornering  commodities,  you  develop 
political  "pull,"  you  own  saloons,  and  have  ledgers 
full  of  the  bought  votes  of  Italians  and  Slavs. 

You  are  great  .  .  .  sitting  at  the  steering-wheel 
of  this  great  ramshackle  political  and  commercial 
machine,  your  coat  off  and  your  immaculate  lawn 
sleeves  tucked  up  above  your  elbows,  you  own  to 
wolfish-eyed  reporters  that  you  have  an  enormous 
appetite  for  work  and  zest  for  life. 

And  yet  ... 

What  is  the  crown  ?  You  die  in  the  midst  of  it. 
There  is  no  goal,  no  priceless  treasure  that  even  in 
the  death-struggle  your  hands  grasp  after. 

Some  of  your  children  are  going  in  for  a  life  of 
pleasure.  They  go  to  be  the  envy  of  waiters  and 
hotel-porters  and  all  people  waiting  about  for  tips, 
but  often  to  be  the  laughing-stock  of  the  cultured. 
One  of  your  sweet  but  simple-souled  daughters  is 
going  to  marry  a  broken-down  English  peer.  He 
will  not  marry  her  for  less  than  a  million  dollars. 
In  the  old  store  where  you  began  business, 
gossiping  over  bacon  and  flour,  you  would  have 
looked  rather  blank  if  some  one  had  said  that  a 
foreigner  would  consent  to  marry  your  daughter 
only  on  the  payment  of  an  indemnity. 

"  Well,"  said  my  road-companion  to  me  under  a 
bush  in  Indiana,  "the  game  goes  to  pass  the  time. 
The  world  is  a  prison-house,  and  a  good  game  has 
been  invented,  commerce,  and  it  saves  us  from  ennui, 


68  WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  m 

that  is  the  philosophy  of  it  all.  Scores  of  years 
pass  like  an  hour  over  cards.  Those  who  win  are 
most  interested  and  take  least  stock  of  the  time — 
and  they  have  invented  happiness." 

But  I  cannot  believe  that  the  American  destiny 
leads  up  a  cul-de-sac.  We  have  been  following  out  a 
cross-road.  There  is  a  high  road  somewhere  that 
leads  onward. 

There  are  two  sorts  of  immigrant,  one  that  makes 
his  pile  and  returns  to  Europe,  the  other  who  thinks 
America  a  desirable  place  to  settle  in.  The  second 
class  is  vastly  more  numerous  than  the  first,  for 
faith  in  American  life  is  even  greater  than  faith  in 
America's  wealth. 

Quite  apart  from  the  opportunities  for  vulgar 
success  America  has  wonderful  promise.  It  can 
offer  to  the  newcome  colonist  a  share  in  a  great 
enterprise.  It  is  quite  clear  to  the  sympathetic 
observer  that  something  is  afoot  in  the  land  which 
in  Great  Britain  seems  to  be  best  known  by  police 
scandals,  ugly  dances,  sentimental  novels,  and 
boastful,  purse-conscious  travellers. 

The  dream  of  Progress  by  which  Westerners 
live  is  going  to  be  carried  forward  to  some  realisa 
tion  in  America.  There  is  a  great  band  of  workers 
united  in  the  idea  of  making  America  the  most 
pleasant  and  happy  place  to  live  in  that  the  world 
has  ever  known.  I  refer  to  those  working  with 
such  Americans  as  J.  Cotton  Dana,  the  fervent 
librarian  ;  Mr.  Fred  Howe,  who  is  visualising  the 


in         THE  PASSION  OF  AMERICA         69 

cities  of  the  future ;  the  President  of  the  City 
College,  who  has  such  regard  not  only  for  the 
cultural  but  for  the  physical  well-being  of  young 
men ;  Jane  Addams,  who  with  such  precision  is 
diagnosing  social  evils ;  President  Wilson,  who 
promises  to  uproot  the  tree  of  corruption ;  to 
mention  only  the  chief  of  those  with  whom  I  was 
brought  in  contact  in  my  first  experience  of 
America. 

The  political  struggles  of  America  form  truly  a 
sad  spectacle,  but  by  a  thousand  non-political  signs 
one  is  aware  that  there  is  a  real  passion  in  the 
breast  of  the  individual. 

Going  through  the  public  gardens  at  Newark  I 
see  written  up :  "Citizens,  this  park  is  yours.  It  was 
planted  for  you,  that  the  beauty  of  its  flowers  and 
the  tender  greenery  of  tree  and  lawn  might  refresh 
you.  You  will  therefore  take  care  of  it.  ..." 

Going  through  Albany  I  find  it  placarded  :  "  Dirt 
is  the  origin  of  sin  ;  get  rid  of  dirt,  and  other  evils 
will  go  with  it,"  and  the  whole  city  is  having  a 
clean-up  week,  all  the  school  children  formed  into 
anti-dirt  regiments  making  big  bonfires  of  rubbish 
and  burying  the  tomato-cans  and  rusty  iron. 

Every  city  in  America  has  been  stirring  itself  to 
get  clean.  Even  in  a  remote  little  place  like 
Clarion,  Pa.,  I  read  on  every  lamp-post :  "  Let  your 
slogan  be  '  Do  it  for  Home,  Sweet  Home ' — clean 
up ! "  and  again  in  another  place,  "  Develop  your 
social  conscience  ;  you've  got  one,  make  the  country 


70  WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  m 

beautiful."  In  New  York  I  have  handed  me  the 
following  prayer,  which  has  seemed  to  me  like  the 
breath  of  the  new  passion  : 

We  pray  for  our  sisters  who  are  leaving  the 
ancient  shelter  of  the  home  to  earn  their  wage 
in  the  store  and  shop  amid  the  press  of  modern 
life.  Grant  them  strength  of  body  to  bear  the 
strain  of  unremitting  toil,  and  may  no  present 
pressure  unfit  them  for  the  holy  duties  of  home 
and  motherhood  which  the  future  may  lay  upon 
them.  Give  them  grace  to  cherish  under  the 
new  surroundings  the  old  sweetness  and  gentle 
ness  of  womanhood,  and  in  the  rough  mingling 
of  life  to  keep  the  purity  of  their  hearts  and 
lives  untarnished.  Save  them  from  the  terrors 
of  utter  want.  Teach  them  to  stand  by  their 
sisters  loyally,  that  by  united  action  they  may 
better  their  common  lot.  And  to  us  all  grant 
wisdom  and  firm  determination  that  we  may 
not  suffer  the  women  of  our  nation  to  be 
drained  of  strength  and  hope  for  the  enrichment 
of  a  few,  lest  our  homes  grow  poor  in  the  wifely 
sweetness  and  motherly  love  which  have  been 
the  saving  strength  and  glory  of  our  country 
If  it  must  be  so  that  our  women  toil  like  men, 
help  us  still  to  reverence  in  them  the  mothers 
of  the  future.  If  they  yearn  for  love  and  the 
sovereign  freedom  of  their  own  home,  give  them 
in  due  time  the  fulfilment  of  their  sweet  desires. 
By  Mary  the  beloved,  who  bore  the  world's 
redemption  in  her  bosom ;  by  the  memory  of 
our  own  dear  mothers  who  kissed  our  souls 
awake  ;  by  the  little  daughters  who  must  soon 
go  out  into  that  world  which  we  are  now 
fashioning  for  others,  we  pray  that  we  may 
deal  aright  by  all  women. 


in         THE  PASSION  OF  AMERICA         71 

Men  are  praying  for  women,  and  women  are 
working  for  themselves.  Commercial  rapacity  is 
tempered  by  women's  tears,  and  the  tender  stories 
of  the  shop-girl  that  O.  Henry  wrote  are  more  read 
to-day  than  they  were  in  the  author's  lifetime. 
The  newspapers  are  all  agog  with  the  "  vice-probes," 
scandals,  questions  of  eugenics,  the  menace  of 
organised  capital,  the  woman's  movement.  And 
they  are  not  so  because  vice  is  more  prolific  than 
in  Europe,  or  the  race  more  inclined  to  fail,  or  the 
working  men  and  working  women  more  tyrannised 
over.  They  are  so  because  this  generation  wishes 
to  realise  something  of  the  New  Jerusalem  in  its 
own  lifetime.  It  may  be  only  a  foolish  dream,  but 
it  provides  the  present  atmosphere  of  America.  It 
discounts  the  despair  which  on  the  one  hand 
prudery  and  on  the  other  rag-time  dancing  invite. 
It  discounts  the  commercial  and  mechanical 
obsession  of  the  people.  It  discounts  the  wearisome 
shouting  of  the  cynic  who  has  money  in  his  pocket, 
and  makes  America  a  place  in  which  it  is  still 
possible  for  the  simple  immigrant  to  put  his  trust. 
In  the  light  of  this  passion,  and  never  forgetful  of 
it,  I  view  all  that  comes  to  my  notice  in  America 
of  to-day. 


IV 

INEFFACEABLE    MEMORIES    OF 
NEW  YORK 

FIRST,  the  flood  of  the  homeward  tide  at  six-thirty 
in  the  evening,  the  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands 
of  smartly  dressed  shop-girls  hurrying  and  flocking 
from  the  lighted  West  to  the  shadowy  East — their 
bright,  hopeful,  almost  expectant  features,  their 
vivacity  and  energy  even  at  the  end  of  the  long  day. 
I  felt  the  contrast  with  the  London  crowd,  which  is 
so  much  gloomier  and  wearier  as  it  throngs  into  our 
Great  Eastern  terminus  of  Liverpool  Street.  New 
York  has  a  stronger  class  of  girl  than  London.  Our 
shop-girls  are  London-bred,  but  your  Sadie  and  Dulcie 
are  the  children  of  foreigners ;  they  have  peasant 
blood  in  them  and  immigrant  hope.  They  have  a 
zest  for  the  life  that  New  York  can  offer  them  after 
shop-hours. 

The  average  wage  of  the  American  shop-girl  is 
stated  to  be  seven  dollars  (twenty-eight  shillings) 
per  week ;  the  average  wage  in  London  is  about 
ten  shillings,  or  two  and  a  half  dollars.1  I  suppose 

1  In  Russia  the  average  wage  of  the  shop-girl  is  12  roubles  a  month  (i.e. 
i|  dollars,  or  6s.  a  week),  but  then  she  is  a  humble  creature  and  lives  simply. 

72 


iv          MEMORIES  OF  NEW  YORK          73 

that  is  another  reason  why  our  New  York  sisters 
are  more  cheerful.  Despite  the  high  price  of  food 
in  New  York  there  must  be  a  comparatively  broad 
margin  left  to  the  American  girl  to  do  what  she 
likes  with.  The  cult  of  the  poor  little  girl  of  the 
Department  Store  is  perhaps  only  a  cult.  For  there 
are  many  women  in  New  York  more  exploited  than 
she.  When  the  shop-girl  sells  herself  to  rich  men 
for  marriage  or  otherwise  she  does  so  because  she 
has  been  infected  by  the  craze  for  finery  and  wealth, 
is  energetic  and  vivacious,  and  is  morally  under 
mined.  It  is  not  because  she  is  worn  out  and  ill- 
paid.  If  New  York  is  evil  it  is  not  because  New 
York  is  a  failure.  The  city  is  prosperous  and  evil 
as  well.  The  freshness  and  health  and  vigour  of  the 
rank  and  file  of  New  York  were  amazing  to  one 
familiar  with  the  drab  and  dreary  procession  of 
workers  filing  into  the  city  of  London  at  eight  in 
the  morning  and  away  from  it  at  the  same  hour  in 
the  evening. 


Then  the  Grand  Central  Station,  with  its  vast 
high  hall  of  marble,  surmounted  by  a  blue-green 
ceiling  which,  aping  heaven  itself,  is  fretted  and 
perforated  and  painted  to  represent  the  clear  night 
sky.  That  starry  roof  astonished  me.  It  reminded 
me  of  a  story  I  heard  of  G.  K.  Chesterton,  that  he 
lay  in  bed  on  a  Sunday  morning  and  with  a  crayon 
mounted  on  a  long  handle  drew  pictures  on  the 


74  WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  iv 

white  ceiling.  It  was  like  some  dream  of  Chester 
ton's  realised. 

For  a  long  time  I  looked  at  the  painted  roof  and 
picked  out  my  beloved  stars  and  constellations, — the 
planets  under  which  I  like  to  sleep, — and  then  I 
thought,  "  Strange,  that  out  in  the  glowing  Broad 
way,  not  far  away,  the  real  stars  are  hidden  from  the 
gaze  of  New  York  by  flashing  and  twinkling  and 
changing  sky-signs  in  manifold  colour  and  allure 
ment.  Every  night  the  dancing-girl  is  dancing  in 
the  sky,  and  the  hand  pours  out  the  yellow  beer  into 
the  foaming  glass  which,  like  the  vision  of  the  Grail, 
appears  but  to  vanish  ;  every  night  the  steeds  prance 
with  the  Greek  chariot,  the  athletes  box,  the  kitten 
plays  with  the  reel.  These  are  the  real  stars  and 
constellations  of  Broadway,  for  Charles's  Wain  is 
never  seen,  neither  Orion  nor  the  chair  of  Cassiopeia 
nor  the  Seven  Sisters.  To  see  them  you  must  come 
in  here,  into  the  Grand  Central  Station." 

But  apart  from  this  paradox,  what  a  station  this 
is — a  great  silent  temple,  a  place  wherein  to  come 
to  meditate  and  to  pray.  It  is  more  beautiful  than 
any  of  the  churches  of  America.  How  much  more 
beautiful  than  the  Cathedral  of  St.  John  the  Divine, 
for  instance.  That  cathedral  will  be  the  largest 
church  in  the  world  when  it  is  finished,  and,  vanity 
of  vanities,  how  much  more  secular  it  is  than  the 
station!  It  is  almost  conceivable  that  after  some 
revolution  in  the  future,  New  York  might  change 
its  mind  and  go  to  worship  at  the  Grand  Central 


iv  MEMORIES  OF  NEW  YORK          75 

Station  and  run  its  trains  into  the  Cathedral  of  St. 
John. 

Americans  are  proud  of  saying  that  the  Wool- 
worth  Building,  the  Grand  Central  Station,  the 
Pennsylvania  Railway  Station,  and  the  New  York 
Central  Library  show  the  New  York  of  the  future. 
Almost  everything  else  will  be  pulled  down  and 
built  to  match  these.  They  are  new  buildings,  they 
are  the  soul  of  the  New  America  finding  expression. 
They  are  temples  of  a  new  religion.  Americans 
pray  more  and  aspire  more  to  God  in  these  than 
they  do  in  their  churches. 

There  stands  out  in  my  memory  the  East  Side, 
and  the  slums  which  I  walked  night  after  night  in 
quest  of  some  idea,  some  redeeming  feature,  some 
thing  that  would  explain  them  to  me.  I  walked 
almost  at  random,  taking  ever  the  first  turning  to 
the  left,  the  first  to  the  right,  and  the  first  to  the 
left  again,  coming  ever  and  anon  to  the  river  and 
the  harbour,  and  having  to  turn  and  change. 

The  East  Side  is  more  spectacular  than  the  East 
End  of  London.  The  houses  are  so  high,  and  there 
is  so  much  more  crowding,  that  you  get  into  ten 
streets  of  New  York  what  we  get  into  a  hundred 
streets.  The  New  York  slums  are  slums  at  the 
intensest.  The  buildings,  great  frames  of  rags  and 
dirt,  hang  over  the  busy  street  below,  and  are  wildly 
alive  from  base  to  summit.  All  day  long  the  bedding 
hangs  out  at  the  windows  or  on  the  iron  fire-escapes 


76          WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  iv 

attached  to  the  houses.     Women  are  shouting  and 
children  are  crying  on  the  extraordinary  stairs  which 
lead  from  room  to  room  and  story  to  story  in  the 
vast  honeycomb  of  dens.     On  the  side-walk  is  a 
rough  crowd  speaking  all  tongues.     The  toy  doors 
of  the  saloons  swing  to  and  fro,  simple  couples  sit 
on  high  stools  in  the  soda-bars  and  suck  various 
kinds  of  "  dope."     Lithuanian  and  Polish  boys  are 
rushing  after  one  another  with  toy  pistols,  the  girls 
are  going  round  and  round  the  barber's  pole,  singing 
and  playing,  with  hands  joined.      The  stores  are 
crowded,  and  notices  tell  the  outsider  that  he  can 
buy  two  quarts  of  Grade  B  milk  for  eleven  cents,  or 
ten  State  eggs  for  twenty-five  cents.     You  come  to 
streets  where  all  the  bakers'  shops  are  "  panneterias," 
and  you  know  you  are  among  the  Italians.     One 
Hundred  and  Thirteenth  Street  as  it  goes  down  from 
Second  Avenue  to  First  Avenue  is  full  of  Greeks 
and  Italians,  and  is  extraordinarily  dark  and  wild  ; 
men  of  murderous  aspect  are  prowling  about,  there 
is  howling  across  the  street  from  tenement  to  tene 
ment.     Dark,  plump  women  stand  at  doorways  and 
stare  at  you,  and  occasionally  a  negress   in  finery 
trapes  past. 

You  come  to  little  Italian  theatres  where  the 
price  of  admission  is  only  five  cents,  and  find  them 
crammed  with  families,  so  that  you  cannot  hear 
Rigoletto  for  the  squalling  of  the  babies.  There 
are  mean  cinema  houses  where  you  see  only  worn- 
out  and  spoiled  films  giving  broken  and  incoherent 


iv  MEMORIES  OF  NEW  YORK          77 

stories.  And  all  the  while  the  lights  and  shadows 
play,  the  Greek  hawker  of  confectionery  shouts  : 

"  Soh-dah ! " 

"  Can-dee !  " 

You  continue  your  wanderings  and  you  strike  a 
nigger  district.  Negresses  and  their  beaux  are  flirt 
ing  in  corners  and  on  doorsteps.  Darky  boys  and 
girls  are  skirling  in  the  roadway.  Smartly  dressed 
young  men,  carrying  canes,  come  giggling  and  push 
ing  one  another  on  the  pavement,  crying  out  music- 
hall  catches — "  Who  was  you  with  last  night  ?  "  and 
the  like. 

You  know  the  habitat  of  the  Jew  by  the  abund 
ance  of  junk-shops,  old-clothes  shops,  and  offices  of 
counsellors -at -law.  It  seems  the  Jews  are  very 
litigious,  and  even  the  poorest  families  go  to  law 
for  their  rights.  You  find  windows  full  of  boxing- 
gloves,  for  the  Jews  are  great  boxers  in  America. 
You  find  stalls  and  push-carts  without  end.  And 
every  now  and  then  rubbish  comes  sailing  down 
from  a  window  up  above.  That  is  one  of  the  surest 
signs  of  the  Jews  being  installed — the  pitching  of 
cabbage-leaves  and  fish-bones  and  sausage-parings 
from  upper  windows. 

What  a  sight  was  Delancey  Street,  with  its  five 
lines  of  naphtha-lit  stalls,  its  array  of  tubs  of  fish 
and  heaps  of  cranberries,  its  pavements  slippery  with 
scales,  the  air  heavy  with  the  odour  of  fish  ! 

On  one  of  the  first  of  my  nights  out  in  the  New 
York  streets  I  came  on  a  most  wonderful  sight. 


78  WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  iv 

After  prolonging  a  journey  that  started  in  the  centre 
of  the  city  I  found  myself  suddenly  plunging  down 
ward  among  dark  and  wretched  streets.  I  was 
following  out  my  zigzag  plan,  and  came  at  last  to 
a  cul-de-sac.  This  was  at  the  end  of  East  Ninth 
Street.  It  was  very  dark  and  forbidding ;  there 
were  no  shops,  only  warehouses  and  yards.  There 
were  no  people.  I  expected  to  find  a  new  turning 
to  the  left,  and  was  rather  fearsome  of  taking  it 
even  should  I  find  it.  But  at  length  I  saw  I  had 
come  to  the  East  River.  At  the  end  of  the  street 
the  water  lapped  against  a  wooden  landing-stage, 
and  there  I  saw  a  picture  of  wonder  and  mystery. 

High  over  the  glimmering  water  stood  Brooklyn 
Bridge,  with  its  long  array  of  blazing  electric  torches 
and  its  procession  of  scores  of  little  car-lights  trick 
ling  past.  The  bridge  hung  from  the  high  heaven 
by  dark  shadows.  It  was  the  brightest  ornament 
of  the  night.  I  sat  on  an  overturned  barrow  and 
looked  out.  Up  to  me  and  past  me  came  stalking 
majestic  ferry-boats,  all  lights  and  white  or  shadowy 
faces.  Far  away  on  the  river  lay  anchored  boats 
with  red  and  green  lights,  and  beyond  all  were  the 
black  silhouettes  of  the  building  and  shipping  on 
Long  Island  Shore.. 

.  •  •  •  •  • 

It  was  interesting  to  me  to  participate  in  the 
Russian  Easter  in  New  York,  having  lived  in  the 
Protestant  and  Roman  Catholic  Easters  a  whole 
month  before  on  the  emigrant  ship  on  the  day  we 


iv  MEMORIES  OF  NEW  YORK          79 

reached  New  York.  I  came  to  the  diminutive 
Russian  cathedral  in  East  Ninety-Fifth  Street  on 
Easter  Eve  at  midnight.  I  had  been  at  a  fancy- 
dress  party  in  the  evening,  and  as  fortune  would 
have  it,  had  gone  in  Russian  attire  ;  that  is,  in  a  blue 
blouse  like  a  Moscow  workman.  What  was  my 
astonishment  to  find  myself  the  only  person  so 
dressed  in  the  great  throng  of  Russians  surging  in 
and  out  of  the  cathedral  and  the  side  street  where 
the  overflow  of  them  talked  and  chattered.  They 
were  all  in  bowler  hats,  and  wore  collars  and  ties 
and  American  coats  and  waistcoats.  They  even 
looked  askance  at  me  for  coming  in  a  blouse ;  they 
thought  I  might  be  a  Jew  or  a  German,  or  a  foolish 
spy  trying  to  gain  confidences. 

I  shall  never  forget  the  inside  of  the  cathedral 
at  one  in  the  morning,  the  vociferous  singing,  the 
be -shawled  peasant  girls,  the  tear-stained  faces. 
Priest  after  priest  came  forward  and  praised  the 
Orthodox  Church  and  the  Russian  people,  and 
appealed  to  the  worshippers  to  remember  that  all 
over  the  Russian  world  the  same  service  was  being 
held,  not  only  in  the  great  cathedrals  and  monas 
teries,  but  in  the  village  churches,  in  the  far-away 
forest  settlements,  at  the  shrines  in  lonely  Arctic 
islands,  in  the  Siberian  wildernesses,  on  the  Urals, 
in  the  fastnesses  of  the  Caucasus,  on  the  Asian 
deserts,  in  Jerusalem  itself.  It  was  pathetic  to  hear 
the  priests  exhort  these  young  men  and  women  to 
remain  Russians — they  were  all  young,  and  they  all 


8o          WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  iv 

or  nearly  all  looked  to  America  as  their  new 
home.  On  all  ordinary  occasions  they  longed  to  be 
Americans  and  to  be  called  Americans  ;  but  this 
night  a  flood  of  feeling  engulfed  them,  and  in  the 
New  York  night  they  set  sail  and  looked  hungrily 
to  the  East  whence  they  came.  They  held  tapers. 
They  had  tenderly  brought  their  cakes,  their  chickens 
and  joints  of  pork,  to  be  sprinkled  with  holy  water 
and  blessed  by  the  priest  for  their  Easter  breakfast. 
It  was  sad  to  surmise  how  few  had  really  fasted 
through  Lent,  and  yet  to  see  how  they  clung  to 
departing  tradition. 

Coming  out  of  the  cathedral  we  each  received  a 
verbose  revolutionary  circular  printed  in  the  Russian 
tongue  :  "  Keep  holy  the  First  of  May !  Hail  to 
the  war  of  the  Classes !  Hurrah  for  Socialism ! 
Workmen  of  all  classes,  combine !  " — and  so  on.  In 
Russia  a  person  distributing  such  circulars  would 
be  rushed  off  to  gaol  at  once.  In  New  York  it  is 
different,  and  "influences"  of  all  kinds  are  in  full 
blast.  I  looked  over  the  shoulders  of  many  groups 
outside  the  cathedral  on  Easter  Day  and  found  them 
reading  those  New  York  rags,  which  are  conceived  in 
ignorance  and  dedicated  to  anarchism.  It  seems  the 
Russian  who  comes  to  New  York  is  at  once  grabbed 
by  the  existent  Social- Democratic  organisations,  and 
though  he  go  to  church  still,  he  begins  to  be  more 
and  more  attached  to  revolutionism.  It  is  strange 
that  these  organisations  are  directed,  not  against  the 
Tsar  and  the  officialdom  of  Russia,  but  against  the 


iv  MEMORIES  OF  NEW  YORK          81 

Government  of  the  United  States  and  the  com 
mercial  machine.  There  is  no  question  of  America 
being  a  refuge  for  the  persecuted  Russian.  The 
latter  is  assured  at  once  that  America  is  a  place  of 
even  worse  tyranny  than  the  land  he  has  come  from. 
But  if  he  does  not  take  other  people's  word  he  soon 
comes  to  that  conclusion  on  his  own  account.  For 
he  finds  himself  and  his  brothers  working  like  slaves 
and  drinking  themselves  to  death  through  sheer 
boredom,  and  he  finds  his  sisters  in  the  "  sweat 
shops  "  of  the  garment- workers,  or  loses  them  in 
houses  of  evil. 

I  shall  long  remember  the  Night  Court  on  Sixth 
Avenue,  and  several  occasions  when  I  entered  there 
after  midnight  and  found  the  same  shrewd,  tireless 
Irish  judge  nonchalantly  fining  and  sentencing 
negresses  and  white  girls  found  in  the  streets  under 
suspicious  circumstances.  Many  a  poor  Russian 
girl  was  brought  forward,  and  called  upon  to 
defend  herself  against  the  allegations  of  the 
soulless  spies  and  secret  agents  of  the  American 
Police.  I  listened  to  their  sobs  and  cries,  their 
protests  of  innocence,  their  promises  of  repentance, 
till  I  was  ready  to  rise  in  Court  and  rave  aloud  and 
shriek,  and  be  pounced  upon  by  the  great  fat 
pompous  usher  who  represses  even  the  expression 
on  your  features.  "Why,"  I  wanted  to  cry  aloud, 
"  it  is  America  that  ought  to  be  tried,  and  not  these 
innocent  victims  of  America — they  are  the  evidence 

G 


82  WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  iv 

of  America's  guilt  and  not  the  committers  of  her 
crimes ! "  But  I  was  fixed  in  silence,  like  the 
reporters  doing  their  jobs  in  the  front  bench,  and 
the  unmoved,  hard-faced  attendants  and  police  by 
whom  the  order  of  the  Court  was  kept. 

Then,  not  far  along  the  same  road  in  which  the 
Night  Court  stands,  I  came  one  evening  into  a  wax 
work  show  of  venereal  disease.  It  was  quite  by 
chance  I  went  in,  for  there  was  nothing  outside  to 
indicate  what  was  within.  Only  the  spirit  of  adven 
ture,  which  prompted  me  to  go  in  and  look  round 
wherever  I  saw  an  open  door,  betrayed  me  to  this 
chamber  of  horrors.  There  I  saw,  in  pink  and  white 
and  red,  the  human  body  in  the  loathsome  inflamma 
tion  and  corruption  of  the  city's  disease.  Chief  of 
all  I  remember  the  queen  of  the  establishment,  a 
hypnotic-seeming  corpse  of  wax,  lying  full-length  in 
a  shroud  in  a  glass  case.  Just  enough  of  the  linen 
was  held  aside  to  show  or  suggest  the  terrible 
cause  of  her  decease.  The  show  was  no  more  than 
doctor's  advertisement,  and  it  was  open  in  the  name 
of  science,  but  it  was  an  unforgettable  vision  of 
death  at  the  heart  of  this  great  city  pulsating  with 
life. 

•  »  .  .  •  « 

Then  the  splendour  of  Broadway,  the  great 
White  Way,  "  calling  moths  from  leagues,  from 
hundreds  of  leagues,"  as  O.  Henry  wrote.  What  a 
city  of  enchantment  and  wonder  New  York  must 
seem  to  the  traveller  from  some  dreary  Russian 


iv  MEMORIES  OF  NEW  YORK          83 

or  Siberian  town,  if  seen  aright.  It  is  a  thrilling 
spectacle.  Now  that  I  have  looked  at  it  I  say  to 
myself,  "  Fancy  any  man  having  lived  and  died  in 
this  era  without  having  seen  it ! "  Five  hundred 
years  ago  the  island  was  dark  and  empty,  with  the 
serene  stars  shining  over  it ;  but  now  the  creatures 
of  the  earth  have  found  it  and  built  this  city  on  it, 
lit  by  a  myriad  lights.  Thousands  of  years  hence 
it  will  be  dark  again  belike,  and  empty,  and  un 
inhabited,  and  once  more  the  serene  stars  will  shine 
over  the  island. 


V 
THE    AMERICAN    ROAD 

OUT  in  the  country  was  a  different  America.  The 
maples  were  all  red,  the  first  blush  of  the  dawn  of 
summer.  In  the  gardens  the  ficaria  was  shooting 
her  yellow  arrows,  in  the  woods  the  American  dog 
wood  tree  was  covered  with  white  blossoms  like 
thousands  of  little  dolls'  nightcaps.  Down  at 
Caldwell,  New  Jersey,  I  picked  many  violets  and 
anemones — large  blue  fragrant  violets.  The  bride's 
veil  was  in  lovely  wisps  and  armfuls  of  white. 
The  unfolding  oak  turned  all  rose,  like  the  peach 
tree  in  bloom.  Each  morning  when  I  awakened 
and  went  out  into  the  woods  I  found  something  new 
had  happened  overnight, — thus  I  discovered  the 
sycamore  in  leaf,  fringing  and  fanning,  and  then 
the  veils  which  the  naked  birch  trees  were  wearing. 
The  birches  began  to  look  like  maidens  doing  their 
hair.  The  fern  fronds  and  azalea  buds  opened 
their  hands.  The  chestnut  tree  lit  up  her  many 
candles.  The  shaggy  hickory,  the  tree  giant  whose 
bark  hangs  in  rags  and  clots,  had  looked  quite 
dead,  but  with  the  coming  of  May  it  was  seen 

84 


v  THE  AMERICAN  ROAD  85 

to  be  awaking  tenderly.  In  the  glades  the  little 
columbines  put  on  their  pink  bonnets.  Only  the 
pines  and  cedars  were  dark  and  changeless,  as  if 
grown  old  in  sin  beside  the  tender  innocence  of  the 
birches. 

It  is  very  pleasant  living  in  the  half-country — 
living,  that  is,  in  the  outer  suburbs  of  the  great 
American  city  or  in  the  ordinary  suburbs  of  the 
small  city.  New  York  has  very  little  correspond 
ing  to  our  Walthamstow,  Enfield,  Catford,  Ilford, 
Camberwell,  and  all  those  dreary  congested  parishes 
that  lie  eight  to  ten  miles  from  the  centre  of 
London.  The  American  suburbs  are  garden  cities 
without  being  called  so.  Each  house  is  detached 
from  its  neighbour,  there  is  a  stretch  of  greenest 
lawn  in  front  of  it,  there  is  a  verandah  on  which  are 
fixed  hammocks  and  porch-swings,  there  are  flower 
beds,  blossoming  shrubs,  the  shade  of  maples  and 
cherry  trees.  There  are  no  railings  or  fences, 
and  the  people  on  the  verandah  look  down  their 
lawn  to  the  road  and  take  stock  of  all  the  people 
passing  to  and  fro. 

Working  men  and  women  live  a  long  way  out, 
and  are  content  to  spend  an  hour  or  an  hour  and  a 
half  a  day  in  trains  and  cars  if  only  to  be  quite  free 
of  the  city  when  work  is  over. 

Twelve  miles  of  garden  city  is  very  wearisome 
to  the  pedestrian ;  but  he  tramps  them  gaily  when 
he  remembers  that  the  country  is  ahead,  and  that 
he  has  not  simply  to  retrace  his  footsteps  to  a 


86  WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  v 

town-dwelling  which   for  the  time    being    he   calls 
home. 

I  set  off  for  Chicago  in  the  beginning  of  May— 
not  in  a  Pullman  car,  but  on  my  own  feet ;  for  in 
order  to  understand  America  it  is  necessary  to  go 
to  America,  and  the  only  way  she  can  be  graciously 
approached  is  humbly,  on  one's  feet.  I  travelled 
just  in  the  same  way  as  I  have  done  the  last  four 
years  in  Russia — viz.  with  a  knapsack  on  my  back, 
a  staff  in  my  hand,  and  a  stout  pair  of  boots  on 
my  feet.  I  carried  my  pot,  I  had  matches,  and  I 
reckoned  to  buy  my  own  provisions  as  I  went 
along,  and  to  cook  what  was  necessary  over  my 
own  fire  by  the  side  of  the  road.  At  night  I  pro 
posed  to  sleep  at  farmhouses  in  cold  weather,  and 
under  the  stars  when  it  was  warm.  I  was  ready  in 
mind  and  body  for  whatever  might  happen  to  me. 
If  the  farmers  proved  to  be  inhospitable,  and  would 
not  take  me  in  on  cold  or  rainy  nights,  I  would  quite 
cheerfully  tramp  on  till  I  came  to  a  hotel,  or  a  barn, 
or  a  cave,  or  a  bridge,  or  any  place  where  man,  the 
wanderer,  could  reasonably  find  shelter  from  the 
elements. 

I  took  the  road  with  great  spirits.  There  is 
something  unusually  invigorating  in  the  American 
air.  It  is  marvellously  healthy  and  strength-giving, 
this  virginal  land.  Every  tree  and  shrub  seems  to 
have  a  full  grasp  of  life,  and  outbreathes  a  robust 
joy.  It  is  as  if  the  earth  itself  had  greater  supplies 
of  unexhausted  strength  than  Europe  has — as  if, 


v  THE  AMERICAN  ROAD  87 

indeed,  it  were  a  newer  world,  and  had  spent  less 
of  the  primeval  potencies  and  energies  bequeathed 
to  this  planet  at  her  birth.  How  different  from 
tranquil  and  melancholy  Russia ! 

America  is  more  spacious  in  New  York  State 
than  in  New  York  city.  The  landscape  is  so  broad 
that  could  Atlas  have  held  it  up,  you  feel  he  must 
have  had  fine  arms.  Your  eyes,  but  lately  im 
prisoned  so  closely  by  unscalable  sky-scrapers,  run 
wild  in  freedom  to  traverse  the  long  valleys  and 
forested  ridges,  waking  the  imagination  to  realise 
the  country  of  the  Indians.  There  is  a  vast  sky 
over  you.  The  men  and  women  on  the  road  have 
time  to  talk  to  you,  and  the  farmer  ambling  along 
in  his  buggy  is  interested  to  give  you  a  lift  and  ask 
after  your  life  and  your  fortunes ;  and  when  he  puts 
you  down,  and  you  thank  him,  he  answers  in  an 
old-fashioned  way  : 

"You're  welcome;  hand  on  my  heart." 

In  the  city  no  one  has  a  word  to  say  to  you,  but 
in  the  country  every  one  is  curious.  It  is  more 
neighbourly  to  be  curious  and  to  ask  questions. 
I  rejoiced  in  every  scrap  of  talk,  even  in  such 
triviality  as  my  chat  with  Otto  Friedrichs,  a 
workman,  who  hailed  me  at  East  Berne. 

"Are  you  an  Amarikan  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Sprechen  Sie  deutsch,  mein  Herr?" 

"No;   I'm  English." 

"That  bag  on  your  back  is  made  in  Germany." 


88  WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  v 

"  Very  likely,"  said  I  ;  "I  bought  it  in  London." 

"You  running  avay  in  case  dere  should  be  ze 
war,  eh  ?  " 

"  Well,  it  would  be  safer  here,  even  for  you." 

"  What  you  think  of  our  Kaiser  ?  " 

"  Fine  man,"  said  I. 

"  Some  say  ze  Kaiser  is  too  English  to  make  ze 
war.  But  do  you  know  wat  I  read  in  ze  news 
paper  ?  Der  Kaiser  cut  his  hand  by  accident,  zen 
he  hold  up  his  finger — so,  viz  ze  blood  on  it,  and  he 
say,  *  Dat  is  my  las'  blood  of  English  tropp,'  and  he 
.  .  .  the  blood  away." 

Not  knowing  the  word  for  " flicked"  Otto  told 
me  in  dumb  show  with  his  fingers. 

"  Last  drop  of  English  blood,  eh  ?  "  said  I. 

"Yes." 

"  So  he's  quite  German  now,  and  ready  to  fight." 

As  I  sat  at  the  side  of  the  road  every  passer-by 
was  interested  in  my  fire  and  my  pot.  They  pitied 
me  when  they  saw  me  trudging  along  the  road,  and 
when  I  told  them  I  was  tramping  to  Chicago  they 
commonly  exclaimed  : 

"  Gee !  I  wouldn't  do  that  for  ten  thousand 
dollars." 

But  when  they  saw  me  cooking  my  meals  they 
stopped  and  looked  at  me  wistfully — that  was  their 
weakness ;  a  hankering,  not  after  the  wilderness, 
but  for  the  manna  there.  They  addressed  to  me 
such  non-pertinent  remarks  as  : 

"  So  that's  how  you  fix  it." 


v  THE  AMERICAN  ROAD  89 

"  I  say,  you'll  get  burned  up." 

"  Are  yer  making  yer  coffee  ?  " 

There  was  a  great  doubt  as  to  my  business,  as 
the  following  interlocutions  will  suggest.  In  Russia 
I  should  be  asked  : 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"To  Kieff,"  I  might  answer. 

"To  pray,"  the  Russian  would  conclude.  But 
in  America  I  was  most  commonly  taken  to  be  a 
pedlar. 

"  Whar  you  going  ?  " 

"  Chicago,"  I  answered. 

-Peddling?" 

It  astonished  me  to  be  taken  for  a  pedlar.  But 
I  was  almost  as  commonly  taken  to  be  walking  for 
a  wager.  I  was  walking  under  certain  conditions. 
I  must  not  take  a  lift.  I  must  keep  up  thirty  miles 
a  day.  I  was  walking  to  Chicago  on  a  bet.  Some 
one  had  betted  some  one  else  I  wouldn't  do  it  in  a 
certain  time.  I  took  only  a  dollar  in  my  pocket 
and  was  supporting  myself  by  my  work.  I  lectured 
in  school-houses,  mended  spades,  would  lend  a  hand 
in  the  hayfield.  Or  I  was  walking  to  advertise  a 
certain  sort  of  boot.  Or  I  was  walking  on  a  certain 
sort  of  diet  to  advertise  somebody's  patent  food.  I 
was  repairer  of  village  telephones.  I  was  hawking 
toothpicks,  which  I  very  cunningly  made  in  my  fire 
at  the  side  of  the  road.  I  was  a  tramping  juggler, 
and  would  give  a  show  in  the  town  next  night. 

Every  one  thought  I  accomplished  a  prodigious 


90  WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  v 

number  of  miles  a  day.  At  least  a  hundred  times 
I  was  called  upon  to  state  what  was  my  average 
"  hike  "  for  the  day.  Some  were  sympathetic  and 
explained  that  they  would  like  to  do  the  same,  to 
camp  out,  it  was  the  only  way  to  see  America.  A 
girl  in  a  baker's  shop  told  me  she  had  long  wanted 
to  tramp  to  Chicago  and  sleep  out  every  night,  but 
could  get  no  friend  to  accompany  her.  Jews 
slapped  me  on  the  back  and  told  me  I  was  doing 
fine.  Especially  I  remember  a  young  man  who 
walked  by  my  side  through  the  streets  of  Wilkes 
Barre.  He  told  me  his  average  per  day  had  been 
forty-five  miles. 

"  How  long  did  you  keep  that  up  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  A  week,  we  went  to  Washington." 

"  That's  going  some,"  said  I. 

"  How  far  do  you  usually  go  ?  "  asked  he. 

"  Oh,  five  or  six  miles  when  the  weather's  fine," 
said  I. 

"Yer  kiddin  us!" 

I  was  told  that  I  wasn't  the  only  person  on  the 
road.  The  great  Weston  was  behind  me,  patriarch 
of  "hikers,"  aged  seventy-five.  He  wore  ice  under 
his  hat  and  was  walking  from  New  York  to  St. 
Paul  at  twenty-five  miles  a  day,  and  was  accom 
panied  by  an  automobile  full  of  liquid  food.  Far 
ahead  of  me  was  a  woman  in  high-heeled  boots 
tramping  from  New  York  to  San  Francisco.  She 
carried  only  a  small  handbag,  walked  with  incredible 
rapidity,  and  was  proving  for  a  newspaper  that  it 


v  THE  AMERICAN  ROAD  91 

was  just  as  easy  to  walk  in  Vienna  boots  as  in  any 
other.  Several  weeks  before  me  a  cripple  had 
passed,  wheeling  a  wheelbarrow  full  of  picture-post 
cards  of  himself,  which  he  sold  at  a  nickel  each, 
thereby  supporting  himself.  He  was  going  from 
Philadelphia  to  Los  Angeles,  but  had  five  years  to 
do  it  in. 

For  all  and  sundry  upon  the  road  I  had  a  ready 
smile  and  a  greeting ;  almost  every  one  replied  to 
me  at  least  as  heartily,  and  many  were  ready  to  talk 
at  length.  Some,  however,  to  whom  I  gave  greet 
ing  either  took  me  for  a  disreputable  tramp  or  felt 
themselves  too  important  in  the  sight  of  the  Lord. 
When  I  said,  "  How  d'ye  do  ?  "  or  "  Good  morning  " 
they  simply  stared  at  me  as  if  I  were  a  cow  that 
had  mooed.  In  my  whole  journey  I  encountered 
no  hostility  whatever.  Only  once  or  twice  I  would 
hear  a  woman  in  a  car  say  truculently  to  her 
husband,  "There  goes  Weary  Willie." 

I  had  pleasant  encounters  innumerable,  and 
many  a  talk  with  children.  I  felt  that  as  I  was  in 
search  for  the  emerging  American,  the  American  of 
to-morrow  and  the  day  after,  1  ought  to  take  the 
children  I  met  rather  seriously.  It  was  surprising 
to  me  that  the  grown-ups  upon  the  road  said  to  me 
always,  "  How-do  ?  "  but  the  children  said,  "  Hullo." 
The  children  always  spoke  as  if  they  had  met  me 
before,  or  as  if  they  were  dying  for  me  to  stop  and 
talk  to  them  and  tell  them  all  about  the  road,  and 
who  I  was  and  what  I  was  doing. 


92  WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  v 

At  a  little  place  called  Clarkville  I  had  a  break 
fast  party.  Perhaps  I  had  better  begin  at  the 
beginning.  It  had  been  a  hard  frosty  night,  and  I 
slept  in  a  barn  on  two  planks  beside  an  old  rusty 
reaping-machine.  At  five  in  the  morning  I  made 
my  first  fire  of  the  day,  and  I  shared  a  pot  of  hot 
tea  with  a  disreputable  tramp,  who  had  come  to 
warm  himself  at  the  blaze.  By  seven  o'clock  I  had 
walked  into  the  next  village,  about  five  miles  on,  and 
I  was  ready  for  a  second  breakfast.  My  first  had 
been  for  the  purpose  of  getting  warm  ;  now  I  was 
hungry  for  something  to  eat. 

It  was  a  beautiful  morning ;  on  each  side  of  the 
road  were  orchards  in  full  bloom,  the  gnarled  and 
angular  apple  trees  were  showing  themselves  lovely 
in  myriad  outbreaking  of  blossom,  and  there  were 
thousands  of  dandelions  in  the  rank  green  grass 
beneath  them.  The  sides  of  the  roadway  and  the 
banks  of  the  village  stream  were  deep  in  grass  and 
clover,  and  every  hollow  of  the  world  seemed 
brimming  with  sunshine.  The  sun  had  been 
radiant,  and  he  stood  over  a  shoulder  of  the  Cats- 
kills  and  poured  warmth  on  the  whole  Western 
world. 

On  the  bank  of  the  stream  I  spread  out  my 
things,  emptying  out  of  my  pack  pots,  cups,  pro 
visions,  books,  paper,  pen,  and  ink.  I  gathered 
wisps  of  last  year's  weeds,  and  on  a  convenient  spot 
started  my  little  fire.  I  had  just  put  eggs  in  to  boil 
when  the  first  of  my  party  arrived.  This  was  little 


v  THE  AMERICAN  ROAD  93 

Charles  van  Wie  and  his  friend.  Charles  was  hired 
to  come  early  to  the  school-house  and  light  the  fire, 
so  that  the  school  would  be  warm  by  the  time  the 
teacher  and  the  other  boys  and  girls  arrived.  I  did 
not  know  that  I  had  pitched  my  camp  just  between 
the  village  and  the  school,  on  the  way  all  the 
children  would  have  to  come.  In  America  the 
school  -  house  is  always  some  distance  from  the 
village  —  this  is  so  that  mothers  may  not  come 
running  in  and  out  every  minute,  and  it  is  a  good 
arrangement  for  other  reasons.  It  gives  every 
little  boy  and  girl  a  walk,  and  the  chance  of  having 
upon  occasion  extraordinary  adventures. 

Charles  and  his  friend  set  to  work  to  gather  sticks 
for  me,  and  saved  me  the  trouble  of  rushing  every 
now  and  then  for  fuel  to  keep  up  the  fire.  Then 
they  hurried  away  to  the  school-house,  but  promised, 
excitedly,  to  come  back  as  soon  as  they  could. 

Charles  returned  and  asked  me  where  I  was 
going  to,  and  what  was  my  name  and  where  I'd 
come  from.  I  told  him,  and  he  took  out  a  pocket- 
book  and  pencil  and  wrote  all  down. 

Then  other  boys  came  and  watched  me  make 
my  coffee.  The  boys — they  were  all  under  twelve 
—had  bunches  of  white  lilac  fixed  in  their  coats. 
I  sat  and  ate  my  food  and  chattered. 

"Is  the  lilac  for  your  teacher?"  I  asked  of  a  boy. 

"  I  guess  not"  he  replied. 

There  was  a  look  of  disgust  on  his  face. 

"  Is  your  teacher  strict  ?  " 


94  WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  v 

"  Some." 

The  boys  all  sat  or  sprawled  on  the  grass  and 
chaffed  one  another. 

One  of  them  was  wearing  a  badge  in  his  button 
hole,  a  white  enamelled  button,  on  which  was  printed 
very  distinctly : 

Every 
DAM 
Booster. 

But  the  DAM,  when  you  looked  at  it  closely,  turned 
out  to  be  "  Dayton's  Adding  Machines." 

"  What  does  '  booster  '  mean  ?  "  I  asked. 

"A  feller  that  makes  a  job  go,"  it  was  explained 
to  me. 

After  breakfast  I  took  a  photograph  of  them 
sitting  in  the  grass.  They  were  much  pleased. 

"If  Skinny  Atlas  had  been  here  he'd  have  broke 
the  camera,"  said  one  of  them. 

An  extremely  fat  boy  came  into  view  and 
approached  our  party.  The  others  all  cried  at 
him  "  Skinny  Atlas,"  so  I  asked : 

"  Is  that  a  nickname?     Is  his  surname  Atlas?" 

"No,"  they  replied,  "his  surname  is  Higgins. 
But  he's  so  darned  fat  that  we  call  him  Skinny 
Atlas.  We  have  a  saying,  '  Put  a  nickel  in  the 
slot  and  up  comes  Skinny  Atlas.' " 

Accordingly  all  the  boys  cried  out,  "  Put  a  nickel 
in  the  slot  and  up  comes  Skinny  Atlas." 

The   fat   boy,  wearing  a  big  straw   sun-bonnet, 


v  THE  AMERICAN  ROAD  95 

came  up  and  walloped  several  little  boys.  There 
was  some  horseplay  round  the  embers  of  my  fire, 
but  Charles  van  Wie  set  an  example  by  giving 
warning — 

"  Next  person  who  pushes  me  I  baste." 

But  it  was  getting  late,  and  three  little  girls  who 
had  been  hovering  shyly  at  a  distance  cried  out  that 
it  was  time  for  the  boys  to  go  in. 

The  school  had  only  fifteen  pupils,  boys  and  girls 
together,  and  they  were  all  in  one  class,  and  they 
learned  "  the  three  R's,"  physiology,  and  the  geo 
graphy  of  the  county  they  lived  in. 

The  making  of  an  American  citizen  is  a  simple 
matter  in  the  country.  And  little  Charles  van  Wie 
would  make  one  of  the  best  that  are  turned  out,  I 
should  think. 

Later  on  in  the  morning  I  went  along  to  the 
school-house  and  peeped  in  at  the  window.  There 
they  all  were,  under  the  stern  sway  of  a  little  school 
mistress.  But  they  didn't  see  me. 

How  useful  to  the  tramp  is  the  custom  of  hanging 
in  the  school-room  a  map  of  the  county  or  of  the 
state  in  which  the  children  live.  Often  when  I 
have  wanted  to  know  where  I  was  I  have  clambered 
to  the  school-house  window  and  consulted  the  map 
on  the  wall. 

Once  more  to  the  road.  The  American  high 
road  differs  considerably  from  any  way  in  Europe. 
Every  farm-house  has  a  white  letter-box  on  a  post 
outside  its  main  entrance,  and  the  farmer  posts  his 


96  WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  v 

letter  and  hoists  a  metal  flag  as  a  signal  to  the  peri 
patetic  postman  that  there  are  letters  to  collect. 
There  are  no  thatched  cottages ;  the  homesteads 
stand  back  from  the  road,  they  are  always  of  wood, 
and  have  shady  verandahs  and  cosily  furnished  front 
rooms.  The  fields  on  each  side  of  the  road  are 
protected  by  six-inch  mesh  steel  netting,  turned  out 
by  some  great  factory  in  Pittsburg  I  suppose.  There 
are  very  few  country  guide-posts,  and  in  New  York 
State  those  there  are  come  rather  as  a  reward  to 
you  after  you  have  guessed  right.  They  are  put 
up  at  a  distance  from  the  cross-roads.  The  pointers 
of  the  guide-posts  are  of  tin.  The  telephone  cones 
are  of  green  glass,  the  poles  are  mostly  chestnut, 
are  not  straight,  and  rot  quickly.  There  are  many 
advertisements  by  the  way,  and  as  you  approach  a 
town  of  importance  they  are  as  thick  as  fungi.  They 
are  not  written  for  tramps  to  jeer  at,  but  as  hints  to 
rich  motorists.  Still  one  necessarily  smiles  at : 

CLOTHE  YOUR  WHOLE  FAMILY  ON  CREDIT 
$i  A  WEEK 

OR 

DUTCHESS  TROUSERS.  TEN  CENTS  A  BUTTON. 
A  DOLLAR  A  RIP. 

A  great  portion  of  the  State  of  Indiana  seems  to 
be  devoted  to  Dutchess  trousers,  and  I  often  wonder 
whether  the  company  had  to  pay  many  indemnities 
to  customers. 


v  THE  AMERICAN  ROAD  97 

One  sorry  feature  of  country  advertising  was  the 
number  of  notices  scrawled  in  black  with  charcoal 
or  painted  in  tar.  In  Europe  picnickers  write  their 
names  or  the  names  of  their  sweethearts  on  the  rocks 
and  the  walls  and  palings,  but  in  America  they  write 
their  trade,  the  thing  they  sell,  and  the  price  a 
pound,  what  O.  Henry  would  call  their  especial  sort 
of  "  graft." 

Then  "  rrrrrrr  !  rhrhrh — whaup — ssh  !  "  the  auto 
mobile  appears  on  the  horizon,  passes  you,  and  is 
gone.  I  have  no  prejudice  against  automobilists  ; 
they  were  very  hospitable  to  me,  and  carried  me 
many  miles.  If  I  had  accepted  all  the  lifts  offered 
me  I  should  have  been  in  Chicago  in  a  week,  instead 
of  taking  two  months  on  the  journey.  But  the 
farmers  curse  them.  On  one  Sunday  late  in  June 
I  counted  everything  that  passed  me.  The  farmer 
commonly  tells  you  that  hundreds  of  automobiles 
whirl  past  his  door  every  day.  This  day  there  were 
just  one  hundred  and  ten,  of  which  thirty-two  were 
auto-cycles  and  the  rest  cars.  As  a  set-off  against 
this  there  were  only  five  buggies  and  three  ordinary 
cyclists.  That  was  one  of  the  last  days  of  June, 
when  I  was  seventy  miles  from  Chicago.  I  had 
two  offers  to  take  me  into  the  city  that  day ! 

Besides  counting  the  vehicles  that  passed  me  I 
took  stock  of  the  automobilists  themselves.  No  one 
passed  till  7  A.M.,  and  then  came  a  loving  couple, 
looking  like  a  runaway  match.  He  was  clasping 
her  waist,  and  their  trunks  were  roped  on  to  the  car 

H 


98  WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  v 

behind.  Then  six  young  men,  all  in  their  wind-blown 
shirts,  came  tearing  along  on  auto-cycles.  Scarcely 
had  the  noise  of  these  subsided  when  a  smart  picnic 
party  rolled  past  in  a  smooth -running  car,  flying 
purple  flags,  on  which  was  printed  the  name  of  their 
home  city — Michigan.  This  is  a  common  custom 
in  America,  to  carry  a  flag  with  the  name  of  your 
city.  It  boosts  your  own  town,  and  is  thought  to 
bring  trade  there. 

Six  townsmen  came  past  me  in  a  grand  car.  Their 
hats  were  all  off;  they  were  all  clean  shaven  and 
bald.  Coats  had  been  left  at  home,  and  the  six 
were  in  radiantly  clean  coloured  shirts.  They 
smiled  at  me  ;  I  was  one  of  the  sights  of  the  road. 

Many  picnic  parties  passed  me,  and  men  and 
women  called  out  to  me  facetiously.  Six  shop 
girls  on  a  joy  ride  came  past,  and  one  of  them 
kissed  her  hand  to  me — that  is  one  of  the  things 
the  girl  in  the  car  can  safely  do  when  she  is  passing 
a  pedestrian. 

Family  parties  went  by,  and  also  placid  husbands 
and  wives  having  a  spin  before  lunch,  and  bashful 
happy  pairs  sitting  behind  the  back  of  the  discreet 
chauffeurs.  There  came  an  auto  -  cycle  with  a 
frantic  man  in  front  and  a  girl  astride  on  his  carrier 
behind.  She  was  wiping  the  sand  out  of  her  eyes 
as  she  passed,  her  skirt  was  blown  by  the  wind, 
and  she  showed  a  pair  of  dainty  legs ;  the  funny 
way  in  which  she  was  obliged  to  sit  made  her  look 
like  a  stalk  bending  over  among  reeds. 


v  THE  AMERICAN  ROAD  99 

One  of  the  few  cyclists  I  met  came  up  after  this, 
and  he  dismounted  to  talk  to  me.  He  was  a  tender 
of  gasoline  engines  "on  vacation."  I  learned  from 
him  about  the  single  auto-cycle  for  two.  It  appears 
that  in  America  they  manufacture  special  seats  to 
screw  on  the  back  of  a  motor-bicycle  ;  some  use 
that.  Many,  however,  just  strap  a  cushion  on. 
Young  men  who  have  auto-cycles  have  a  "  pull " 
with  the  girls ;  they  pick  them  up  and  take  them 
to  business,  or  take  them  home  from  business, 
and  on  holidays  they  take  them  for  rides  of 
joy.  Several  similar  couples  passed  me  during 
the  day. 

All  sorts  of  gear  went  by  ;  rich  gentlemen  in 
stately  pride,  workmen  with  their  week-day  grime 
scarcely  cleared  from  their  faces,  gay  girls  with  para 
sols,  honeymoon  pairs,  cars  with  men  driving,  cars 
with  women  at  the  wheel.  The  automobile  is  far 
more  of  a  general  utility  in  the  United  States  than 
in  England.  Workmen,  and,  indeed,  farmers  them 
selves — not  those  who  curse — have  their  own  cars. 
They  mortgage  their  property  to  get  them,  but  they 
get  them  all  the  same.  Even  women  buy  cars  for 
themselves,  and  are  to  be  seen  driving  them  them 
selves.  In  Great  Britain  it  is  very  rare  that  you 
see  a  woman  travelling  alone  in  a  car,  but  in 
America  it  is  a  frequent  sight.  Of  course  in  Russia, 
in  the  country,  an  automobile  is  still  a  rarity.  I 
passed  last  summer  in  a  populous  part  of  the  Urals 
and  did  not  see  a  single  car.  I  did  not  even  see  an 


ioo         WITH   POOR  IMMIGRANTS  v 

ordinary  bicycle.  The  farther  west  you  go  the 
more  you  find  the  inventions  of  the  day  taken 
advantage  of.  It  is  an  important  phenomenon  in 
America ;  it  shows  that  there  is  a  readiness  to 
adopt  and  utilise  any  new  thing  right  off,  directly  it 
is  discovered. 

This  readiness,  however,  results  in  a  lack  of 
seriousness.  Inexpert  driving  is  no  crime ;  acci 
dents  are  nothing  to  weep  over ;  badly  constructed 
cars  are  driven  along  loose  springy  roads  with 
blood-curdling  speed  and  recklessness.  The  pedes 
trian  is  vexed  to  see  a  car  come  towards  him,  leap 
ing,  bounding,  dodging,  dribbling,  like  some  tricky 
centre-forward  in  a  game  of  football.  The  nervous 
pedestrian  has  to  climb  trees  or  walls  upon  occasion 
to  be  sure  he  won't  be  killed.  And  then  the  cars 
themselves  go  frequently  into  ditches,  or  overturn 
and  take  fire.  The  car  has  become  a  toy,  but  it's 
dangerous  for  the  children  to  play  with. 

Then  the  dust !  Carlyle  said  there  was  nothing 
but  Justice  in  this  world,  and  he  used  the  law  of 
gravity  as  his  metaphor,  but  he  didn't  consider  the 
wind — alas,  that  the  dust  does  not  fly  in  front  of 
the  car  and  get  into  the  motorist's  eyes,  but  only 
drifts  away  over  the  poor  tramp  who  never  did  him 
any  harm. 

The  only  horse  vehicle  I  remarked  on  the  road 
was  the  buggy,  a  gig  with  disproportionately  large 
wheels,  the  direct  descendant  of  the  home-made  cart. 
The  buggy  is  still  popular. 


v  THE  AMERICAN  ROAD  101 

"  Where' ve  you  been  ?  "  asks  one  American  of 
another. 

"  Oh,  just  buggying  around,"  he  replies. 

But  the  buggy  is  staid  and  conventional.  It 
belongs  to  the  old  censorious  religious  America.  It 
is  supremely  the  vehicle  of  the  consciously  virtuous. 
It  is  also  a  specially  rural  vehicle.  I  think  those 
who  ride  in  buggies  despise  motorists  from  the 
bottom  of  their  hearts ;  they  think  them  vulgar 
townspeople,  and  consider  motoring  a  form  of 
trespass.  But  the  automobilists  are  not  prevented, 
and  they  bear  no  rancour.  They  haven't  time  to 
consider  the  countryman.  The  man  in  the  buggy 
belongs  to  the  past.  In  the  future  there  will  not  be 
time  to  be  condemnatory,  and  the  man  who  stands 
still  to  feel  self-virtuous  will  go  to  the  wall. 

The  people  who  will  continue  to  feel  superior  to 
the  motorists  will  be  tramps  sitting  on  palings, 
grinning  at  them  as  they  pass  by.  They  also  will 
remain  the  only  people  the  motorists,  rushing  abreast 
of  Time,  will  ever  envy.  However  much  progress 
progresses  there  will  always  remain  those  who  sit  on 
the  palings  and  grin. 


VI 

THE  REFLECTION  OF  THE  MACHINE 

As  I  tramped  from  village  to  village  I  was  surprised 
to  see  so  much  stained  glass  in  the  churches  of  the 
Methodists,  the  Congregationalists,  and  other  Puri 
tans.  Until  quite  modern  times  stained  glass 
belonged  exclusively  to  the  ritualistic  denomina 
tions.  The  Puritan,  believing  in  simplicity  of 
service,  and  in  spirit  rather  than  in  form,  put  stained 
glass  in  the  same  category  as  the  burning  of  incense, 
singing  in  a  minor  key,  and  praying  in  Latin.  It 
partook  of  the  glamour  of  idolatry ;  it  had  a 
sensuous  appeal ;  it  blurred  the  pure  light  of  under 
standing.  The  true  Puritan  meeting-place  is  one  of 
clear  glass  windows,  hard  seats,  and  a  big  Bible.  It 
seems  a  pity  that  a  very  clear  profession  of  faith 
should  be  blurred  by  picture  windows — and,  let  me 
add  by  way  of  parenthesis,  cushioned  seats  and 
revivalist  preachers. 

I  examined  in  detail  the  coloured  glass  of  a 
fine  "  Reform  Church  "  that  I  passed  on  the  road. 
The  windows  were  rather  impressive.  They  were 
not  representations  of  scenes  in  Holy  Writ,  they 


102 


vi  REFLECTION  OF  THE  MACHINE    103 

contained  no  pictures  of  saints  or  angels,  of  the 
Saviour,  or  of  the  Virgin.  So  they  escaped  the 
imputation  of  idolatry.  They  were  just  pictures  of 
symbolical  objects  or  of  significant  letters.  Thus, 
one  window  was  the  bird  and  symbolised  Freedom, 
another  was  an  anchor  and  symbolised  Hope, 
another  was  a  crown  and  symbolised  Eternal  Life. 
In  one  window  the  letters  C.E.  were  illuminated 
— meaning  Christian  Endeavour,  I  presume ;  on 
another  window  was  the  open  Bible,  symbolising 
the  foundation  of  belief.  In  every  case  the  whole 
window  was  stained,  and  the  little  symbolical  picture 
was  set  against  a  brilliant  background. 

It  was  all  in  good  taste,  and  was  a  pleasant 
ornament,  which  made  the  church  look  very  attrac 
tive  exteriorly.  But  it  was  a  compromise  with  a  spirit 
not  its  own.  My  explanation  is,  some  one  must  have 
wanted  chapels  to  put  in  stained  glass.  Some  one  now 
has  a  great  interest  in  making  them  put  in  stained 
glass.  He  is  the  manufacturer  of  that  commodity. 
He  has  put  stained  glass  on  the  market  in  such  a  way 
that  every  church  is  bound  to  have  it.  And  he  has 
devised  a  way  of  not  offending  the  rigorous  Puritans. 
"  What  is  wrong  in  coloured  light  ? "  said  he. 
"  Nothing.  It  is  only  what  you  use  it  for.  We  can 
use  it  to  show  the  things  in  which  we  believe." 
If  incense  could  be  manufactured  in  such  a  way 
as  to  make  millions  of  dollars  it  would  find  its  way 
somehow  into  the  chapels.  I  was  walking  one  day 
with  an  itinerant  preacher,  a  man  who  called  himself 


104         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  vi 

"a  creed  smasher."  He  wanted  to  weld  all  creeds 
into  one  and  unify  the  Church  of  Christ.  "  Think 
of  commerce,"  said  he,  "  already  it  has  stopped  the 
wars  of  the  nations  ;  in  time  it  will  calm  the  wars 
of  the  sects.  If  only  the  churches  were  corpora 
tions,  and  Methodists  could  hold  shares  in  Roman 
Catholicism,  and  Roman  Catholics  in  Methodism !  " 

Commerce  is  exerting  an  influence  that  cannot 
be  withstood.  To  take  another  instance,  it  has 
provided  America  with  rocking-chairs  and  porch- 
swings.  Although  the  Americans  are  an  extremely 
active  people,  much  more  so  than  the  British,  yet 
their  houses  are  all  full  of  rocking-chairs,  and  on 
their  verandahs  they  have  porch-swings  and  ham 
mocks.  The  British  have  straight-backs. 

The  Americans  did  not  all  cry  out  with  one  voice 
for  rocking-chairs  and  swings.  The  Pilgrim  Fathers 
did  not  bring  them  over.  The  reason  they  have 
them  lies  in  the  fact  that  some  manufacturer  started 
making  them  for  the  few.  Then  ambition  took 
possession  of  him  and  he  said,  "  There's  something 
in  rocking-chairs.  I'm  going  to  turn  them  out  on  a 
large  scale." 

"  But  there  aren't  the  customers  to  buy  them," 
some  one  objected. 

"  Never  mind,  we'll  make  the  customers.  We'll 
put  them  to  the  people  in  such  a  way  that  they 
gotta  buy.  We'll  make  'em  feel  there's  going  to  be 
such  an  opportunity  for  buyin'  'em  as  never  was  and 
never  will  be  again." 


vi  REFLECTION  OF  THE  MACHINE    105 

"  You  believe  you'll  succeed  ? " 

1  'We'll  make  it  so  universal  that  if  a  man  goes 
into  a  house  and  doesn't  see  a  rocking-chair  and 
a  porch-swing  he'll  think,  '  My  Lord,  they've  had 
the  brokers  in  ! ' ' 

So  rocking-chairs  and  porch-swings  came.  So, 
many  things  have  come  to  humanity — many  worse 
things. 

I  had  just  written  this  note,  for  I  have  written 
most  of  my  book  by  the  road,  when  I  heard  the 
following  interesting  talk  about  the  town  of  Benton, 
Pennsylvania.  I  was  walking  from  Wilkes  Barre 
to  Williamsport,  and  Benton  is  on  the  way.  It  is  a 
place  that  has  had  many  fires  lately. 

"Ah  reckon  ah  know  wot  cleared  Benton  out 
more'n  fires." 

-What's  that?" 

"Wy,  otomobeeles  ;  mortgaging  their  farms  to 
get  'em.  There's  not  much  in  Benton.  You 
couldn't  raise  a  hundred  dollars.  It's  the  agents 
and  the  boosters  of  the  companies  that  are  mos' 
to  blame,  no  doubt,  but  they're  fools  all  the  same 
who  buy  otomobeeles  when  they  cahn  pay  their  bills 
at  the  stores." 

"  What  agents  ?"  I  asked.  "  D'you  mean  com 
mercial  travellers  ?  " 

"  No.  The  agents  in  the  town.  Every  little 
town  has  a  man,  sometimes  two  or  three  men,  who 
are  agents  for  the  companies  who  manufacture  the 
cars  ;  they  are  just  like  the  insurance  agents,  and 


io6         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  vi 

are  always  talking  about  their  business,  comparing 
makes  of  car,  praising  this  one  and  that,  and  getting 
folks  on  to  want  them." 

"  I  suppose  the  companies  want  to  make  the 
motor  car  a  domestic  necessity,  a  thing  no  one  can 
do  without,"  I  remarked. 

"You're  right  ;  they  do  and  they  will.  They'll 
fix  that  in  time,  you  betcher,  we'll  all  be  having 
them.  Then  when  we  cahn  do  without  'em  they'll 
raise  the  prices  on  us.  Already  they've  started  it 
with  the  gasoline  ;  there's  plenty  motor  spirit  in  the 
world,  but  the  company  gets  possession  of  it  and 
regulates  the  prices.  An'  you  cahn  make  an  oto 
go  without  gasoline.  They  can  put  it  on  us  every 
time." 

I  should  say  society  at  Benton  was  suffering  very 
badly  from  the  influence  of  depraved  commercialism. 
Some  years  ago  Miss  Ida  Tarbell  exposed  what  has 
been  called  "The  Arson  Trust,"  a  company  formed 
for  setting  fire  to  insured  establishments  on  a  basis 
of  10  per  cent  profit  on  the  spoil.  Benton  might 
have  furnished  her  with  some  interesting  examples. 
There  have  been  so  many  fires  in  the  little  town 
of  late  that  tramps  are  refused  the  shelter  even  of 
barns,  as  if  their  match-ends  were  responsible.  On 
the  Fourth  of  July  three  years  ago  half  the  town 
was  burnt  down.  Last  year  in  a  gale  the  shirt 
factory  was  gutted ;  the  workmen  had  banked  the 
fire  up  for  the  night,  and  about  twenty  minutes  after 
the  last  man  had  left  the  works  there  was  an 


vi  REFLECTION  OF  THE  MACHINE    107 

explosion,  and  the  red  coals  were  scattered  over 
the  wooden  building.  Two  months  ago  a  large 
house  took  fire,  and  just  a  week  before  I  reached 
the  settlement  the  large  Presbyterian  church  was 
consumed.  Indeed,  as  I  came  into  the  town  I 
remarked  with  some  surprise  the  charred  walls  and 
beams  of  the  church,  and  read  the  pathetic  printing 
on  the  stone  of  foundation,  "  This  stone  was  laid 
in  1903." 

I  had  an  interesting  account  of  the  church  from 
the  wife  of  a  farmer  at  whose  house  I  stayed  a 
night.  The  church  had  been  insured  for  seventeen 
thousand  dollars,  and  it  was  twelve  thousand  dollars 
in  debt.  The  money  borrowed  was  not  secured  on 
the  church  building,  but  on  the  personal  estates 
of  many  people  in  the  town.  Consequently,  several 
people  were  liable  to  be  sold  up  if  the  money  were 
not  forthcoming.  Two  days  before  settling  day  the 
fire  took  place,  and  there  was  doubtless  rejoicing 
in  some  hearts.  The  villagers  had  tried  hard  to 
make  the  place  pay,  they  had  even  let  a  portion 
of  the  church  building  to  be  used  as  a  bank ! 
Bazaars  had  failed.  The  debt -raiser  had  tried 
"  to  put  a  revival  over  on  to  them,"  but  had  failed. 
The  minister,  not  receiving  his  salary,  had  aban 
doned  them,  and  at  last  the  bare  fact  remained 
of  the  big  white  church  and  the  big  unpaid  debt. 
Then  occurred  the  providential  fire. 

But  the  insurance  company  would  not  pay  the 
seventeen  thousand  dollars.  The  fire  had  taken 


io8         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  vi 

place  under  suspicious  circumstances,  and  it  was  said 
there  would  be  a  legal  fight  over  it.  The  con 
flagration  had  occurred  on  the  night  of  a  school- 
opening  meeting.  Choice  flowers  had  been  sent 
from  many  houses  in  the  town,  and  it  was  beauti 
fully  decorated.  There  was,  however,  nothing 
obviously  inflammable  in  the  church  ;  it  was  built 
largely  of  brick  and  stone.  But  about  an  hour 
after  the  people  had  gone  home  the  fire  broke  out. 
Next  day  it  was  found  that  the  big  Bible  had  been 
soaked  in  coal  oil.  Oiled  newspaper  was  found, 
and  it  was  alleged  that  the  fire  brigade  would  have 
saved  the  church,  but  that  as  fast  as  they  put  it  out 
in  front  somebody  else  was  lighting  it  up  behind. 
Anyhow,  the  insurance  company  refused  to  pay  the 
seventeen  thousand  dollars.  But  it  cannot  refuse 
absolutely  ;  the  advertisement  of  failure  to  pay 
would  be  too  damaging — it  will  put  up  a  new 
church  instead !  The  Presbyterian  church  will  be 
resurrected. 

"  I  put  Benton  up  against  the  world  for  fires," 
said  my  hostess.  "  For  a  small  place,  only  a 
thousand  people,  I  reckon  there  isn't  its  like." 

For  my  part  I  felt  sorry  for  the  Bentonians,  even 
for  those  who  set  the  fire  alight,  supposing  it  was 
deliberately  lighted.  When  commercial  interest  is 
the  greatest  thing  in  the  world  there  are  oppor 
tunities  for  a  few  men  to  feel  themselves  great  and 
powerful,  but  that  glory  of  mankind  is  far  over 
balanced  by  the  occasions  on  which  it  causes  man 


vi  REFLECTION  OF  THE  MACHINE    109 

to  be  mean.  Commercial  tricks  bring  the  holy 
spirit  of  man  into  disrepute.  To  find  oneself  mixed 
up  in  certain  machinations  is  poignantly  humiliating. 
We  have  all  of  us  been  wounded  in  that  way  ere 
now.  The  just  pride  of  the  soul  has  been  offended, 
and  we  have  thought  how  shameful  a  thing  it  was 
to  have  become  mixed  up  in  it  at  all,  by  it  meaning 
the  world,  the  whole  shady  business,  call  it  what 
you  will. 

As  I  went  along  from  village  to  village  in  New 
York  and  Pennsylvania  I  was  struck  by  the  uni 
formity  of  the  architecture.  Every  church  and 
school  and  store  and  farmstead  seemed  standard 
size  and  "  as  supplied."  There  seemed  to  be  a 
passion  for  having  known  units.  Not  only  in 
architecture  was  this  evident,  but  in  every  utensil, 
machine,  carriage,  dress  of  the  people.  It  was 
evident  in  the  people  themselves.  Americans  have 
the  name  of  being  extremely  conventional.  I  think 
that  is  because,  under  the  present  domination  of  the 
commercial  machine,  American  boys  and  girls  and 
men  and  women  are  all  turned  into  standard  sizes. 
If  Americans  have  rigid  principles  of  ethics  it  is 
because  they  believe  all  the  parts  of  the  great 
machine  are  standardised,  and  that  when  any  one 
part  wears  out  there  must  always  be  an  accurately 
fitting  other  part  ready  to  be  fixed  where  the  old  one 
has  fallen  out.  Personality  itself  is  standardised ; 
thus  the  tailor-priest  advertises  his  wear,  "  Preserve 
your  Personality  in  Clothes.  Occasionally  you 


no         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  vi 

have  observed  some  article  of  wear  that  has  led 
you  to  the  mental  conclusion — '  That's  my  style— 
that's  me.'  " 

It  was  strange  to  me  to  find  that  even  tramps 
and  outcasts,  who  fulfil  little  function  in  the  machine, 
were  expected  to  conform  to  type.  I  was  stared 
at,  questioned  ;  my  rough  tweeds,  so  suitable  to  me, 
were  an  object  of  mirth  ;  my  action  of  washing  my 
face  and  my  teeth  by  the  side  of  the  road  was  a 
portentous  aberration.  I  remember  how  astonished 
a  motorist  and  his  wife  appeared  when  they  came 
upon  me  in  the  act  of  drawing  a  pail  of  water  for  a 
thirsty  calf  one  morning  in  Indiana.  The  tempera 
ture  stood  at  ninety-five  in  the  shade — all  nature 
was  parched,  and  as  I  came  along  the  highway  a 
calf,  fastened  by  a  chain  to  the  steel  netting  of  a 
field,  came  up  and  rubbed  his  nose  on  my  knees. 
As  calves  don't  usually  take  the  initiative  in  this 
way,  I  concluded  he  expected  me  to  do  something 
for  him.  There  was  an  empty  pail  beside  him.  I 
took  it  to  the  farmhouse  pump  and  drew  water. 
As  I  did  so,  the  farmer  and  his  wife  drew  up  at 
the  farm  in  their  motor,  and  they  looked  at  me 
curiously.  The  calf  came  bounding  towards  me 
and  almost  upset  the  pail  in  his  eagerness  to  drink. 
Then  he  gulped  down  all  the  water,  and  whilst  I 
went  to  draw  another  pailful  he  executed  a  sort  of 
war-dance  or  joy-dance,  throwing  out  his  hind  legs 
and  bounding  about  in  a  way  that  testified  his 
happiness.  The  farmer's  wife  broke  silence  : 


vi  REFLECTION  OF  THE  MACHINE    in 

"  Wha'  yer  doing  ?  " 

"  I'm  giving  the  calf  some  water." 

"  Nao,"  said  she,  and  looked  at  her  husband, 
"  giving  the  calf  some  water,  can — you— beat — 
that  ?  " 

I  gave  the  calf  his  second  bucketful  and  then 
started  off  down  the  way  again,  and  the  farmer 
and  his  wife  looked  after  me  in  blank  sur 
prise.  In  America  no  tramp  has  any  compassion 
for  thirsty  calves,  he  is  not  expected  to  look  after 
the  thirst  of  any  one  but  himself.  The  farmer  and 
his  wife  looked  at  one  another,  and  their  eyes 
seemed  to  say,  "  But  tramps  don't  do  these  things !  " 

Thence  it  may  be  surmised  that  America  is  no 
place  for  individuals  as  such.  Originality  is  a  sin. 
Americans  hate  to  give  an  individual  special  atten 
tion,  special  notice.  Even  personal  salvation  is 
merged  in  mass  salvation.  The  revivalist,  his  press 
agents,  and  stewards  are  a  means  of  wholesale  salva 
tion.  A  revival  meeting  is  a  machine  for  saving 
souls  on  a  large  scale.  It  might  be  thought  that 
the  revivalist  himself  took  his  stand  as  an  excep 
tional  individual.  Not  at  all :  he  is  only  a  type. 
American  public  opinion  does  not  allow  a  man  to 
stand  out  as  superior.  It  is  surprising  the  dearth 
of  noble  men  in  the  popular  estimate  of  to-day. 
Mockery  follows  on  the  heels  of  noble  action  or 
individual  action,  and  reduces  it  to  type.  That  is  a 
great  function  of  the  American  Press  of  to-day,  the 
defaming  of  men  of  originality  and  the  explaining 


ii2         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  vi 

away  of  noble  action.  I  remember  a  conversation 
I  heard  at  Cleveland.  Roosevelt  had  just  cleared 
himself  of  the  press  libel  of  drunkenness. 

"Wasn't  it  a  good  thing  to  clear  the  air,  so," 
said  one  man,  "and  get  clear  of  the  charge  once 
for  all  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  he  got  clear  of  it,"  said  the  other. 
"It's  all  very  well  to  bring  an  action  against  the 
editor  of  a  provincial  paper,  but  why  didn't  he  take 
up  the  cudgels  against  one  of  the  powerful  New 
York  journals,  who  said  the  same  thing  ?  They 
had  money  and  could  have  defended  their  case." 

"  I  don't  think  money  was  needed — except  to 
buy  evidence.'1 

"If  you  ask  me,"  said  the  other,  "it  was  all  a 
very  shrewd  electioneering  dodge.  Roosevelt  is  an 
expert  politician.  He  knows  the  value  of  being  in 
the  limelight,  and  he  knows  that  nothing  will  fetch 
more  votes  in  the  United  States  just  now  than  a 
reputation  for  sobriety.  He  was  just  boosting  him 
self  and  the  home  products." 

That  is  a  fair  example  of  the  way  people  think 
of  striking  personalities  and  original  views. 

Then  every  man  is  considered  a  booster.  Boost 
ing  is  accepted  as  a  national  and  individual  function. 
Towns  are  placarded:  "  Boost  for  your  own  city  and 
its  own  industries.  Make  a  habit  of  it."  In  Oil 
City,  for  instance,  I  found  in  every  shop  a  ticket 
announcing  "Booster  Week  June  9-16."  In  that 
week  Oil  City  was  going  to  do  all  it  could  to 


vi  REFLECTION  OF  THE  MACHINE    113 

call  attention  to  itself.  Citizens  would  pledge 
themselves  to  speak  of  Oil  City  to  strangers  in  the 
train  and  when  on  visits  to  other  towns.  The  city 
of  Newark,  New  Jersey,  is  always  recommending 
its  own  people  and  visitors  to  "Think  of  Newark." 
Whenever  you  enter  into  conversation  with  an 
American  you  find  him  suddenly  drifting  towards 
telling  you  the  name  of  a  hotel  to  stay  at,  or  of  an 
establishment  where  they  sell  "dandy  cream,"  or 
he  is  praising  the  bricks  turned  out  by  the  local 
brick  works,  or  the  conditions  of  the  employment 
of  labour  in  some  silk  works  on  which  his  native 
town  is  dependent  for  prosperity.  In  a  widely 
distributed  " Creed  of  the  American"  I  read,  "  I 
remember  always  that  I  am  a  booster."  Even 
fathers  refer  to  their  new  -  born  babies  as  "  little 
boosters. "  It  should  be  remembered  when  Americans 
are  boasting  of  their  native  land  and  its  institu 
tions  that  they  were  cradled  in  boosting.  It  is  a 
habit  that  in  many  ways  has  profited  America. 
It  has  attracted  the  emigrant  more  than  all  that  ^ 
has  ever  been  printed  about  it.  It  is  a  great  com 
mercial  habit.  But  it  is  in  the  end  degrading. 

What  is  the  name  of  the  fairy  who  has  muttered  an 
incantation  over  the  Pilgrim  Father  and  changed  him 
into  a  booster?  And  is  a  booster  only  a  Pilgrim 
Father  who  brags  about  the  stuff  he  manufactures  ? 

It  seemed  to  me  that  by  substituting  the  idea 
booster  for  the  idea  man  you  get  rid  of  so  many  of 

the  weaknesses  of  flesh  and  blood.     A  man  who  is 

i 


ii4         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  vi 

boosting  day  in  and  day  out,  using  his  tongue  as  a 
sort  of  living  stores'  catalogue,  is  necessarily  loyal 
to  the  great  machine.  But  loyalty  to  the  machine 
has  its  dangers.  On  my  journey  to  Chicago  I 
made  some  interesting  observations  in  Natural 
History.  I  got  into  the  train  at  Franklin  to  go  to 
Oil  City,  some  five  or  six  urban  miles.  What  was 
my  astonishment  to  see  that  each  of  the  eight  or 
nine  passengers  in  my  car  had  fixed  their  railway 
tickets  in  the  ribbons  of  their  hats,  and  they  them 
selves  were  deep  in  their  newspapers.  The  con 
ductor  came  along  and  took  the  tickets  from  their 
hats  and  examined  them,  collected  those  that  were 
due  to  be  given  up  and  punched  those  that  were  not, 
and  stuck  them  back  in  the  ribbons  of  the  hats,  the 
wearers  reading  their  newspapers  all  the  time  and 
making  not  the  slightest  sign  that  they  noticed  what 
the  conductor  was  doing.  The  only  sign  of  conscious 
ness  I  observed  was  a  sort  of  subtle  pleasure  in 
acting  so — the  sort  of  mild  pleasure  which  suffuses 
the  faces  of  lunatics  when  they  are  humoured  by 
visitors  to  the  asylum.  They  were  shamming  that 
they  were  machinery,  and  in  almost  the  same  style  as 
the  man  who  is  under  the  delusion  that  he  is  a  teapot, 
one  arm  being  his  spout  and  the  other  his  handle. 

Thus  the  elevator  man  in  the  Department  Store 
also  thinks  himself  a  bit  of  machinery.  He  seems 
to  be  trained  to  act  mechanically,  and  never  to  alter 
the  staccato  patter  that  comes  from  his  mouth  at 
each  floor.  He  speaks  like  a  human  phonograph. 


vi  REFLECTION  OF  THE  MACHINE    115 

Then  all  waiters,  shop-attendants,  barbers,  and 
the  like  try  to  behave  like  manikins.  Most  of  all, 
in  the  language  of  Americans  is  the  mechanical 
obsession  apparent.  A  man  who  is  confined  in  a 
hospital  writes:  "I'm  holding  down  a  bed  in  the 
hospital  over  here."  The  man  who  meets  another 
and  brings  him  along,  simply  "  collects "  him  in 
America.  The  baseball  team  that  beats  another  6-0 
"slips  a  six-nothing  defeat"  on  them.  Especially 
in  baseball  reports,  commercialism  and  rhythms 
heard  in  great  "  works  "  abound. 

The  influence  of  great  machinery  gets  to  the 
heart  of  the  people.  A  man  when  he  joins  a  gang 
of  workmen  is  taught  to  co-operate ;  he  has  to  trim 
off  any  original  or  personal  way  of  doing  things, 
and  fit  in  with  the  rest  of  the  gang.  When  the 
gang  is  going  mechanically  and  easily,  a  man 
quicker  than  the  rest  is  taken  as  leader,  and  the 
speed  of  the  work  is  raised.  The  mechanical  action 
in  each  individual  is  intensified,  is  perfected.  Cine 
matograph  films  are  even  taken  of  gangs  at  work  ; 
the  pictures  are  shown  before  experts,  who  indicate 
weak  points,  recommend  discharges  or  alterations 
and  show  how  the  gangs  can  be  reconstituted  to 
work  more  smoothly.  Each  man  is  drilled  to  act 
like  a  machine,  and  the  drilling  enters  into  the  fibre 
of  his  being  to  such  an  extent  that  when  work  is 
over  his  muscles  move  habitually  in  certain  direc 
tions,  and  the  rhythm  of  his  day's  labour  controls 
his  language  and  his  thought. 


n6         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  vi 

In  the  factory  it  is  the  same.  In  a  vast 
mechanical  contrivance  there  is  just  one  thing  that 
machinery  cannot  do ;  so  between  two  immense 
complicated  engines  it  is  necessary  to  place  a  human 
link.  A  man  goes  there,  and  flesh  and  blood  is 
grafted  into  steel  and  oil.  The  man  performs  his 
function  all  day,  but  he  also  senses  the  great 
machine  in  his  mind  and  his  soul ;  and  when  he 
goes  out  to  vote  for  his  President,  or  talk  to  men 
and  women  about  the  world  in  which  he  lives,  he 
does  so  more  as  a  standardised  bit  of  mechanism, 
than  as  a  tender  human  being. 

Alas  for  the  men  and  women  who  wear  out  and 
cease  to  be  serviceable !  They  are  the  old  iron, 
and  their  place  is  the  scrap-heap.  "  White  trash  " 
is  the  name  by  which  they  go. 

Bernard  Shaw,  and  indeed  many  others,  look 
forward  to  the  diminution  of  toil  by  machinery. 
The  minimising  of  toil  is  to  them  a  great  blessing. 
Because  machinery  lessens  toil  they  are  on  the  side 
of  machinery.  Meanwhile  life  shows  a  paradox. 
The  Russian  peasant  who  works  without  machines 
toils  less  than  the  American  who  takes  advantage 
of  every  invention.  The  Russian  emigrant  who 
comes  to  America  simply  does  not  know  what  work 
is,  and  he  stares  in  amazement  at  the  angry  foreman 
who  tells  him,  when  he  is  at  it  at  his  hardest,  to  "get 
a  move  on  yer." 

In  America  the  Americans  slave ;  they  slave  for 
dollars,  for  more  business,  for  advancement,  but  in 


vi  REFLECTION  OF  THE  MACHINE    117 

the  end  for  dollars  only,  I  suppose.  They  will  fill 
up  any  odd  moment  with  some  work  that  will  bring 
in  money.  They  will  make  others  work,  and  take 
the  last  ounce  of  energy  out  of  their  employees. 
The  machine  itself  is  the  size  of  America,  and  only 
in  little  nooks  and  corners  can  anything  spring  up 
that  is  not  of  the  machine.  Even  millionaires  know 
nothing  more  to  do  than  to  go  on  making  millions. 
Yet  there  is  not  a  feverish  anxiety  to  get  money. 
Losses  are  borne  with  equanimity.  It's  just  a 
matter  of  "  the  apple  tree's  loaded  with  fruit.  I'm 
going  up  to  get  another  apple." 

Present  experience  shows  that  machinery  in 
creases  the  toil  of  mankind.  It  need  not  increase 
it,  but  it  does.  It  might  diminish  it,  but  there  are 
many  reasons  why  it  does  not.  For  one  thing,  it 
increases  the  standard  of  living.  It  makes  rocking- 
chairs,  porch -swings,  automobiles,  and  the  like 
indispensable  things.  First,  machinery  makes  the 
things,  then  the  things  make  the  machinery  duplicate 
themselves.  So  it  raises  the  standard  of  living  and 
increases  the  toil  of  mankind.  It  is  going  on  in 
creasing  the  standard  of  living  for  the  rich,  for  the 
middle- class  aping  the  rich,  and  for  the  working 
men  aping  the  middle-class. 

Is  it  good,  then,  that  the  standard  of  living  is 
being  raised  ?  Well,  no ;  because  the  standard  of 
living  now  means  the  standard  of  luxury.  I  should 
have  used  that  phrase  from  the  beginning. 

I  said  this  to  a  man  on  the  road,  and  he  asked 


u8         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  vi 

me  what  I  thought  a  man  should  live  for,  but  I 
could  not  answer  him.  Each  man  has  his  individual 
destiny  to  fulfil.  Destiny  is  not  a  matter  of  the 
clothes  you  wear  or  of  the  cushions  you  sit  upon. 
The  beggar  pilgrim  going  in  rags  to  Jerusalem  may 
be  more  happy  than  a  Pierpont  Morgan,  who  writes 
pathetically  at  the  head  of  the  bequest  of  his  millions 
that  he  believes  in  the  blood  of  Jesus. 

One  thing  I  noted  in  America,  that  the  blossom 
of  religion  seems  to  have  been  pressed  between 
Bible  leaves,  withered  and  dried  long  ago.  What 
is  called  religion  is  a  sort  of  ethical  rampage.  The 
descendants  of  the  Puritans  are  "probing  sin"  and 
"whipping  vice."  The  rich  are  signing  cheques, 
the  hospitals  are  receiving  cheques.  The  women 
of  the  upper  classes  are  visiting  the  poor  and 
adopting  the  waifs.  But  seldom  did  I  come  in 
contact  with  a  man  or  a  woman  who  stood  in 
humble  relation  to  God  or  the  mystery  of  life. 
Even  the  great  passion  to  put  things  right,  lift 
the  masses,  stop  corruption,  and  build  beautiful 
cities  and  states  is  begotten  in  the  sureness  of 
science  rather  than  in  the  fear  of  the  Lord.  Far 
from  fearing  God,  preachers  announce  from  their 
pulpits  that  they  are  "  working  with  Him,"  or  "  co 
operating  with  the  inevitable  tendencies  of  the 
world,"  or  "hastening  on  the  work  of  evolution." 
For  my  part  I  believe  that  it  is  my  sacred  due  to 
my  brother  that  he  be  given  an  opportunity  of  facing 
this  world,  the  mystery  of  its  beauty  and  of  his 


vi  REFLECTION  OF  THE   MACHINE    119 

life  upon  it,  that  he  find  out  God  for  himself  and 
learn  to  pray  to  Him.  But  that  is  at  once  Eastern 
and  personal. 

The  Y.M.C.A.  informs  me  as  I  sit  in  a  car  that 
"  The  great  asset  of  this  town  is  the  young  men  of 
this  town."  Must  it  be  put  that  way  ?  Is  that  the 
only  way  in  which  the  people  of  the  town  can  be 
got  to  understand  how  wonderful  is  the  life  and 
promise  of  any  young  man,  how  tender  and  gentle 
and  lovable  he  is  personally,  how  unformed,  how 
fresh  from  his  mother  and  his  Creator  ? 

As  I  go  along  the  road  I  pick  up  tracts,  sown 
by  the  devil,  I  suppose.  Here  is  one  of  them  : 

Verily  I  say  unto  you  that  each  and  every  one  of  you 
may  be  a  Count  of  Monte  Christo,  and  some  day  exclaim, 
"  The  World  is  mine !  " 

The  world  was  made  for  you,  that  I  know.  That  you 
were  made  for  the  world  goes  without  saying. 

Therefore  hear  me  and  believe  me.  If  you  desire 
wealth  it  can  be  yours.  If  you  desire  fame  it  can  be 
yours. 

But  you  cannot  get  something  for  nothing.  You  must 
pay  for  everything  worth  having.  You  must  pay  the 
price  set  upon  it,  and  in  the  coin  of  the  realm. 

The  coin  of  the  realm  is  industry — just  that.  Industry 
and  only  industry.  Nothing  but  industry. 

Poor  immigrant,  who  thinks  it  would  be  grand 
to  be  a  Count  of  Monte  Christo,  or,  to  bring  it 
nearer  home,  a  John  D.  Rockefeller  or  an  Andrew 
Carnegie,  and  who  thinks  that  honest  labour  will 
take  him  there !  Even  were  American  success  a 


120         WITH   POOR  IMMIGRANTS  vi 

thing  worth  striving  for  it  is  not  won  by  that  means. 
It  is  a  game  of  halma.  It's  not  the  man  who 
moves  all  his  pieces  out  one  square  at  a  time  who 
wins,  but  the  sagacious  player  who  knows  both  to 
plan  in  advance  and  to  hop  over  others  when  the 
opportunity  arises. 

But  the  good  American  young  man,  "  the  greatest 
asset  of  the  town,"  believes  this  gospel,  and  he 
gives  his  body  and  mind  to  the  great  machine,  and 
fills  the  gap  between  two  otherwise  disconnected 
mechanisms.  If  he  has  been  brought  up  "well," 
he  just  fits  the  gap  and  is  standard  size.  He  feels 
in  his  soul  every  throb  of  the  engines,  and  registers 
in  his  integuments  every  rhythm  and  rhyme  of 
the  great,  accurate,  definite,  circulating,  oscillating 
machine.  He  behaves  like  a  machine  in  his  leisure 
hours.  He  even  dances  like  a  mechanical  contriv 
ance.  On  none  of  the  occasions  when  the  Father 
land  requires  his  sober  human  judgment  can  he  stand 
as  a  man.  He  seems  spoilt  for  the  true  citizenship. 
What  he  does  understand  is  the  improvement,  ad 
justment,  and  significance  of  machinery,  and  he  can 
look  intelligently  at  America  the  Great  Machine. 
Perhaps  this  is  his  function  whilst  America  is 
realising  the  dream  of  materialism  and  progress. 
But  America  would  take  care  of  itself  if  the 
American  were  all  right.  I  could  not  but  have  that 
opinion  as  I  left  the  cities  and  walked  through  the 
rich  country,  the  new  world,  as  yet  scarcely  visibly 
shop-soiled  by  commercialism. 


VII 
RUSSIANS  AND  SLAVS  AT  SCRANTON 

I  CAME  into  Forest  City  along  a  road  made  of  coal- 
dust.  A  black  by-path  led  off  to  the  right  down 
a  long  gradual  slope,  and  was  lost  among  the  culm- 
heaps  of  a  devastated  country  side.  Miners  with 
sooty  faces  and  heavy  coal-dusty  moustaches  came 
up  in  ones  and  twos  and  threes,  wearing  old  peak- 
hats,  from  the  centre  of  the  front  of  which  rose 
their  black  nine-inch  lamps  looking  like  cockades. 
They  carried  large  tarnished  "grub-cans,"  they  wore 
old  cotton  blouses,  and  showed  by  unbuttoned  buttons 
their  packed,  muscular  bodies.  Shuffling  forward  up 
the  hill  they  looked  like  a  different  race  of  men — 
these  divers  of  the  earth.  And  they  were  nearly 
all  Russians  or  Lithuanians  or  Slavs  of  one  kind 
or  another. 

"  Mostly  foreigners  here/'  said  I  to  an  American 
whom  I  overtook. 

"  You  can  go  into  that  saloon  among  the  crowd 
and  not  hear  a  word  of  white  the  whole  night," 
he  replied. 

I  addressed  a  collier  in  English. 


121 


122         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS          vn 

"  Are  you  an  American  ?  " 

"  No  speak  English,"  he  replied,  and  frowned. 

"  From  Russia?"   I  inquired,  in  his  own  tongue. 

"  And  you  from  where  ?  "  he  asked  with  a  smile. 
"  Are  you  looking  for  a  job  ? " 

But  before  I  could  answer  he  sped  away  to  meet 
a  trolly  that  was  just  whizzing  along  to  a  stopping- 
place.  Presently  I  myself  got  into  a  car  and  watched 
in  rapid  procession  the  suburbs  of  Carbondale  and 
Scranton.  Black-faced  miners  waited  in  knots  at 
the  stations  all  along  the  road.  I  read  on  many 
rocks  and  railings  the  scrawled  advertisement,  "  Buy 
diamonds  from  Scurry."  Girls  crowded  into  the 
car  from  the  emptying  silk-mills,  and  they  were  in 
slashed  skirts,  some  of  them,  and  all  in  loud  colours, 
and  over-decorated  with  frills,  ribbons,  and  shoddy 
jewellery.  We  came  to  dreary  Iceville,  all  little 
grey  houses  in  the  shadow  of  an  immense  slack 
mountain.  We  came  into  the  fumes  of  Carbondale, 
where  the  mines  have  been  on  fire  ten  years  ;  we 
got  glimpses  of  the  far,  beautiful  hills  and  the  tender 
green  of  spring  woods  set  against  the  soft  darkness 
of  abundant  mountains.  We  dived  into  wretched 
purlieus  where  the  frame -buildings  seemed  like 
flotsam  that  had  drifted  together  into  ridges  on  the 
bending  earth.  We  saw  dainty  little  wooden  churches 
with  green  and  yellow  domes,  the  worshipping  places 
of  Orthodox  Greeks,  Hungarians,  Ruthenians,  and 
at  every  turn  of  the  road  saw  the  broad -faced, 
cavernous-eyed  men  and  the  bright-eyed,  full-bosomed 


vii  RUSSIANS  AND  SLAVS  123 

women  of  the  Slavish  nations.  I  realised  that  I 
had  reached  the  barracks  of  a  portion  of  America's 
great  army  of  industrial  mercenaries. 

I  stayed  three  days  at  Casey's  Hotel  in  Scranton, 
and  slept  nights  under  a  roof  once  more,  after  many 
under  the  stars.  I  suppose  there  was  a  journalist 
in  the  foyer  of  the  hotel,  for  next  morning,  when  I 
opened  one  of  the  local  papers,  I  read  the  following 
impression  of  my  arrival : 

With  an  Alpine  rucksack  strapped  to  his  back,  his 
shoes  thick  with  coal-dust,  and  a  slouch  hat  pulled  down 
on  all  sides  to  shut  out  the  sun,  a  tall,  raw-boned  stranger 
walked  up  Lackawanna  Avenue  yesterday  afternoon,  walked 
into  the  rotunda  of  the  Hotel  Casey  and  actually  obtained 
a  room. 

Every  paper  told  that  I  was  an  Englishman 
specially  interested  in  Russians  and  the  America  of 
the  immigrant.  So  I  needed  no  further  introduction 
to  the  people  of  the  town. 

Just  as  I  was  going  into  the  breakfast-room  a 
bright  boy  came  up  to  me  and  asked  me  in  Russian 
if  I  were  Stephen  Graham.  "  My  name  is  Kuzma," 
said  he.  "  I  am  a  Little  Russian.  I  read  you 
wanted  to  know  about  the  Russians  here,  so  I  came 
along  to  see  you." 

"  Come  and  have  breakfast,"  said  I. 

We  sat  down  at  a  table  for  two,  and  considered 
each  a  delicately  printed  sheet  entitled,  "  Some 
suggestions  for  your  breakfast."  Kuzma  was  thrilled 
to  sit  in  such  a  place ;  he  had  never  been  inside  the 


i24         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS          vn 

hotel  before.  It  was  pretty  daring  of  him  to  come 
and  seek  me  there.  But  Russians  are  like  that,  and 
America  is  a  free  country. 

As  we  had  our  grape-fruit  and  our  coffee  and 
banana  cream  and  various  other  "suggestions," 
Kuzma  told  me  his  story.  He  was  a  Little  Russian, 
or  rather  a  Red  Russian  or  Ruthenian,  and  came 
from  Galicia.  Three  years  previously  he  had  arrived 
in  New  York  and  found  a  job  as  dish-washer  at  a 
restaurant,  after  three  months  of  that  he  progressed 
to  being  bottle-washer  at  a  druggist's,  then  he 
became  ice-carrier  at  a  hotel.  Then  another  friendly 
Ruthenian  introduced  him  to  a  Polish  estate  agent, 
who  was  doing  a  large  business  in  selling  farms  to 
Polish  immigrants.  As  Kuzma  knew  half  a  dozen 
Slavonic  dialects  the  Pole  took  him  away  from  New 
York,  and  sat  him  in  his  office  at  Scranton,  putting 
him  into  smart  American  attire,  and  making  a  citizen 
out  of  a  "  Kike."  I  should  say  for  the  benefit  of 
English  readers  that  illiterate  Russians  and  Russian 
Jews  are  called  Kikes,  illiterate  Italians  are  "Wops," 
Hungarians  are  "  Hunkies."  These  are  rather  terms 
of  contempt,  and  the  immigrant  is  happy  when  he 
can  speak  and  understand  and  answer  in  English, 
and  so  can  take  his  stand  as  an  American.  After 
six  months'  clerking  and  interpreting  Kuzma  began 
to  do  a  little  business  on  his  own  account,  and 
actually  learned  how  to  deal  in  real  estate  and  sell 
to  his  brother  Slavs  at  a  profit. 

Kuzma,  as  he  sat  before  me  at  breakfast,  was  a 


vii  RUSSIANS  AND  SLAVS  125 

bright,  well-dressed  business  American.  You'd  never 
guess  that  but  three  years  before  he  had  entered  the 
New  World  and  taken  a  job  as  dish-washer.  He 
had  seized  the  opportunity. 

"  You're  a  rich  man  now  ?  "  said  I. 

"  So-so.  Richer  than  I  could  ever  be  in  Galicia. 
I'm  learning  English  at  the  High  School  here,  and 
when  I  pass  my  examination  I  shall  begin  to  do 
well." 

"  You  are  studying  ?  " 

"I  do  a  composition  every  day,  on  any  subject, 
sometimes  I  write  a  little  story.  I  try  to  write  my 
life  for  the  teacher,  but  he  says  I  am  too  ambitious." 

"  Do  you  love  your  Ruthenian  brothers  and 
sisters  here  ?  " 

"  No  ;  I  prefer  the  Great  Russians." 

"  You're  a  very  handsome  young  man.  I  expect 
you've  got  a  young  lady  in  your  mind  now.  Is  she 
an  American,  or  one  of  your  own  people  ?  Does 
she  live  here,  or  did  you  leave  her  away  over  there, 
in  Europe  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  of  them.  I  shall,  however,  marry 
a  Russian  girl." 

"  Have  you  many  friends  here  ?  " 

"Very  many." 

"  You  will  take  me  to  them  ?  " 

"  Oh  yes,  with  pleasure." 

"And  where  shall  we  go  first?  It  is  Sunday 
morning.  Shall  we  go  to  church  ?  " 

We  left  the  hotel   and  went  to  a  large  Baptist 


126         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS          vn 

chapel.  When  we  arrived  there  we  found  the 
whole  congregation  engaged  in  Bible  study.  The 
people  were  divided  into  three  sections, — Russians, 
Ruthenians,  Poles.  Russians  sat  together,  Ruthenians 
and  Little  Russians  together,  and  Poles  together. 
I  was  most  heartily  welcomed,  and  took  a  place 
among  the  circle  of  Russians,  Kuzma  being  admitted 
there  also,  though  by  rights  he  should  have  gone  to 
the  other  Ruthenians.  He  was  evidently  a  favourite. 
We  took  the  forty-second  chapter  of  Genesis, 
reading  aloud  the  first  verse  in  Russian,  the  second 
in  Ruthenian,  and  the  third  in  Polish.  When  that 
was  accomplished  we  prayed  in  Ruthenian,  then  we 
listened  to  an  evangelical  sermon  in  Russian,  and 
then  sang,  "  Nearer,  my  God,  to  Thee  !  "  in  the  same 
manner  as  we  had  read  the  chapter  of  Genesis — 
first  verse  in  Russian,  second  in  Ruthenian,  third  in 
Polish.  It  was  strange  to  find  myself  singing  with 

Kuzma : 

Do  Ciebie  Boze  moj ! 

Przyblizam  sie.  , 

I  have  never  seen  Poles  and  Ruthenians  and 
Russians  so  happy  together  as  in  this  chapel,  and 
indeed  in  America  generally.  In  Russia  they  more 
or  less  detest  one  another.  They  are  certainly  of 
different  faiths,  and  they  do  not  care  about  one 
another's  language.  But  here  there  is  a  real  Pan- 
Slavism.  It  will  hold  the  Slavic  peoples  together  a 
long  time,  and  separate  them  from  other  Americans. 
Still  there  are  not  many  cities  in  the  United  States 


viz  RUSSIANS  AND  SLAVS  127 

resembling  Scranton  ethnologically.  The  wandering 
Slav  when  he  moves  to  another  city  is  generally 
obliged  to  go  to  a  chapel  where  only  English  is 
spoken,  and  he  strains  his  mind  and  his  emotions  to 
comprehend  the  American  spirit. 

After  the  hymn  the  congregation  divided  into 
classes,  and  talked  about  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount, 
and  to  me  they  were  like  very  earnest  children  at  a 
Sunday  School.  I  was  able  to  look  round.  There 
were  few  women  in  the  place ;  nearly  all  of  us  were 
working  men,  miners  whose  wan  faces  peered  out 
from  the  grime  that  showed  the  limit  of  their  wash 
ing.  At  least  half  the  men  were  suffering  from 
blood-poisoning  caused  by  coal  bruises,  and  their 
foreheads  and  temples  showed  dents  and  discolora- 
tions.  They  had  been  "up  against  it."  They  would 
not  have  been  marked  that  way  in  Russia,  but  I 
don't  think  they  grudged  anything  to  America. 
They  had  smiles  on  their  lips  and  warmth  in  their 
eyes  ;  they  were  very  much  alive.  "  Tough  fellows, 
these  Russians,"  wrote  Gorky.  "  Pound  them  to 
bits  and  they'll  come  up  smiling." 

They  were  nearly  all  peasants  who  had  been 
Orthodox,  but  had  been  "converted";  they  were 
strictly  abstinent ;  they  sighed  for  Russia,  but  they 
were  proud  to  feel  themselves  part  of  the  great 
Baptist  community,  and  knit  to  America  by  religious 
ties.  None  of  them  entirely  approved  of  Scranton. 
They  felt  that  a  mining  town  was  worse  than  any 
thing  they  had  come  from  in  Russia,  but  they  were 


128         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS          vn 

glad  of  the  high  wages  they  obtained,  and  were 
saving  up  either  to  go  back  to  Russia  and  buy  land 
or  to  buy  land  in  America.  They  craved  to  settle 
on  the  land  again. 

It  seemed  to  me  Kuzma's  business  of  agent  for 
real  estate  among  the  Slavs  was  likely  to  prove  a 
very  profitable  one.  I  shall  come  back  to  Scranton 
one  day  and  find  him  a  millionaire.  He  evidently 
had  the  business  instinct — an  example  of  the  Slav 
who  does  not  want  the  land  again.  The  fact  that 
he  sought  me  out  showed  that  he  was  on  the  qui 
vive  in  life. 

When  the  service  was  concluded  we  went  over 
the  church  with  a  young  Russian  who  had  fled  to 
America  to  escape  conscription,  and  who  averred 
that  he  would  never  go  back  to  his  own  country. 
His  nose  was  broken,  and  of  a  peculiar  blue  hue, 
owing  to  blood-poisoning.  His  finger-nails  were 
cut  short  to  the  quick,  but  even  so,  the  coal-dust 
was  deep  between  the  flesh  and  the  nail.  He  was 
most  cordial,  his  hand -shake  was  something  to 
remember,  even  to  rue  a  little.  He  had  been  one 
of  those  who  took  the  collection,  and  he  emptied  the 
money  on  to  a  table — a  clatter  of  cents  and  nickels. 
He  showed  us  with  much  edification  the  big  bath 
behind  the  pulpit  where  the  converted  miners  upon 
occasion  walked  the  plank  to  the  songs  of  fellow- 
worshippers.  They  were  no  doubt  attracted  by  the 
holiness  of  water,  considering  the  dirt  in  which  they 
lived. 


vii  RUSSIANS  AND  SLAVS  129 

"  He  is  a  Socialist,"  said  Kuzma,  as  we  went 
away  to  have  lunch.  "  A  Socialist  and  a  Baptist  as 
well.  He  has  a  Socialist  gathering  in  the  after 
noon  and  Russian  tea  and  speeches,  and  he  wants 
me  to  go.  But  they  hold  there  should  be  no  private 
property.  I  want  private  property.  I  want  to  travel 
and  to  have  books  of  my  own,  so  I  can't  call  myself 
a  Socialist." 

In  the  afternoon  Kuzma  took  me  to  the  Public 
Library  and  showed  me  its  resources.  In  the  even 
ing  we  went  to  supper  at  the  house  of  a  dear  old 
Slovak  lady,  who  had  come  from  Hungary  on  a  visit 
thirty  years  ago,  and  had  never  returned  to  her 
native  land.  She  had  been  courted  and  won  and 
married  within  three  weeks  of  her  arrival — her 
husband  a  rich  Galician  Slav.  Now  she  was  a 
widow,  and  had  three  or  four  daughters,  who  were 
so  American  you'd  never  suspect  their  foreign 
parentage. 

She  told  me  of  the  many  Austrian  and  Hungarian 
Slavs  in  Pennsylvania,  and  gave  it  as  her  opinion 
that  whenever  a  political  party  was  badly  worsted 
in  south-eastern  Europe  the  beaten  wanted  to 
emigrate  en  bloc  to  the  land  of  freedom.  When  they 
came  over  they  held  to  the  national  traditions  and 
discussed  national  happenings  for  a  while,  but  they 
gradually  forgot,  and  seldom  went  back  to  the 
European  imbroglio. 

A  touching  thing  about  this  lady's  house  was  a 
ruined  chapel  I  found  on  the  lawn — a  broken-down 

K 


130         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS          vn 

wooden  hut  with  a  cross  above  it,  built  when  the 
Slav  tradition  had  been  strong,  and  used  then  to 
pray  in  before  the  Ikon,  but  now  only  accommodat 
ing  the  spade  and  the  rake  and  a  garden-roller. 

We  had  a  long  talk,  partly  in  Russian,  partly 
in  English  —  the  old  lady  had  forgotten  the  one 
and  only  knew  the  other  badly.  So  it  was  a 
strange  conversation,  but  very  informing  and 
pleasant.  » 

Slavs  always  talk  of  human,  interesting  things. 

Kuzma  was  very  happy,  having  spent  a  long  day 
with  an  Englishman,  whose  name  had  been  in  the 
newspaper.  We  walked  back  to  the  hotel,  and  for 
a  memory  he  took  away  with  him  a  newspaper 
cutting  of  a  review  of  one  of  my  books  and  a  portrait 
of  the  tramp  himself. 

Next  day,  through  the  kindness  of  a  young 
American  whom  I  had  met  the  week  before  entirely 
by  chance,  I  was  enabled  to  go  down  one  of  the 
coal-mines  of  Scranton,  and  see  the  place  where  the 
men  work.  The  whole  of  the  city  is  undermined, 
and  during  the  daytime  there  are  more  men  under 
Scranton  than  above  it. 

I  was  put  into  the  charge  of  a  very  intelligent 
Welshman,  who  was  a  foreman,  and  we  stepped  into 
the  cage  and  shot  down  the  black  shaft  through  a 
blizzard  of  coal-dust,  crouching  because  the  cage 
was  so  small,  and  holding  on  to  a  grimy  steel  bar 
to  steady  ourselves  in  the  swift  descent.  In  a  few 
seconds  we  reached  the  foot — a  place  where  there 


vii  RUSSIANS  AND  SLAVS  131 

was  ceaseless  drip  of  water  on  glistening  coal — and 
we  walked  out  into  the  gloom. 

Black  men  were  moving  about  with  flaming 
lamps  at  their  heads,  electric  cars  came  whizzing  out 
of  the  darkness,  drawing  trucks  of  coal.  Whole 
trucks  were  elevated  in  the  opposite  shaft  from  that 
in  which  we  had  descended,  elevated  to  the  pit- 
mouth  with  a  roar  and  a  rush  and  a  scattering  of 
lumps  of  coal.  I  gained  a  lively  realisation  of  one 
way  in  which  it  is  possible  to  get  a  coal-bruise. 

My  guide  showed  me  a  map  of  the  mine,  and  we 
went  along  dark  tunnels  to  the  telephone  cavern, 
and  were  enabled  to  give  greeting  to  miners  as  far 
as  three  miles  away  underground.  Every  man  work 
ing  in  the  mine  was  in  telephonic  communication 
with  the  pit-mouth.  I  saw  the  men  at  work,  watched 
small  trucks  of  coal  being  drawn  by  asses  to  the 
main  line  where  the  train  was  made  up.  I  talked 
with  Poles,  Ruthenians,  Russians — actually  meeting 
underground  several  of  those  whom  I  had  seen  the 
day  before  in  the  Baptist  Chapel.  They  were  all 
very  cheerful,  and  smiled  as  they  worked  with  their 
picks.  Some  were  miners,  some  labourers.  The 
miner  directs  the  blasting  and  drilling,  puts  in  the 
powder  and  blows  out  the  coal ;  the  labourer  works 
with  pick  and  shovel.  A  man  has  to  serve  two 
years  in  a  mine  as  a  labourer  before  he  can  be  a 
miner.  Even  a  British  immigrant,  who  has  worked 
in  South  Wales  or  Northumberland  or  elsewhere, 
has  to  serve  his  term  as  a  labourer.  This  dis- 


132         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS          vn 

courages  British  men.  Scranton  used  to  be  almost 
entirely  Welsh  ;  but  it  goes  against  the  grain  in  an 
English-speaking  man  to  fetch  and  carry  for  a 
Slovak  or  a  Pole.  On  the  other  hand,  this  rule  safe 
guards  American  strikers  against  imported  miners. 

After  I  had  wandered  about  the  mine  a  while  I 
went  up  to  the  "Breaker's"  tower,  to  the  top  of 
which  each  truck  of  coal  was  hoisted  by  the  elevator  ; 
and  I  watched  the  fanning  and  screening  and 
guiding  and  sifting  of  this  wonderful  machine,  which 
in  collaboration  with  the  force  of  gravity  can  sort 
a  ton  of  coal  a  second.  I  talked  with  Polish  boys 
sitting  in  the  stream  of  the  rolling,  hurrying  coal  ; 
their  task  was  to  pick  out  bits  of  slate  and  ore ;  and 
I  watched  the  platemen  splitting  lumps  of  coal  with 
their  long-handled  hammers,  and  casting  out  the 
impurities.  I  saw  the  wee  wash-house  where  the 
collier  may  bathe  if  he  wish. 

"  Well,  America  or  Russia,  which  is  it  ?  "  I  asked 
of  almost  every  Russian  I  met.  "  Which  do  you 
prefer  ?  Are  you  Americans  now  or  Russians  ?  " 

And  nearly  all  replied,  "  America ;  we  will  be 
Americans.  What  does  one  get  in  Russia  ? — fifty 
cents  a  day."1  Only  a  few  said  that  America  was 
bad,  that  the  mining  was  dangerous  and  degrading. 
Strange  to  say,  the  astonishment  at  America's 
wealth  and  the  wages  they  get  from  her  had  not 
died  away.  They  admired  America  for  the  wages 

1  Fifty  cents  a  day  is  very  good  pay  for  a  miner  in  Russia  ;  thirty  cents  is 
quite  a  common  wage. 


vii  RUSSIANS  AND  SLAVS  133 

she  gave  ;  not  for  the  things  for  which  the  people 
of  culture  in  the  great  cities  admire  her.  America 
gave  them  money,  the  power  to  buy  land,  the  power 
to  buy  low  pleasures,  the  power  to  get  back  to 
Russia,  or  to  journey  onward  to  some  other  country 
— to  the  Argentine  or  to  Canada. 

I  then  spent  a  day  visiting  people  at  random.  I 
went  into  Police  Station  No.  4,  and  found  Sergeant 
Goerlitz  sitting  at  a  desk  reading  his  morning  paper, 
and  he  was  very  ready  to  talk  to  me.  From  him  I 
gathered  that  the  Slavs  were  the  best  citizens — 
quiet,  industrious,  and  law-abiding.  By  Slavs  he 
meant  Huns,  Bulgarians,  Galicians,  Ruthenians. 
The  Russians  were  vulgar  and  pushing.  He 
probably  meant  Russian  Jews  and  Russians.  The 
Italians  were  the  most  dangerous  people  ;  they  com 
mitted  most  crimes,  and  never  gave  one  another 
away  to  the  police.  The  Poles  and  Jews  were  the 
most  successful  people. 

I  went  to  the  house  of  a  communicative,  broad- 
nosed,  broad -lipped  little  Ruthenian  priest — an 
Austrian  subject — and  he  told  me  that  Russia  could 
take  India  whenever  she  wanted  to,  America  could 
take  Canada,  and  that  Germany  would  break  our 
naval  power.  But  the  English  would  still  be  the 
greatest  people  in  the  world.  In  the  near  future  the 
whole  of  North  America  would  be  one  empire,  and 
the  whole  of  South  America  another — one  Anglo- 
Saxon,  the  other  Latin.  He  was  evidently  a  student 
of  contemporary  possibilities.  Despite  his  belief  in 


134         WITH   POOR  IMMIGRANTS  vn 

America  he  was  proud  of  his  own  nationality,  and 
jealous  of  the  loss  of  any  of  his  flock.  To  his  church 
there  came  three  hundred  Little  Russians  and  about 
thirty  Great  Russians.  He  reckoned  there  were 
fifty  families  in  Scranton  purely  Nihilist — by  that  he 
meant  atheistic  and  pleasure-seeking.  At  his  church 
the  service  was  in  Slavonic  and  the  sermon  in 
Ruthenian.  He  was  sorry  to  say  there  were  com 
paratively  few  marriages.  People  came  to  the  town 
to  make  money  rather  than  to  live. 

Then  I  went  to  the  official  Russian  priest,  away 
on  Division  Street.  He  shepherded  one  hundred 
and  thirty-seven  families,  and  four  hundred  and 
sixty-two  unmarried  people.  His  church  had  been 
burned  down  the  year  before,  but  had  sprung  up 
again  immediately.  Some  of  the  congregation  had 
succeeded  in  business,  and  having  come  as  poor 
colonists  were  now  rich  and  respected  citizens,  pro 
fessional  men,  large  storekeepers,  responsible  clerks. 
Scranton  was  more  like  a  Russian  city  than  an 
American,  and  it  was  possible  to  flourish  as  a 
lawyer  or  a  doctor  or  an  estate  agent  although  you 
knew  very  little  of  the  English  language.  And  out 
in  the  country  round  about  were  many  Russian 
farms  with  real  Russian  peasants  on  them  ;  and  he 
spent  many  weeks  in  the  year  travelling  about  in 
the  rural  districts  giving  the  consolation  of  Ortho 
doxy  to  the  faithful. 

A  pathetic  thing  happened  whilst  I  was  taking 
leave  of  the  priest ;  a  young  workman  came  in  to 


vii  RUSSIANS  AND  SLAVS  135 

ask  advice,  and  in  salutation  he  took  the  priest's 
hand  to  kiss  it,  but  the  latter  was  ashamed  to  re 
ceive  that  homage  before  me,  and  so  tried  to  pull  nis 
hand  away.  Despite  the  churchman's  enthusiastic 
account  of  his  work  I  felt  that  little  action  was  sym 
bolical  of  the  ebb-tide.  It  was  to  me  as  if  I  had 
looked  at  the  sea  of  faith,  and  said,  "  The  tide  is 
just  turning." 

I  visited  the  Y.M.C.A.,  so  important  an  in 
stitution  in  America,  giving  a  good  room  for  fifty 
cents  a  day,  and  having  its  club-rooms,  its  swim 
ming-baths,  its  classes  for  learning  English.  It 
wanted  to  raise  seventeen  thousand  dollars  in  the 
forthcoming  week,  and  many  posters  reminded 
passers-by  that  Scranton's  greatest  asset  was  not 
its  coal  or  its  factories  or  its  shops,  its  buildings, 
its  business,  but  its  young  men. 

I  walked  the  many  streets  at  evening  time  when 
the  wild  crowd  was  surging  in  and  out  of  the  cinema 
houses  and  the  saloons,  and  heard  the  American 
chaff  and  music-hall  catch-words  mixed  with  half 
a  dozen  Slavonic  dialects.  A  young  American 
engineer  took  me  to  several  resorts,  and  initiated 
me  in  the  mysteries  of  bull-dogs  and  fizzes,  and  as 
we  went  along  the  street  he  gave  a  running  com 
ment  on  the  gaudily  attired  girls  of  the  town,  whom 
he  classified  as  "pick-ups,"  "  chickens,"  and  the 
like.  At  ten  o'clock  at  night  the  streets  were  full 
of  mirth,  and  all  given  over  to  sweethearting  and 
flirting.  Scranton's  safety  lies  in  the  interest  which 


136         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS          vn 

the  people  have  in  one  another,  their  sociability  and 
general  disposition  to  talk  and  hope.  What  it 
would  be  like  if  all  these  foreign  mercenaries  were 
mirthless  and  brutal  it  would  be  loathsome  to 
picture.  But  I  was  surprised  to  find  such  lightness, 
such  Southern  frivolity  in  the  people.  It  is  strange 
that  a  people,  most  of  whom  are  working  all  day 
in  darkness,  should  take  life  so  gaily.  Even  when 
they  come  up  to  the  air  of  the  outside  world  it  is  a 
bad  air  that  is  theirs,  vitiated  by  the  fumes  of  the 
burning  mines ;  for  at  Scranton  also  the  coal  has 
been  on  fire  ten  years,  and  the  smoke  rolls  from  the 
slag-coloured  wastes  in  volumes,  and  diffuses  itself 
into  the  general  atmosphere.  One  would  think 
that  the  wretched  frame- dwellings,  ruined  by  the 
subsidence  of  the  ground  on  which  they  were  built, 
and  begrimed  with  the  smoke  which  factories  belch 
all  day,  would  disgust  humanity.  But  it  seems  the 
man  who  works  in  dirt  and  ruin  accepts  dirt  and 
disorder  as  something  not  wrong  in  themselves, 
quite  tolerable,  something  even  to  be  desired,  a 
condition  of  freedom. 

One  day  I  met  a  young  reporter,  who  was  also  a 
poet,  and  he  took  me  to  a  point  where  there  was  a 
view  of  the  city  which  he  specially  admired.  It  was 
a  grey  day — surely  all  days  there  are  grey.  We 
looked  to  the  ridge  of  the  West  Mountain,  a  long 
dark  wall  built  up  to  the  sky,  and  many -roofed 
Scranton  lay  below  it ;  the  thin  spires  of  many 
conventicles  pointed  upward,  and  from  numberless 


vii  RUSSIANS  AND  SLAVS  137 

chimneys  and  spouts  proceeded  hardly  moving 
white  steams  and  smokes,  all  in  strange  curls  and 
twists.  Here  and  there  were  black  chutes  and 
shafts  and  mountains  of  slag,  and  the  slates  of  the 
roofs  of  the  houses  glimmered  appallingly  under  the 
wanness  and  darkening  dusty  grey  of  the  sky. 

"  This  sight  does  my  heart  good,"  said  the  poet. 
"  It's  good  to  live  in  a  place  like  this  where  we're 
doing  something." 

"It  would  be  a  beautiful  place  if  there  were  no 
Scranton  here  at  all,"  I  ventured. 

"That's  the  glory  of  it,"  said  he.  "We  have 
the  faith  to  smash  up  the  beauty  of  Nature  in  the 
hope  of  getting  something  better.  It  would  be  a 
beautiful  world  entirely  if  there  were  no  such  thing 
as  man.  Nature's  beauty  has  no  need  of  us.  But 
we  happen  to  be  here.  We  have  something  in  us 
that  Nature  could  never  think  of.  Scranton  ex 
presses  man's  passion  more  truly  than  the  virginal 
beauty  of  the  Alleghany  mountains  or  the  valley  of 
the  young  Susquehanna." 

"A  revolt  against  Eden,"  said  I,  "a  fixed  sullen- 
ness,  man's  determination  to  live  in  grime  if  he 
wants  to— the  children's  infatuation  for  playing  with 
the  dirt." 

"  Oh,  more  than  that,"  said  the  reporter  poet. 
"Much  more." 

Perhaps. 

That  was  perhaps  a  glimpse  of  the  religion  of 
America. 


VIII 
AMERICAN   HOSPITALITY 

IT  is  possible  to  distinguish  two  sorts  of  hospitality, 
one  which  is  given  to  a  person  because  of  his  intro 
ductions,  and  the  other  which  is  given  to  the  person 
who  has  no  introductions,  the  one  given  on  the 
strength  of  a  man's  importance,  the  other  on  the 
strength  of  the  common  love  of  mankind.  America 
is  rich  in  the  one  species,  she  is  not  so  rich  in  the 
other. 

There  is  no  country  in  the  world  where  an  intro 
duction  helps  you  more  than  in  the  United  States. 
In  this  respect  how  vastly  more  hospitable  the 
Americans  are  than  the  British !  It  is  wonderful 
the  extent  to  which  an  American  will  put  himself 
to  trouble  in  order  to  help  a  properly  introduced 
visitor  to  see  America.  It  is  a  real  hospitality, 
and  it  springs  from  a  great  belief  in  America  and 
in  the  American  people,  and  a  realisation  of  the 
fact  that  if  nation  and  individuals  are  to  co-operate 
to  do  things  in  the  world,  they  must  unbend  and 
think  of  others  beside  themselves. 

To  me,  in  the  literary  and  artistic  clubs  of  New 

'38 


vin          AMERICAN  HOSPITALITY          139 

York,  in  the  city  institutions  and  schools,  in  the 
houses  of  the  rich  and  cultured,  and  in  the  homes 
of  the  poor,  America  breathed  kindness.  New 
York  seemed  to  me  more  friendly  and  hospitable 
than  any  other  great  city  I  had  lived  in.  There 
also,  as  in  Russia,  one  person  came  out  and  took 
me  by  the  hand,  and  was  America  to  me. 

But  when  I  shed  respectability  and  the  cheap 
fame  of  having  one's  portrait  and  pages  of  "  write- 
up  "  in  the  papers  and  put  pack  on  back,  and  sallied 
forth  merely  as  a  man,  I  found  that  the  other  and 
more  precious  kind  of  hospitality  was  not  easily 
come  by.  Little  is  given  anonymously  in  the 
United  States. 

Not  that  the  country  people  despise  the  tramp, 
or  hate  him  or  set  the  dogs  on  him  or  even  refuse 
him  a  breakfast  now  and  then,  but  that  they  simply 
won't  have  him  in  their  houses  for  the  night,  and  are 
otherwise  indifferent  to  his  hardships.  They  do  not 
look  on  the  stranger  as  a  fellow-man  but  as  a  loose 
wheel,  a  utility  lying  rusting  in  a  field ;  or  at  best 
they  look  upon  him  as  a  man  who  will  "  make  good," 
who  will  get  a  job  later  on  and  earn  his  living.  No 
one  is  good  enough  for  the  American  till  he  has 
"  made  good."  But  this  is  the  same  in  all  com 
mercialised  countries,  commercialism  kills  the  old 
Christian  charity,  the  hospitality  of  house  and  mind 
and  heart. 

In  the  old  colonial  days  there  was  extraordinary 
hospitality  in  America,  and  this  still  survives  in  the 


WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS         vm 

West  and  North  and  South  in  places  out  of  touch 
with  the  great  industrial  beehive  of  the  East  and 
Centre.  The  feeling  still  survives  in  the  spirit  that 
prevents  Americans  printing  prohibitions.  You 
never  see  the  notice  "  Trespassers  will  be  Pro 
secuted,"  though  I  do  not  know  what  one  is  to  make 
of  the  uncharitable  poster  that  frequently  met  my 
gaze  in  Indiana  and  Illinois : 

KEEP  OUT! 
THAT  MEANS  YOU. 

That  is  brutal. 

Tramping  up  to  Williamsport  from  Scranton  I 
encountered  forty-eight  hours'  rain,  and  only  with 
difficulty  on  the  second  night  did  I  obtain  shelter. 
After  being  refused  three  times  the  first  rainy  even 
ing,  I  found  an  old  covered  well  beside  an  empty, 
padlocked  shed.  In  this  I  spent  twenty  hours, 
sleeping  the  night  and  waking  to  a  day  of  down 
pour. 

It  was  an  interesting  little  hermitage ;  the  three 
walls  were  of  stone,  but  the  roof  and  floor  of  wood. 
One  side  of  the  building  was  completely  open  to 
wind  and  weather.  In  a  corner  was  a  dark  square 
of  clear  water — the  well.  Half-way  up  the  stone 
wall  was  a  narrow  ledge,  and  there  I  slept.  I 
covered  the  ledge  with  two  sacks  ;  for  pillow  I  had  a 
book,  a  duplicate  pair  of  boots,  and  a  silken  scarf. 
I  slept  with  my  feet  in  a  sack  and  a  thick  tweed 
coat  spread  over  the  rest  of  me, — slept  well.  By 


vin          AMERICAN   HOSPITALITY          141 

day  I  sat  on  a  box  and  looked  out  at  a  deserted 
garden,  and  the  rain  pouring  on  the  trees  and  rank 
grass.  There  were  young  pines  and  hemlocks  and 
maples,  and  a  shaggy  hickory  tree.  Beyond  them 
an  apple  orchard  climbed  over  a  very  green  hill, 
and  the  branches  were  all  crooked  and  gnarled  and 
pointing.  The  blossoms  had  shed  their  petals,  and 
there  was  much  young  fruit. 

I  gathered  dry  wood  and  made  a  fire  on  the 
threshold,  and  dried  wet  wood  and  boiled  a  kettle, 
the  smoke  blowing  in  to  me  all  the  while,  and  the 
raindrops  hissing  and  dying  as  they  fell  into  the 
embers. 

About  midday  a  Dutch  farmer  came  and  stood 
in  front  of  the  little  house,  and  stared  for  some 
minutes  and  said  nought. 

I  hailed  him:  "Good-day!" 

He  did  not  reply  to  this,  but  inquired : 

"  Hev  you  not  seen  that  notice  on  the  wall — 
'  Any  one  meddling  with  this  house  will  be  treated 
as  he  deserves  '  ?  " 

I  had  not. 

"Waal,"  said  he,  "  it's  there.  So  you'll  put  that 
fire  out." 

I  complied. 

"  It's  a  wet  day,"  said  I. 

"Yes,  it's  wet." 

"I'd  like  to  get  put  up  for  the  night  somewhere, 
and  get  a  good  meal.  Do  you  know  of  any  one  who 
would  do  it  ?  " 


142         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS         vm 

He  was  silent  for  some  while,  and  stared  at  me 
as  if  irritated,  and  then  he  said  : 

"  Guess  about  no  one  in  this  hollow'd  take 
any  one  in.  But  you  might  try  at  the  store  at  the 
top  of  the  hill." 

"  Couldn't  you  take  me  in  ?  " 

"  No  ;  couldn't  do  it." 

"  Then,  could  you  put  me  up  a  meal  ?  " 

"  We  have  been  out  of  food  and  are  living  on 
buckwheat  cakes." 

"  I  wouldn't  mind  some  of  them  and  some  milk." 

"  No,  no.      No  use.      Wife  wouldn't  have  any 


one  in." 


After  some  converse  he  learned  that  I  was 
British,  and  he  said,  "  There  was  one  of  yours  here 
two-three  years  back." 

"  What  did  he  think  of  this  country  ?  " 

"  He  said  it  was  the  darndest  country  he  ever 
saw." 

There  was  no  help  for  it.  I  had  to  abandon  the 
well  and  go  out  through  the  never-ceasing  down 
pour  and  seek  shelter  and  a  decent  meal.  On  my 
way  to  the  store  I  met  another  farmer,  and  we  had 
this  interchange  of  talk  : 

"  Can  you  put  me  up  for  the  night?  " 

"  No." 

"  Can  you  make  me  up  a  meal  ?  " 

"No." 

"  I'll  pay  you  for  it.  You  can  have  a  quarter  or 
so  for  a  hot  meal." 


vin          AMERICAN   HOSPITALITY          143 

"We've  just  had  our  supper,  and  the  women  are 
doing  other  things  now.  There  is  a  place  on  top 
of  the  hill." 

A  mile  farther  on  I  came  to  a  General 
Store.  It  was  locked  up,  and  as  I  stared  into 
the  window  the  owner  eyed  me  from  a  house  over 
the  way. 

He  came  out,  looking  at  me  apprehensively. 

11  Can  you  put  me  up  for  the  night  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  No  ;  not  to-night." 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

"  We  don't  take  only  our  own  people.  There's  a 
place  two  miles  on." 

"  Two  miles  through  the  wet." 

"  You're  right." 

"  I  can  pay  you  what  you  get  from  your  own 
people,  and  a  little  extra  perhaps." 

The  storekeeper  shook  his  head  and  answered  : 

"  My  wife  is  a  little  unwell  and  does  not  want 
the  trouble." 

"  I  can  tell  you  you  wouldn't  get  turned  away 
like  this  in  my  country,"  said  I. 

"  Where  are  you  from  ?  " 

"  From  England." 

"Oh,  wouldn't  they?" 

"  There  are  plenty  of  places  where  they'd  take 
you  in  without  charging  for  it.  There  are  places  in 
Europe  where  they'd  come  out  and  ask  you  into 
their  houses  on  such  a  night." 

"  I  dessay,  I  dessay." 


144         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS          vm 

"Well,  I  think  the  people  about  here  are  very 
inhospitable." 

"  I  reckon  you're  right." 

"  I  think  you  are  inhospitable." 

"Urn!" 

"  Well,  you're  a  storekeeper  ;  I  want  some  bread 
and  some  butter,  and  anything  else  you've  got  that 
doesn't  need  to  be  cooked." 

"  Are  you  hungry  ?  " 

I  told  him  I  was,  and  he  determined  to  be 
more  charitable  than  I  had  given  him  the  name  for. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  I  can  let  you  have  a  slice  of 
bread  and  butter  and  a  cup  of  cawfee,  I  dessay." 

"  Thanks.  I  should  like  to  buy  a  loaf  of  bread 
and  a  quarter  pound  of  butter,  all  the  same,"  said  I. 

"  We  haven't  any  bread  in  the  store.  The  baker 
leaves  it  three  times  a  week,  and  we've  only  enough 
for  ourselves ;  but  I  can  let  you  have  a  slice,  and 
that'll  keep  you  going  till  you  get  to  Unityville. 
It's  only  about  two  miles  away.  There's  a  hotel 
there.  The  folks  have  taken  away  the  keeper's 
licence,  and  you  won't  be  able  to  get  anything  to 
drink.  But  he'll  take  you  in  for  a  dollar.  You'll 
get  all  you  want.  In  half  an  hour  you'll  be  there. 
There  are  two  more  big  hills,  and  then  you're 
there." 

He  brought  the  bread,  and  as  I  was  ravenous  I 
was  tamed  thereby,  and  I  thanked  him.  The  bread 
and  butter  and  coffee  were  gratis.  He  was  really  a 
kindly  man.  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  his -wife  had  an 


vni          AMERICAN  HOSPITALITY          145 

acid  temperament.  The  night's  lodging,  no  doubt, 
depended  more  on  her  than  on  him. 

I  sat  on  rolls  of  wire-netting  outside  the  store 
and  finished  the  little  meal.  Then  I  went  away. 
Over  the  hills  in  the  dusk !  It  was  real  colonial 
weather ;  the  light  of  kerosene  lamps  streamed 
through  the  downpour  of  rain,  the  dark  woods 
on  each  side  of  the  strange  high  road  grew  more 
mysterious  and  lonesome,  silent  except  for  the 
throbbing  of  the  rain  on  the  leaves  and  on  the 
ground.  I  stopped  at  a  house  to  ask  the  way, 
but  when  I  knocked  no  one  answered.  I  looked 
through  the  kitchen  window  at  the  glow  of  the 
fire  and  at  the  family  round  the  well -spread 
table,  and  the  farmer's  wife  directed  me  through 
the  glass. 

At  last — in  a  flow  of  liquid  mud,  as  if  arrested  in 
floating  downhill — a  miserable  town  and  a  hotel. 

When  I  asked  the  host  to  put  me  up  he  said  his 
wife  had  gone  to  bed  with  a  headache,  and  if  I  had 
not  rated  him  soundly  I  should  have  been  turned 
into  the  rain  once  again. 

''Well,"  said  he,  "I  cahnt  give  you  any  hot 
supper,  you'll  have  to  take  what's  on  hand." 

So  saying,  he  opened  a  tin  of  Boston  beans, 
emptied  them  on  to  a  plate,  and  put  before  me  a 
saucerful  of  those  little  salt  biscuits  called  oysterettes. 
My  supper ! 

In  the  bar,  deprived  of  ale,  sat  half  a  dozen  youths 
eating  chocolate  and  birch  beer,  and  talking  excitedly 


146         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS         vm 

of  a  baseball  match  that  was  to  be  played  on  the 
morrow.  Mine  host  was  a  portly  American  of  the 
white-nigger  type.  The  villagers,  exercising  their 
local  option,  had  taken  away  his  right  to  sell  in 
toxicating  liquor,  and  now  on  the  wall  he  had  an 
oleographic  picture  of  an  angel  guiding  a  little  girl 
over  a  foot-bridge,  and  saving  her  from  the  water. 
Somehow  I  think  this  was  unintentional  humour  on 
the  part  of  mine  host.  He  was  an  obtuse  fellow, 
who  mixed  the  name  Jesus  Christ  inextricably  with 
his  talk,  and  swore  b'God.  But  he  gave  me  a  warm 
bed.  And  he  had  his  dollar. 

Another  evening,  about  a  month  later,  I  sought  a 
lodging  in  a  town  on  Erie  Shore.  The  weather  was 
very  hot,  and  I  was  tramping  beside  marshes  over 
which  clouds  of  mosquitoes  were  swarming.  There 
was  no  good  resting-place  in  the  bosom  of  Nature, 
so  I  imagined  in  my  heart,  vainly,  that  I  might  find 
refuge  with  man. 

I  came  to  a  town  and  went  into  the  store  and 
asked  where  I  would  be  likely  to  find  a  night's 
lodging.  The  storekeeper  mentioned  a  house  in 
one  of  the  by-streets.  But  when  I  applied  there 
the  landlady  said  her  husband  was  away,  and  she 
would  be  afraid  to  have  a  stranger  in  his  absence. 
I  went  to  another  house  :  they  hadn't  any  room. 
I  went  to  a  third  :  they  told  me  a  man  there  was  on 
the  point  of  death  and  must  not  be  disturbed.  I 
returned  to  the  store,  and  the  storekeeper  said  it 
would  be  impossible  to  be  put  up  for  the  night 


vni          AMERICAN   HOSPITALITY          147 

anywhere  in  the  village.  I  told  him  I  considered 
the  harbouring  of  travellers  a  Christian  duty. 

"They  don't  feel  it  so  about  here,"  said  he 
politely. 

There  was  an  empty  park-seat  at  the  end  of  the 
main  street ;  I  went  and  sat  on  it  and  made  my 
supper.  Whilst  I  sat  there  several  folk  came  and 
gazed  at  me,  and  thought  I  might  be  plotting 
revenge.  In  America  they  are  very  much  afraid 
of  the  refused  tramp — he  may  set  houses  on  fire. 

But  I  was  quite  cheerful  and  patient.  I  had 
been  sleeping  out  regularly  for  weeks,  and  shelter 
refused  did  not  stir  a  spirit  of  revenge  in  me.  In 
any  case,  I  was  out  to  see  America  as  she  is,  not 
simply  to  be  entertained.  I  was  having  my  little 
lesson — "and  very  cheap  at  the  price." 

But  I  found  hospitality  that  night.  As  I  sat  on 
the  park-seat  a  tall  labourer  with  two  water-pails 
came  across  some  fields  to  me,  passed  me,  and  went 
to  the  town  pump  and  drew  water.  "  Surely,"  said 
I  to  myself,  "  that  is  a  Russian." 

I  hailed  him  as  he  came  back. 

' '  Zdrastvitye  f     Roosky  ?  " 

I  had  guessed  aright ;  he  replied  in  Russian. 

"  Are  you  working  in  a  gang?"  I  inquired. 

"No,  only  on  the  section  of  the  railway;  there 
are  six  of  us.  We  have  charge  of  this  section. 
Where  are  you  going  to  ?  To  Chicago  ?  Looking 
for  a  job  ?  Going  to  friends  there  ?  Where  are 
you  going  to  sleep  ?  This  village  is  not  a  good 


148         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS         vm 

one.  Ne  dobry.  If  you  sleep  there,  on  the  seat,  up 
comes  the  politzman,  and  he  locks  you  up.  So  you 
be  three  weeks  late  in  getting  to  Chicago  perhaps. 
Why  do  you  walk  ?  You  get  on  freight  train  and 
you  be  there  to-morrow  or  the  day  after.  You 
come  with  me  now.  I  sleep  in  a  closed  truck  with 
five  mates — four  are  Magyars,  one  is  a  Serb.  It's 
very  full  up,  and  I  don't  know  how  the  Magyars 
would  take  it  if  I  brought  you  in.  But  I  know  a 
good  place.  A  freight  train  is  waiting  here  all 
night.  There  are  plenty  of  places  to  sleep,  and  you 
go  on  in  it  to-morrow  morning  to  Toledo." 

He  showed  me  an  empty  truck.  I  was  very 
much  touched,  and  I  thanked  him  warmly. 

"  How  do  you  believe,"  he  asked  in  parting, 
"are  you  a  Pole  or  are  you  Orthodox  ?" 

"Oh,"  said  I,  "  I'm  not  Russian,  I've  only  lived 
some  years  there.  I'm  a  British  subject." 

This  somewhat  perplexed  him.  But  he  smiled. 
"Ah  well,"  said  he,  "good-bye,  Sbogom — be  with 
God,"  and  we  parted. 

A  little  later  he  returned  and  said  that  if  I  were 
lonely  and  didn't  mind  a  crush,  the  Magyars  would 
not  object  to  my  presence.  But  by  that  time  I  had 
swept  the  sawdusty  floor  of  the  truck,  made  a  bed, 
and  was  nearly  asleep.  "Thanks,  brother,"  said  I, 
"but  I'm  quite  comfortable  now." 

The  Russians  are  a  peculiarly  hospitable  people. 
Their  attitude  of  mind  is  charitable,  and  even  in 
commercial  America  they  retain  much  of  the  spirit 


THE  CREAM-VANS  COME  TO    BUY  UP  ALL  THE  CREAM. 


viii          AMERICAN   HOSPITALITY          149 

that  distinguishes  them  in  Europe.  I  met  a 
queer  old  Russian  tramp  in  Eastern  Pennsylvania; 
he  exemplified  what  I  mean.  He  was,  however, 
rather  an  original. 

In  a  district  inhospitable  to  tramps  I  obtained 
my  dinner  by  paying  for  it.  In  this  way  and  by 
these  words  : 

" Can  you  give  me  a  meal  for  a  quarter? " 

"  Well,  if  you've  got  the  coin  I  reckon  we  can  do 
that." 

I  was  sitting  at  a  meal  of  canned  beef,  beans,  and 
red-currant  jelly,  sipping  from  a  mug  of  coffee,  in 
which  might  possibly  be  discerned  the  influence 
of  a  spoonful  of  milk.  The  farmer  was  cross- 
examining  me  on  my  business — where  had  I  come 
from  ?  Was  I  looking  for  a  job  ?  Was  I  walking 
for  wager  ? — when  a  strange  figure  appeared  at  the 
window,  a  broad-faced,  long-haired,  long-bearded 
tramp  in  a  tattered  cloak. 

He  approached  the  house,  and  about  ten  feet 
from  the  window  where  we  were  sitting  he  stood 
stock-still,  leaning  on  his  staff  and  staring  at  us. 

"A  hobo — looks  a   bit  fierce,"  said  the  farmer, 

opening  the  window.      "  How  do  ?     Wha — yer — 

-\  j> 
want  r 

"  Give  me  a  piece  and  a  cup  o'  milk,"  said  the 
foreigner. 

"  A  Polander,"  said  the  farmer.  "  I  guess  I  turn 
him  over  to  the  missus.  Sue,  here's  a  man  wants  a 
crust  and  some  sour  milk." 


150         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS         vm 

"  Ee  caant  'ave  it,"  cried  the  farmer's  wife. 

"  No  go,"  said  the  farmer,  and  shook  his  head  at 
the  tramp. 

The  latter  did  not  utter  a  word  of  reproach,  but 
what  was  my  astonishment  to  see  him  cross  himself 
delicately,  and  whisper  a  benediction  !  A  Russian,  I 
surmised. 

"It  is  not  over-safe  refusing  them  fellers,"  said 
the  farmer.  "  They  may  burn  your  barn  next 
night.  I  reckon  Sue  might  have  put  him  up  some 
thing.  Hear  him  curse  as  he  went." 

The  old  Russian  was  going  eastward,  I  west 
ward  ;  but  I  resolved  to  turn  back,  carry  him  some 
bread,  make  some  coffee,  and  exchange  those  tokens 
of  the  heart  which  are  due  from  one  wanderer  to 
another  upon  the  road.  I  hurried  back  and  over 
took  him. 

The  old  man  was  nothing  loth  to  sit  on  a  bank 
of  grass  whilst  I  bought  a  quart  of  milk  at  a 
farm.  "  Coffee,  uncle,"  said  I.  "  Russian  coffee. 
Varshaffsky,  such  as  you  get  at  home  in  Russia, 
eh?"  Uncle  smiled  incredulously. 

"  Twigs,  uncle,  sticks,  dry  grasses ;  we  must 
make  a  fire,"  said  I.  Uncle  got  up  and  collected  a 
heap  of  wood.  My  coffee-pot  soon  reposed  on  a 
cheerful  blaze.  The  creamy  milk  soon  began  to 
effervesce  and  boil.  In  went  six  lumps  of  sugar 
and  eight  spoonfuls  of  coffee.  Uncle  recognised  he 
was  going  to  have  a  good  drink  when  he  saw  that 
no  water  was  to  be  added.  It  was  a  pleasure  to 


vin          AMERICAN  HOSPITALITY          151 

see  him  with  a  mug  of  it  in  one  hand  and  a  hunch 
of  good  white  bread  in  the  other. 

I  learned  that  my  friend  was  tramping  his  way 
to  New  York.  At  that  city  he  would  buy  a  ticket 
to  Libau,  and  from  Libau  would  walk  home  to  his 
native  village,  or  he  would  get  under  a  seat  in  a 
train.  He  had  come  250  miles  of  his  journey  from 
Minnesota  in  an  empty  truck  of  a  freight  train  ; 
perhaps  he  would  get  another  good  lift  before  long. 

"  Why  are  you  going  home  ?  Can't  you  find 
work  ?  " 

"  Going  to  pray,"  said  he.  "  I  am  going  to  my 
village  to  see  my  father's  grave,  and  then  to  a 
monastery.  I  would  finish  my  years  in  Russia  and 
be  buried  in  Russian  ground." 

"  I  suppose  you  didn't  take  root  here ;  American 
life  doesn't  suit  you  ?  Didn't  you  like  Americans  ?  " 

"Well,  I  lived  with  other  fellows  from  our 
village,  and  we  succeeded  sufficiently  well.  Some 
seasons  we  gained  a  lot  of  money.  But  I  never 
felt  quite  at  home.  We  reckoned  we  would  build  a 
church  after  a  while — a  high  wooden  one  that  one 
could  see  from  the  wheat -fields  when  we  were  at 
work.  But  my  friend  turned  evangelical ;  he 
became  a  sort  of  molokan,  and  one  by  one  all  the 
other  fellows  joined  him  and  they  went  to  meetings. 
I  was  the  only  one  who  remained  orthodox.  They 
reckoned  I  got  drunk  because  I  was  orthodox ; 
but  I  reckon  I  got  drunk  because  they  were 
evangelicals — because  they  had  all  deserted  me, 


152         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS         vm 

and   I  was  lonely.      It's  hard  on  a  man  to  be  all 
alone." 

"And     why     did     you     leave,     uncle?      What 
determined  you  to  go  ?  " 

"  I'll  tell  you.  I  had  a  strange  dream.  I  saw 
my  father,  who  is,  as  you  know,  dead  long  since 
and  in  his  grave,  and  I  saw  a  figure  of  St.  Serge— 
St.  Serge  was  his  angel — and  both  lifted  their  arms 
and  pointed  to  the  East.  I  knew  it  was  the  East 
because  there  was  a  great  red  sunset  behind  them, 
and  they  pointed  right  away  from  it,  in  the  other 
direction.  When  I  wakened  up  I  remembered  this, 
and  it  made  a  great  impression  on  me.  I  told 
Basil,  my  friend,  who  worked  with  me  lumbering, 
and  he  laughed.  '  But,'  I  said,  '  that's  not  the  thing 
to  laugh  at.'  At  last  I  decided  to  start  for  home. 
The  idea  that  I  might  die  in  America  and  be  buried 
there  was  always  pricking  me.  I  am  not  American. 
The  American  God  won't  take  me  when  I  die. 
Some  of  the  fellows  are  going  to  take  out  their 
papers,  because  a  Jew  came  round  pestering  them 
with  books  to  learn  English  and  prepare  for 
examination,  saying  they  ought  to  make  them 
selves  citizens ;  but  that  is  not  for  me.  I  am 
Russian.  Mother  Russia !  she  is  mine.  They 
may  keep  you  down  and  oppress  you  there,  but 
the  land  is  holy,  and  men  are  brothers. 

"  When  I  started  home  I  was  surprised  that  so 

•many  farmers  said  'No,'  when  I  wanted  to  sleep  in 

their  barns.       I    even    got    angry  and  ,  shouted    at 


vin          AMERICAN  HOSPITALITY          153 

them.  But  as  I  went  further  I  got  patient,  and 
came  to  pray  to  God  every  day  and  often,  to  give 
me  my  bread  and  bring  me  safely  to  Russia.  Then 
I  got  peace,  and  never  was  afraid  or  angry, 
reckoning  that  even  if  I  did  die  in  America  I 
should  be  dying  on  the  way  home,  and  my  face 
would  be  turned  towards  Russia.  I  reckon  that  if 
I  die  my  soul  will  get  there  just  the  same." 

"  It's  not  often  that  in  Russia,  when  a  man  is 
refused  bread,  he  says,  '  Glory  be  to  God  ! '  "  said  I, 
recalling  how  the  tramp  had  crossed  himself  after 
the  farmer's  refusal. 

"  No  ;  not  often.  I  thought  out  that  for  myself. 
At  first  I  was  silent  when  people  turned  me  away. 
I  gave  thanks  only  when  they  took  me  in.  But 
after  a  while  my  silence  seemed  a  sort  of  impatience 
and  angriness.  So  I  recollected  God  even  then, 
and  crossed  myself.  A  tramp  has  no  ikons,  so  he 
needs  all  sorts  of  things  to  remind  him." 

The  poor  exile  had  told  his  story,  and  looked  at 
me  with  dim,  affectionate  eyes.  He  held  my  hand 
tightly  in  his  as  we  said  "  Good-bye  "  ;  he  going 
eastward,  I  westward. 

That  was  a  way  of  living  in  the  fear  of  God. 
That  old  man  had  real  hospitality  in  his  soul. 

But  in  depicting  the  American  farmer  and 
storekeeper  it  would  be  unfair  to  characterise  him 
as  an  inhospitable  person.  He  is  a  great  deal 
more  hospitable  than  his  actions  would  suggest. 
He  is  a  kindly  being.  He  has  love  towards  his 


i54         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS         vm 

neighbour,  and  is  more  inclined  to  say  "  Yes  "  to  the 
wanderer  than  "  No."  But  he  has  often  been 
victimised.  He  has  been  robbed,  assaulted, 
insulted,  his  property  has  been  damaged,  barns 
set  on  fire,  his  crops  in  part  destroyed  by  wilfully 
malicious  vagabonds.  The  behaviour  of  the 
tramp  is  often  a  sort  of  petty  anarchism  ;  he  has 
suffered  in  the  heartless  commercial  machine,  has 
got  out  of  it  only  by  luck,  and  his  hand  is  against 
every  man.  He  has  cast  over  honour,  principle, 
and  conscience,  and  is  able  to  gloat  secretly  over 
every  little  cynical  act  or  meanness  perpetrated  at 
the  expense  of  the  good-natured  but  established 
farmer. 

America  has  more  tramps  than  any  other  country 
except  Russia,  and  it  would  have  more  than  Russia 
but  for  the  fact  that  there  are  often  about  a  million 
pilgrim-tramps  on  the  Russian  roads.  The  Russian 
tramp  is,  moreover,  a  gentle  creature  ;  the  American 
is  often  a  foul-mouthed  hooligan. 

In  several  little  districts  that  I  passed  through 
I  was  questioned  by  the  farmers  as  to  whether  I 
belonged  to  a  gang  of  tramps  who  had  been  lurking 
in  the  neighbourhood  for  weeks.  A  tramp  was 
evidently  regarded  as  an  enemy  of  society.  When 
ever  I  remarked  on  the  inhospitality  of  the  people 
a  rueful  expression  came  over  the  farmer's  face, 
and  he  would  begin  to  tell  me  that  the  old  days 
were  gone,  money  was  tighter,  the  cost  of  living 
was  higher,  taxes  were  double,  the  land  did  not 


vni          AMERICAN  HOSPITALITY          155 

yield  what  it  did  of  old,  there  were  many  demands 
on  them  here ;  but  out  in  the  West  it  was  different. 
There,  as  in  former  times,  every  farm-house  had  open 
doors  and  free  table  to  the  tramp  and  wanderer.  No 
one  was  more  welcome  than  the  tramp,  he  brought 
news  and  stories  of  personal  adventure ;  he  might 
even  be  persuaded  to  do  work  in  the  fields. 

I  believe  the  Americans  would  be  a  truly 
charitable  and  hospitable  people  if  the  evils  of 
over-commercialism  were  remedied,  and  if  business 
were  made  kinder  and  more  human,  and  taxes  were 
evenly  distributed.  There  is  an  immense  good 
will  towards  man  in  America  :  it  is  only  rendered 
abortive  by  mammon.  I  for  my  part  have  to 
thank  numberless  farmers,  east  and  west,  for  kindly 
interest  and  good  talks,  loaves  of  bread,  cups  of 
coffee,  and  pleasant  meals.  Several  times  when  I 
have  been  cooking  by  the  side  of  a  road  a  farm 
wife  has  come  running  out  to  me  with  something 
hot  from  her  kitchen,  with  an  "  Eat  this,  poor  man, 
and  God  bless  you,  you  must  be  hungry." 

Then  the  farmer's  wife  is  often  mollified  when 
you  are  able  to  buy  her  milk  and  eggs.  She  is 
the  person  who  counts  in  the  farm.  She  must 
be  approached ;  the  husband  has  very  little  say 
in  what  shall  be  given  to  the  wanderer.  As  a 
fantastic  old  tramp  said  to  me  : 

"Whilst  you  are  yet  afar  off,  the  farmer's  wife, 
standing  on  her  threshold,  espies  you  and  takes 
you  to  be  a  hungry  lion  pawing  the  road  and 


i56         WITH   POOR  IMMIGRANTS         vm 

seeking  whom  you  may  devour.  She  calls  to  her 
husband  and  he  peereth  at  you.  Perchance  she 
fetcheth  down  the  ancient  blunderbuss  from  the 
wall ;  but  when  you  come  closer  and  hail  her  in 
English  she  says  to  herself  with  relief,  even  with 
pleasure,  'It  is  a  man/  one  of  the  attractive  male 
species.  You  ask  for  bread  and  milk, — oh  yes,  she 
has  it,  and  with  a  scared  look  still  on  her  face, 
though  transfigured  with  a  mild  gladness,  she 
fetcheth  you  bread  and  milk  and  eggs ;  and  then 
if  you  can  pay  her  market  price  the  scared  look 
goes  away  entirely ;  and  out  of  the  goodness  of 
her  heart  and  the  abundance  of  her  pantry  she 
addeth  cookies  and  apple  butter,  and  for  these 
you  pay  nought — they  are  her  favour.  Don't  ask 
her,  however,  to  put  you  up  for  the  night." 

The  tramp  always  has  a  hard  time  to  get  a 
night's  lodging.  A  poor,  weak,  bedraggled  Jew, 
whom  I  met  shortly  after  the  forty-eight  hours' 
rain,  told  me  that  he  had  been  all  one  night  in  the 
wet — his  pedlar's  pack  had  got  ruined,  he  was 
suffering  from  pneumonia,  and  had  thought  that 
such  weather  meant  sure  death  to  him.  He  had 
tried  every  house  in  five  towns  and  had  been 
refused  at  every  one.  It  was  a  sad  comment  on 
modern  life. 

In  the  Middle  Ages,  and  in  the  days  when 
Christianity  meant  more  than  it  does  now,  the 
refusal  of  shelter  was  almost  unheard  of.  And 
in  peasant  Russia  to-day  it  would  be  considered 


viii          AMERICAN   HOSPITALITY          157 

a  sin.  An  old  pilgrim -tramp  once  said  to  me, 
"  When  we  leave  this  world  to  get  to  Heaven 
we  all  have  to  go  on  tramp,  and  those  find 
shelter  there  who  sheltered  wanderers  here." 
But  Americans  will  not  be  judged  by  that 
standard.  The  early  Christians  received  strangers 
and  often  entertained  angels  unawares,  but  the 
modern  American  is  afraid  that  in  taking  in  a 
strange  tramp  he  may  be  sheltering  an  outcast 
spirit.  Once  tramps  were  angels ;  now  they  are 
rebel-angels. 


IX 
OVER  THE  ALLEGHANIES 

BOTH  the  weather  and  the  country  improved  before 
I  reached  Williamsport.  On  the  height  of  the  road 
to  Hughesville  I  had  a  grand  view  of  the  mountains 
and  of  the  sky  above  them,  saw  displayed  green 
hills  and  forested  mountains,  and  great  stretches  of 
ploughed  upland  all  dotted  over  with  white  heaps 
of  fertiliser.  And  the  sky  above  was  a  battle- 
scene,  the  sun  and  his  angels  having  given  battle 
and  the  clouds  taking  ranks  like  an  army.  Glad 
was  I  to  see  to  eastward  whole  battalions  in 
retreat. 

I  passed  through  fine  forested  land  with  great 
hemlocks,  maples,  and  hickories.  A  brawling  stream 
poured  along  through  the  dark  wood,  and  as  I  walked 
beside  it  a  sudden  gleam  of  sunshine  pierced  the 
gloom  of  foliage,  and  lit  up  boles  and  wet  banks 
and  wet  rocks  and  the  crystal  freshets  of  the  stream. 
Of  all  weathers  I  like  best  convalescent  weather,  the 
getting  sunny  after  much  rain.  On  the  Sunday  on 
which  I  reached  the  city  the  open  road  was  swept 
by  fresh  winds,  all  the  birds  were  singing,  every 

158 


ix  OVER  THE  ALLEGHANIES         159 

blade  of  grass  was  conscious  of  rain  taken  in  and 
of  the  sun  bringing  out. 

Williamsport  I  found  to  be  a  peaceful,  provincial 
town,  well  kept  in  itself  and  surrounded  by  beautiful 
scenery.  It  was  looking  its  best  in  the  freshness 
and  radiance  of  a  May  morning.  On  its  many 
hundred  bright  green  lawns  that  run  down  so 
graciously  from  pleasant  urban  villas  to  the  road 
way  there  was  much  white  linen  airing.  Williams- 
port  is  an  old  lumbering  town  on  a  branch  of  the 
Susquehanna,  and  though  that  business  has  gone 
away,  prosperity  and  happiness  seem  to  have 
remained  behind.  There  was  a  feeling  of  calmness 
that  I  had  not  experienced  in  other  American  cities, 
and  I  felt  it  would  be  pleasant  to  live  there  for  a 
season. 

I  tramped  down  to  Jersey  Shore,  and  the  night 
after  my  halcyon  day  at  Williamsport  a  thunder 
storm  overtook  me,  shaking  the  old  barn  in  which 
I  slept  and  tearing  away  rafters  and  doors.  I 
witnessed  Lockhaven  under  depressing  circum 
stances,  but  in  any  weather  it  must  be  an  inferior 
town  to  Williamsport,  though  it  is  also  an  old  point 
for  lumbering  on  the  Susquehanna. 

The  weather  remained  very  rainy,  and  I  was 
obliged  to  forsake  the  atrociously  clayey  high  road 
for  the  cinder  track  of  the  railway.  In  doing  this 
I  passed  up  into  a  fine  hilly  country  along  the 
valley  of  the  Beech  Creek.  I  came  to  Mapes  (to 
rhyme  with  Shapes),  but  found  it  a  name  and  no 


160         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  ix 

more.  A  shooting  and  fishing  resort  with  one 
house  in  it.  The  Beech  Creek  was  a  fine  sight, 
running  along  the  base  of  the  embankment  of  the 
railway,  carrying  pine  logs  on  its  flood  and  racing 
the  trains  with  them,  roaring  and  rushing,  the  logs 
pointing,  racing,  turning,  rolling,  toppling,  colliding, 
but  always  going  forward,  willy-nilly,  getting  clear 
of  every  obstacle  and  galloping  out  of  sight. 

With  one  wet  match  I  lighted  a  grand  fire  by 
the  side  of  the  line,  and  boiled  my  kettle  and  dried 
myself  and  chuckled.  It  might  be  going  to  rain 
more.  I  might  be  going  to  have  a  queer  night, 
but  for  the  time  being  I  was  having  a  splendid 
tea.  It  was  a  matter  for  consolation  in  the  future 
that  on  the  wettest  possible  day  it  was  not  difficult 
to  light  a  fire  with  one  match.  The  secret  lies 
in  having  plenty  of  dry  paper  in  your  wallet ;  and 
I  had  a  copy  of  a  New  York  Sunday  paper,  which 
lasted  me  to  light  my  fire  all  the  way  to  Elkhart, 
Indiana,  at  least  five  hundred  miles'  tramping. 

The  district  of  Mapes  is  one  of  the  most 
beauteous  in  the  Alleghanies,  or  it  was  so  this 
quiet  evening.  The  summits  of  the  mountains 
were  obscured  by  mists,  but  up  from  the  profound 
valleys  the  woods  climbed,  and  the  lovely  tops  of 
trees  seemed  like  so  many  stepping-stones  from 
the  land  up  to  cloudy  heaven. 

By  the  time  I  came  to  Monument  it  was  dark. 
But  a  great  glowing  brick-kiln  looked  out  into  the 
night,  and  there  were  houses  with  many  lighted 


ix  OVER  THE  ALLEGHANIES         161 

windows.  I  was  directed  to  a  workmen's  boarding- 
house,  and  spent  a  night  among  miners,  railway 
men,  and  brick  -  workers.  The  keeper  of  the 
establishment  was  doubtful  whether  he  would  have 
me,  but  thought  there  was  "  one  feller  on  the  third 
floor  gone." 

"What  will  be  your  charge?"  I  asked. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  "  a  won't  charge  ye  anything  for 
the  bed,  but  the  breakfast  to-morrow  morning  will 
be  twenty-five  cents." 

"My!"  I  thought,  "here's  something  choice 
coming  along  in  the  shape  of  a  bed." 

It  turned  out  to  be  four  in  a  room  and  two  in  a 
bed,  all  sleeping  in  their  clothes.  There  was  even 
some  doubt  as  to  whether  there  was  not  a  fifth 
coming. 

One  man  was  in  bed  already  ;  I  chose  the  un 
occupied  bed,  and  laid  myself  upon  it  in  full  tramp 
ing  attire.  You  can  imagine  the  state  of  sheets  and 
quilts  in  a  bed  that  brick-makers  and  soft-coal  miners 
sleep  in  in  their  clothes. 

The  man  in  bed  was  an  Anglo-Saxon  American. 
When  I  said  I  was  from  England  he  asked  me  if  I 
had  walked  it  all. 

"  I  came  by  steamer  of  course  to  New  York." 

"  How  many  days  ?  " 

"  Eight." 

''Weren't  you  afraid?"  said  he.  "  Quite  out  of 
sight  of  land  no  doubt  ?  You  wouldn't  get  me  to 
go,  not  for  many  thousand  dollars.  That  Titanic 

M 


i62         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  ix 

was  an  affair,  wasn't  it.  Fifteen  hundred — straight 
to  the  bottom!  I'd  have  shot  myself  had  I  been 
there." 

"  What  do  you  work  at  here  ?  " 

"  Brick-making." 

"Lot  of  men  ?" 

"Plenty  of  work.  Two  truck -loads  of  extra 
men  coming  to-morrow." 

"  Foreigners  ?  " 

"  Italians." 

I  told  him  the  story  of  a  storm  at  sea  with  the 
exaggeration  to  which  one  is  too  prone  when 
addressing  simple  souls.  I  rather  harrowed  him 
with  an  account  of  cook's  enamel  ware  and  kitchen 
things  rolling  about  and  jangling  when  every  one 
was  saying  his  prayers. 

Presently  I  remarked  irrelevantly,  "  My  good 
ness  !  What  a  noise  the  frogs  make  here !  " 

"  That's  no  noise,"  said  he  ;  "  I'm  going  to  sleep." 

After  a  while  his  bedfellow  came  in  and  he, 
before  turning  in,  got  down  on  his  knees  in  the 
narrow  passage  between  the  beds  and  prayed — I 
should  say,  a  whole  half-hour,  talking  half  to  him 
self,  half-aloud.  Whilst  he  was  doing  so  my  bed 
fellow  came  in,  a  tall,  heavy,  tired  Pole,  who  looked 
neither  to  right  nor  left,  but  just  clambered  over  me 
and  lay  down  with  his  face  to  the  wall  and  slept 
and  snored. 

It  rained  heavily  all  night,  and  next  morning  it 
still  poured.  After  a  disreputably  bad  breakfast  I 


ix  OVER  THE  ALLEGHANIES         163 

sat  on  a  chair  at  the  door  of  the  establishment  and 
watched  the  thresh  of  the  rain  on  two  great  pools 
beside  a  road  of  coal-dust,  looked  out  at  the  lank 
grass,  the  tomato-can  dump,  the  sodden  refuse  of 
the  boarding  -  house,  and  away  to  the  square  red 
chimney  of  the  brick  factory  belching  forth  black 
smoke. 

"  Say,  stranger,"  said  mine  host,  "  I'm  going  to 
wade  into  that  cave  and  hand  out  potatoes  ;  will 
you  take  them  from  me  ?  "  This  was  the  first  time 
I  had  been  called  stranger  in  America,  and  it 
sounded  pleasant  in  my  ears. 

About  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning  the  rain 
ceased,  and  I  went  on  to  the  next  point  on  the  rail 
way.  The  track  climbed  higher  and  higher,  and 
I  learned  that  on  the  morrow  I  should  reach  the 
top  of  the  Alleghany  Mountains  —  Snow  Shoe 
Creek. 

It  was  a  fine  walk  to  Orviston  under  the  heavily 
clouded  sky.  The  mountain-sides  were  all  a-leak 
with  springs  and  trickling  streams  and  cascades. 
There  was  an  accompanying  music  of  the  racing 
Beech  Creek  on  the  one  hand,  and  of  the  gushing 
rivulets  on  the  other ;  but  this  would  be  swallowed 
up  and  lost  every  now  and  then  in  the  uproar  of 
the  oncoming  and  passing  freight  train  of  coal  ; 
the  appalling,  hammering,  affrighting  freight  train 
passing  within  two  feet  of  me,  taking  my  breath  away 
with  the  thought  of  its  power.  How  pleasant  it 
was,  though,  to  listen  to  the  rebirth  of  the  music  of 


1 64         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  ix 

the  waters  coming  to  the  ear  in  the  wind  of  the  last 
trucks  as  they  passed. 

Orviston  prides  itself  on  its  fire-bricks.  The 
whole  village  is  made  of  them,  and  the  pavement  as 
well,  and  every  brick  is  stamped  "  Orviston,"  and  is 
both  a  commodity  and  an  advertisement. 

After  I  had  visited  the  village  store  for  pro 
visions  I  re-entered  the  railway  enclosure,  and  read 
as  I  did  so  the  following  notice  typical  of  America  : 
"  Cultivate  the  safety  habit — if  you  see  anything 
wrong  report  it  to  the  man  with  the  button." 

I  met  the  man  with  the  button  after  I  had  walked 
a  mile  along  the  way  ;  he  was  a  Slovak,  working  on 
the  line  with  pick  and  shovel,  a  tall,  brawny  Slav, 
and  with  him  a  rather  tubby  little  chap  of  the  same 
nationality. 

"  You  haf  no  rait  on  these  lains,"  said  the  Slovak. 
"  You  go  off.  You  are  no  railway  man.  What  are 
you  ?  Slavish  ?  " 

I  replied  in  English,  but  on  second  thoughts 
went  on  in  Russian.  He  understood,  and  was 
mollified  at  once.  He  was  in  America  for  the 
second  time,  they  neither  of  them  liked  the  old 
country.  I  photographed  them  as  they  stood— 
John  Kresica  and  Paul  Cipriela.  They  were  un 
married  men,  and  lived  in  a  "boarding-house"  in 
Orviston.  They  worked  in  a  gang.  Would  I 
please  send  them  a  copy  of  the  photograph  ?  I 
agreed  to  do  so  ;  then,  when  I  moved  to  go  off  the 
lines,  the  man  with  the  button  cried  out,  smiling : 


ix  OVER  THE  ALLEGHANIES         165 

"Hi!     All-right,  go  ahead !" 

I  went  on  blithely.  There  was  a  change  of 
weather  in  the  afternoon.  At  one  o'clock  the  sun 
lifted  his  arms  and  pulled  apart  the  mist  curtains 
at  the  zenith  and  disclosed  himself — a  miraculous 
apparition.  The  whole  sky  was  cloudy,  but  the  sun 
was  shining.  An  apparition,  the  ghost  of  a  sun, 
and  then  a  reality — hot,  light-pouring,  cloud -dis 
persing.  By  two  it  was  a  hot  summer  day,  at  three 
there  was  not  a  cloud  in  the  sky.  What  a  change ! 
It  was  clear  that  summer  had  progressed  during  the 
rain  ;  insects  of  bright  hues  were  on  the  wing,  huge 
yellow  -  winged  butterflies,  crimson  -  thighed  grass 
hoppers,  green  sun-beetles.  A  new-born  butterfly 
settled  three  times  on  my  sleeve ;  the  fourth  time  I 
just  caught  him.  I  held  him  delicately  between 
two  fingers  and  let  him  go. 

During  a  most  exhilarating  evening  I  tramped 
past  houseless  Panther  and  got  to  Cato  at  nightfall. 
Cato  was  a  railway  station  of  no  pretensions  ;  a 
broken-down  shed  with  no  door,  no  ticket  offices, 
no  porter.  Passengers  who  wished  to  take  a  train 
had  to  wave  a  flag  and  trust  to  the  eyesight  of  the 
engine-driver.  For  village,  all  that  I  could  make 
out  was  a  coal-bank,  a  shaft,  and  some  heaps  of  old 
iron. 

It  was  an  extremely  cold  night,  so  I  slept  in  the 
railway  shed  on  a  plank  form  that  ran  along  the 
three  sides  of  the  building.  I  lay  and  looked  out 
at  the  bright  night  shining  over  the  mountains, 


1 66         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  ix 

dozed,  waked,  dozed  again.  Shortly  after  midnight 
I  had  a  strange  visitor.  I  was  lying  half-asleep, 
looking  at  a  misshapen  star  which  was  resting  on 
the  mountains  opposite  me,  which  became  a  silver 
thumb  pointing  upward,  which  became  at  last  the 
young  crescent  moon  just  rising.  I  was  in  that 
somnolent  state  when  you  ask,  as  you  see  the  moon 
rising  behind  dark  branches  of  the  forest,  Is  it  the 
moon  in  eclipse  ?  is  it  a  comet  ?  —  when  a  portly 
man  with  shovel  hat  came  out  of  the  night,  stood  in 
front  of  the  shed,  leaned  on  a  thick  cudgel,  and 
looked  in. 

"Hallo!  "said  I. 

"  Haffing  sum  sleep  ?  "  queried  the  visitor. 

"  Yes,  trying  to  ;  but  it's  a  cold  night." 

"  Ah,  you  haf  bed  pretty  goot !  " 

"Who  are  you, — the  night  watchman?" 

"  Naw.  You  don't  see  a  nait  wawtchman  with 
out  'is  lantern." 

The  old  chap  came  close  up  to  me,  bent  down, 
and  whispered,  "I'm  in  the  same  box  as  yourself." 

"Walking  all  night?"  I  asked. 

"  The  only  vay  to  keep  varm,"  said  the  old  man 
ruefully.  He  took  out  a  shining  watch  -from  his 
waistcoat. 

"Three  o'clock,"  said  he.  "  In  an  hour  it  will 
be  daylight.  Oh,  I  think  I'll  try  and  sleep  here  an 
hour.  Say,  is  there  to  eat  along  the  road  ?  " 

I  wasn't  quite  sure  what  he  meant. 

"  Not  much,"  I  hazarded. 


ix  OVER  THE  ALLEGHANIES         167 

"  Wot  are  you — you  don't  speak  the  langwage 
very  goot,"  said  the  tramp. 

"  English." 

"  I  am  a  Cherman." 

The  old  man  lay  down  on  the  plank  form,  rest 
ing  his  head  on  my  feet,  and  using  them  for  a  pillow. 

"  How  old  are  ye?  "  he  went  on.  ...  "  Hoh,  I 
can  give  you  forty  years.  If  I  were  in  Germany 
now  I  should  be  getting  an  army  pension." 

"Are  you  going  back  ?"  said  I. 

"  Naw,  naw.  I  could  never  give  up  this 
country." 

We  composed  ourselves  to  sleep,  but  with  his 
head  resting  on  my  feet  I  was  too  uncomfortable. 
"  Presently  I'll  make  a  fire,"  said  I,  "and  we'll  have 
hot  tea  and  some  bread  and  butter."  And  after 
about  twenty  minutes  I  got  up,  put  my  boots  on, 
and  wandered  out  to  find  wood  to  make  a  fire. 
It  was  about  half  an  hour  before  dawn.  There  was 
a  hoar  frost,  and  everything  was  cold  and  rimy 
to  the  touch.  But  I  made  up  a  bundle  of  last  year's 
weeds,  now  sodden  straws,  and  laid  them  on  a 
half-sheet  of  my  Sunday  newspaper.  That  made  a 
fine  blaze,  and  with  twigs  and  sticks  and  bits  of  old 
plank,  I  soon  had  a  fine  bonfire  going.  The  old 
German  came  out  and  watched  me  incredulously. 
He  didn't  think  it  was  possible  to  make  a  fire  on 
such  a  morning.  But  he  was  soon  convinced,  and 
went  about  picking  up  chunks  of  wood  desultorily, 
alleging  the  while  that  he  couldn't  have  lit  such 


i68         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  ix 

a  fire  in  three  hours  ;    evidently   I   knew  how  to 
do  it. 

"Shall  I  make  tea  or  coffee?"  I  asked. 

"  Cawfee,"  said  the  old  chap,  his  mouth  watering. 
The  word  tea  did  not  represent  to  him  anything 
good. 

"  After  a  cup  of  hot  cawfee  I  can  go  a  long  way. 
Hot  cawfee,  mind  yen  Varm  cawfee  'salright  for 
lunch,  but  in  the  morning  it  must  be  hot.  The 
only  thing  better  than  a  cup  of  cawfee  is  a  pint 
of  whisky.  .  .  .  Say,  you've  enough  fire  here  now 
to  roast  a  chicken." 

"  Wish  I  had  one,  we'd  roast  it." 

I  emptied  the  last  of  my  sugar  into  the  pot, 
and  seven  or  eight  spoonfuls  of  coffee.  It  was  to 
be  "  Turkish."  The  old  tramp  sat  down  on  the 
stump  of  a  tree,  took  out  a  curly  German  pipe, 
and  then  put  a  red  coal  on  it.  He  had  matches, 
but  was  economical  in  the  matter  of  lights.  "  Say," 
he  said  to  me  later,  pointing  to  the  ground,  "  you've 
dropped  a  good  match."  I  picked  it  up. 

The  coffee  was  "  real  good."  The  old  fellow 
drank  it  through  his  thick  moustache,  and  dipping 
his  bread  into  his  cup,  munched  great  mouthfuls. 
I  had  offered  him  butter  with  his  bread,  but  he 
refused.  "  Bdoter  "  was  nothing  to  him.  He  liked 
apple-"  booter." 

"  Say,  you've  got  on  a  powerful  pair  of  boots !  " 

"  I  need  them,  tramping  to  Chicago." 

"Chicago's  not  a  bad  town  if  you  know  where 


ix  OVER  THE  ALLEGHANIES         169 

to  go.  Say,  presently  you'll  come  to  Snow  Shoe. 
Don't  go  past  it.  You'll  get  something  there." 

The  old  man  stopped  a  minute  in  his  talk,  and 
stared  at  me  knowingly,  didactically. 

' '  Rich  miners,"  he  went  on.  "You  need  only 
ask.  See  this  packet  of  tobacco,  they  gave  it  to 
me  at  the  Company  store.  That's  the  thing  I  can't 
get  on  without,  must  have  it.  If  a  man  asks  me  for 
a  smoke  and  I  haf  it  to  give  I  must  give  him  also. 
Where' ve  you  come  from  yesterday — Orviston  ?  " 

"  No.     Monument." 

"Is  there  anything  there?"  he  whispered  mys 
teriously. 

"  Not  much  to  be  had,"  said  I.  "  But  there's  a 
good  deal  of  work,  and  they're  bringing  in  a  big 
gang  of  Italians.  You  can't  get  much  of  anything 
at  the  farms." 

"  Where  Guineas  are,  I  don't  go.  I  don't  like 
the  Eyetaylians." 

"  D'you  like  the  Jews  ?  " 

"  They're  a  good  people,"  said  he.  "  Don't  say 
anything  against  the  Jews.  I  know  a  Jew  who 
gives  free  boots  to  tramps.  Last  year  I  went  into 
his  store,  and  one  of  the  shopmen  came  up  to  me 
and  said,  '  I  know  what  you  want,  you'll  get  it 
I'll  tell  the  boss  when  he  comes  out.'  And  he  gave 
me  a  powerful  pair  of  boots,  and  sent  me  across  the 
road  to  the  Quick-lunch  with  a  letter  to  the  boss 
there,  to  give  me  a  good  dinner.  So  I  never  say 
anything  against  the  Jews." 


170         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  ix 

"  Do  you  know  Cleveland  ?  "  said  I. 

"  You  bet.  Lived  there  ten  years  ago,  had  a  job 
on  a  Lake  steamer.  I  worked  one  summer  on  a 
boat." 

The  old  tramp  stared  at  me  as  if  he  had  confessed 
a  sin.  "  Worked  like  a  mule,"  he  added  senten- 
tiously,  and  stared  again.  "  I  had  a  home  there, 
and  lived  just  like  a  married  man.  But  when  I 
wanted  to  move  on  to  Pittsburg  my  girl  wouldn't 
go." 

"  I  expect  you're  the  sort  of  man  who  has  run 
away  from  a  wife  in  Germany,"  said  I. 

"  Naw,  naw.     Never  married." 

Then  he  began  to  talk  of  his  loves  and  conquests. 
At  his  age  you'd  have  thought  his  mind  would  not 
have  been  filled  writh  such  vanities.  He  evidently 
earned  money  now  and  then,  and  went  on  4<  sprees." 
He  averred  that  he  had  not  a  dime  now,  and  was 
altogether  "on  the  nail."  I  had  an  idea,  however, 
that  he  had  hidden  on  him,  somewhere,  passage- 
money  to  take  him  to  Germany,  to  get  that  army 
pension.  The  Germans  are  a  cautious  people. 
They  are  cautious  and  cogitative,  yet  I  wonder 
what  the  old  man  thought  of  me  as  he  stumped 
away,  leaning  on  his  heavy  walking-stick.  He  had 
been  twenty-seven  years  on  the  road,  and  was  very 
shrewd  and  experienced  in  many  ways.  Perhaps 
for  a  moment  he  took  me  for  a  gentleman  burglar. 
He  was  immensely  curious  to  see  what  was  in  my 
sack,  but  he  probably  reflected — "  Here  is  good  hot 


ix  OVER  THE  ALLEGHANIES        171 

coffee,  a  fire,  and  a  pleasant  young  man  ;  make  the 
most  of  it,  and  ask  no  inconvenient  questions." 

I  put  the  fire  out,  shouldered  my  pack,  and 
resumed  the  journey  to  Snow  Shoe.  The  sun  had 
risen,  but  his  warmth  was  as  yet  shut  away  behind 
the  wall  of  the  mountains.  The  hoar-frost  of  night 
had  not  melted  yet,  and  it  was  necessary  to  walk 
briskly  to  keep  warm.  It  was  so  cold  that  I  got  to 
Snow  Shoe  before  ten  o'clock. 

A  feature  of  this  tramping  along  the  rails  was 
the  danger  in  crossing  bridges.  It  was  a  single 
line,  and  as  there  were  some  twenty  bridges  over 
the  flood  of  the  river,  there  were  twenty  ordeals 
of  trusting  that  no  train  would  suddenly  appear 
from  a  corner  of  the  winding  track  and  run  me 
down.  If  a  train  had  come  whilst  I  was  half-way 
across  a  bridge  there  was  no  refuge  but  the  river, 
and  I  was  always  prepared  to  jump.  For  several 
nights  after  this  bit  of  tramping  I  dreamed  of 
crossing  bridges,  running  on  the  sleepers  and  just 
passing  the  last  beams  as  engines  swept  down  on 
me.  But  it  was  pleasant  climbing  up  so  high,  and 
feeling  that  within  an  hour  or  so  Snow  Shoe  would 
be  achieved.  I  had  lived  in  the  rumour  of  Snow 
Shoe  for  two  days,  and  the  name  had  come  to 
correspond  to  something  very  beautiful  in  my  mind. 
The  sound  of  the  name  is  pleasant  to  the  ear,  and 
every  now  and  then,  as  I  hurried  along,  I  asked, 
"  Snow  Shoe,  Snow  Shoe,  what  shall  I  find  there  ?  " 
I  imagined  the  pioneers  who  first  came  up  this 


172         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  ix 

beautiful  valley  and  gave  to  an  Indian  settlement 
the  dainty  name — through  what  virginal  loveliness 
they  had  passed !  Then  I  thought  of  the  reporter- 
poet  of  Scranton  who  objected  to  the  beauty  of 
Nature  because  it  was  independent  of  man. 

Then,  man  came  along,  the  engine-man  with  his 
endless,  empty  freight  train  and  his  bellowing,  steam 
ing  engine  howling  through  the  valley.  One  after 
another  eight  freight  trains,  each  about  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  long,  came  grinding  past  me,  going  up  to  the 
collieries  to  take  their  daily  loads  of  carbon.  Some 
how  I  did  not  object ;  it  was  new  America,  the 
America  of  to-day  careering  over  the  America  of 
1492,  and  had  to  be  accepted. 

But  Snow  Shoe  gave  me  pause.  When  I  arrived 
at  the  little  slate-roofed  mining  settlement  I  found 
there  was  considerable  excitement  among  the  chil 
dren  there.  A  cow  had  just  been  cut  to  pieces  by 
the  last  freight  train.  The  driver  had  driven  his 
train  over  the  beast  and  on  without  a  word  of 
remark  or  a  hesitation,  and  a  farmer  was  complain 
ing  bitterly,  but  the  children — young  Americans, 
Russians,  Ruthenians,  Slovaks,  the  ones  who  have 
in  their  keeping  the  America  of  to-morrow — were 
sitting  round  the  remains,  helling  and  God-damning 
and  asking  me  facetious  questions.  And  that  was 
the  answer  to  what  I  had  asked  myself — What  shall 
I  see  at  Snow  Shoe  ?  What  am  I  walking  so  far 
and  so  high  for  to  see  ? 

Snow  Shoe  was   the   dreariest  possible  mining 


ix  OVER  THE  ALLEGHANIES         173 

settlement,  and  its  inhabitants  slouched  about  its 
coaly  ways  and  in  and  out  of  the  saloons.  Scarcely 
any  one  could  speak  English,  and  the  mines  were 
worked  almost  exclusively  by  Poles  and  Slovaks. 
The  highest  point  in  the  Alleghanies,  a  hand  of 
earth  stretched  up  to  heaven,  perhaps  a  maledictory 
hand. 


X 

DECORATION  DAY 

AMERICA  celebrates  no  "  Whit-Monday,"  but  has 
Decoration  Day  instead  ;  a  great  national  festival, 
when  medals  are  pinned  on  to  veterans,  the  soldiers 
of  the  War  of  North  against  South  are  remembered, 
and  the  graves  of  heroes  are  decorated  with  flags 
and  flowers.  On  Decoration  Day,  and  again  later, 
on  Independence  Day,  the  whole  populace  ceases 
work  in  the  name  of  America,  and  flocks  the  streets, 
sings  national  songs  and  hymns,  goes  on  procession, 
fires  salutes,  listens  to  speeches.  We  British  are 
just  wildly  glad  to  get  free  from  toil  when  Whit- 
Monday  and  August  Bank  Holiday  come  round. 
We  have  no  national  or  religious  fervour  on  these 
days.  We  have  even  been  known  to  flock  happily 
to  Hampstead  and  Epping  Forest  to  the  strains  of 
"  England's  going  down  the  Hill."  Upon  occasion 
the  British  can  be  clamorously  patriotic,  but  only 
upon  occasion.  But  the  American  citizen  is,  to  use 
his  own  phrase,  "  crazy  about  America "  all  the 
while.  The  "days-off"  that  we  get  are  not  only  off 
work,  but  off  everything  serious.  The  American 

174 


x  DECORATION  DAY  175 

still  nurses  the  hope  with  which  he  came  across  the 
ocean,  and  he  is  enthusiastically  attached  to  the 
republic  he  has  made  and  the  principles  of  that 
republic. 

I  spent  Decoration  Day  at  Clearfield,  a  little 
mining  and  agricultural  town  on  the  other  side  of 
the  Alleghanies.  I  put  up  at  a  hotel  for  two  or 
three  days,  and  just  gave  myself  to  the  town  for  the 
time.  Early  on  the  festival  day  I  was  out  to  see 
how  the  workaday  world  was  taking  things.  All 
the  shops  were  closed  except  the  ice-cream  soda 
bars  and  the  fruiterers.  There  were  flags  on  the 
banks  and  loungers  on  the  streets.  Young  men 
were  walking  about  with  flags  in  their  hat  ribbons. 
The  cycles  and  automobiles  on  the  roadway  had 
their  wheels  swathed  with  the  stars  and  stripes. 
There  were  negroes  and  negresses  standing  endi- 
manchds  at  street  corners.  Now  and  then  a  girl  in 
white  dress  and  white  boots  would  trip  from  a  house 
to  a  shop  and  back  again.  There  was  an  air  best 
expressed  by  the  words  of  the  song : 

Go  along  and  get  yer  ready, 
Get  yer  glad  rags  on, 
For  there's  going  to  be  a  meeting 
In  the  good  old  town. 

Every  town  in  America  is  a  good  old  town,  and  on 
such  occasions  as  Decoration  Day  you  may  always 
hear  the  worthies  of  the  place  giving  their  reminis 
cences  in  the  lounge  of  a  hotel.  I  sat  and  listened 
to  many. 


176         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  x 

We  had  a  very  quiet  morning,  and  it  seemed  to 
me  there  was  considerable  boredom  in  the  town. 
There  was  a  fire  in  the  Opera  House  about  eleven, 
and  I  ran  behind  the  scenes  with  a  crowd  of  others 
and  stared  at  the  smoking  walls.  There  was  a  sort 
of  disappointment  that  the  firemen  put  it  out  so 
promptly. 

But  after  dinner  the  real  holiday  commenced,  and 
the  houses  began  to  empty  and  the  streets  began  to 
fill.  About  four  o'clock  the  "  Parade"  commenced, 
what  we  should  in  England  call  a  procession. 
Every  one  who  owned  a  car  had  it  out,  carrying 
roses  and  ferns  and  flags.  There  was  a  continual 
hooting  and  coughing  of  motor-horns,  and  an  in 
creasing  buzz  of  talk.  The  "  Eighth  Regimental 
Band"  appeared,  and  stood  with  their  instruments 
in  the  roadway,  chatting  to  passers-by  and  being 
admired.  The  firemen  came  with  new  hats  on— 
their  work  at  the  Opera  House  happily  concluded. 
They  now  bore  on  their  shoulders  wreaths,  which 
were  to  be  carried  to  the  graves  of  the  heroes  in  the 
cemetery  outside  the  town.  The  High  School 
band  formed  up.  A  tall  man  brought  a  new-bought 
banner  of  the  Stars  and  Stripes,  which  hung  from  a 
bird-headed  pole.  Boy  Scouts  came  in  costume- 
as  it  were  in  the  rags  of  the  war.  The  marching 
order  was  formed,  and  then  came  up  what  I  thought 
to  be  the  Town  Militia,  but  which  turned  out  to  be 
the  representatives  of  the  Mechanics  Union,  with 
special  decorations  and  medals  on  their  breasts. 


x  DECORATION  DAY  177 

The  bands  began  to  play  ;  the  automobiles,  full  of 
flowers  and  flags,  began  to  cough  and  shoot  for 
ward  ;  the  flocks  of  promenaders  on  the  side-walk 
and  in  the  roadway  set  themselves  to  march  in  step 
to  the  festal  music.  I  watched  the  whole  procession, 
from  the  Eighth  Regimental  Band  that  went  first  to 
the  eight  veterans  of  the  Spanish  War,  who,  with 
muskets  on  their  shoulders,  took  up  the  rear.  I 
stopped  several  people  in  the  procession  and  asked 
them  who  they  were,  what  exactly  was  their  role, 
for  what  reason  were  they  decorated  with  medals, — 
and  every  one  was  glad  to  satisfy  my  curiosity.  I 
found  that  the  eight  veterans  considered  themselves 
technically  a  squad,  and  their  function  was  to  fire  a 
salute  over  the  graves  of  the  "  heroes." 

The  procession  marched  round  the  town  to 
the  strains  of  "  Onward,  Christian  soldiers"  and 
"  O  come,  all  ye  faithful."  All  the  people  of  Clear- 
field  accompanied — Americans,  Poles,  Ruthenians, 
Slovaks  —  for  Clearfield  has  its  foreign  mining 
population  as  well  as  its  Anglo  -  Saxon  urban 
Americans.  As  I  was  going  alongside,  a  young 
boy  ran  up  and  put  his  hand  on  my  shoulder  and 
addressed  me  in  Polish. 

"  What's  that  you  say  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Vairy  good ! "  said  he,  and  pointed  to  the  pro 
cession.  "  I  like  it." 

"What  are  you, — Ruthenian,  Polish  ?"  I  asked. 

"  Slavish." 

I  spoke  to  him  in  Russian. 

N 


178         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  x 

"  Oh-ho,  he-he,  da-da,  I  thought  you  were  a 
Polak." 

And  now  he  thought  I  was  a  Russian !  It 
touched  me  rather  tenderly.  I  was  dressed  like  an 
American,  and  my  attire  was  not  like  that  of  a 
Russian  at  all.  How  enthusiastic  this  boy  was !  It 
was  a  real  holiday  for  him.  The  Slav  peoples  are 
emotional ;  they  need  every  now  and  then  a  means 
of  publicly  expressing  their  feelings.  This  proces 
sion  from  the  town  to  the  graveyard  was  a  link 
with  the  customs  of  their  native  land,  where  at  least 
twice  a  year  the  living  have  a  feast  among  the 
crosses  and  mounds  of  the  cemetery,  and  share  their 
joys  and  interests  with  the  dear  dead,  whose  bodies 
have  been  given  back  to  earth. 

Among  those  accompanying  the  procession  were 
Austrian  Slavs,  in  soot -coloured,  broad -brimmed, 
broken  -  crowned  hats,  not  yet  cast  away ;  and  I 
noted  solemn-faced,  placid  Russian  peasants  in  over 
alls  staring  with  half-awakened  comprehension.  I 
saw  a  negro  attired  in  faultless  black  cloth,  having  a 
bunchy  umbrella  in  his  hand,  a  heavy  gold  chain 
across  his  waistcoat,  a  cigar  in  his  mouth,  a  soft 
smoky  hat  on  his  head.  He  tried  to  get  to  the 
front,  and  I  heard  one  white  man  say  to  another, 
"  Make  way  for  him,  it's  not  your  funeral."  The 
negro  is  a  pretty  important  person  —  considering 
that  the  war  was  really  fought  for  him.  Perhaps 
not  many  actively  remember  that  now ;  it  is  not 
soothing  to  do  so.  It  is  the  American  hero  who 


x  DECORATION  DAY  179 

matters  more  than  the  cause  for  which  he  fell ; 
though  of  course  America,  the  idea  of  America, 
matters  more  than  either  the  heroes  or  the  cause. 
It  is  a  pity  that  on  Decoration  Day  there  is  a 
tendency  to  decorate  the  graves  of  those  who  fell 
in  the  Spanish  War  and  to  pin  medals  on  the 
survivors  of  that  conflict  rather  than  to  perpetuate 
the  memory  of  the  struggle  for  the  emancipation  of 
the  negro.  America's  great  problem  is  the  negro 
whom  she  has  released  ;  but  the  Spanish  War  meant 
no  more  than  that  America's  arm  proved  strong 
enough  to  defeat  a  European  power  inclined  to 
meddle  with  her  civilisation. 

It  was,  however,  at  the  oldest  grave  in  the 
cemetery  that  the  procession  stopped  and  the 
people  gathered.  All  the  men  were  uncovered,  and 
there  was  a  feeling  of  unusual  respect  and  emotion 
in  the  crowd.  The  wreaths  were  put  down  and 
the  flags  lowered  as  the  little  memorial  service 
commenced.  We  sang  an  old  hymn,  slowly,  sweetly, 
and  very  sadly,  so  that  one's  very  soul  melted.  A 
hymn  of  the  war,  I  suppose : 

Let  him  sleep. 

Calmly  sleep. 

While  the  days  and  the  years  roll  by. 
Let  him  sleep, 

Sweetly  sleep, 
Till  the  call  of  the  roll  on  high. 

In  the  time  of  the  war,  in  the  dark  hours  of  danger 
and  distress,  in  the  times  of  loss  and  appalling 
personal  sorrow  the  Americans  were  very  near  and 


i8o         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  x 

dear  to  God  and  to  one  another — nearer  than  they 
are  to-day  in  their  peace  and  prosperity. 

When  the  hymn  had  been  sung,  an  old  grey 
headed  man  came  to  the  foot  of  the  grave  and  read 
a  portion  of  the  speech  made  by  Abraham  Lincoln 
at  the  great  cemetery  at  Gettysburg  : 

Fourscore  and  seven  years  ago  our  fathers  brought  forth 
on  this  continent  a  new  nation  conceived  in  liberty  and 
dedicated  to  the  proposition  that  all  men  are  created  equal. 

We  are  now  engaged  in  a  great  Civil  War,  testing  whether 
that  nation  so  conceived  and  so  dedicated  can  long  endure. 

We  are  met  on  a  great  battlefield  .  .  .  to  dedicate  a  portion 
of  that  field  as  a  final  resting-place  for  those  who  have  given 
their  lives  that  the  nation  might  live.  It  is  altogether  fitting 
and  proper  that  we  should  do  this. 

But  in  a  larger  sense  we  cannot  consecrate  this  ground. 

The  dead  themselves  have  consecrated  it.  It  is  rather  for 
us,  the  living,  to  consecrate  ourselves  to  the  work  they  died 
for,  that  we  resolve  that  these  dead  shall  not  have  died  in 
vain,  that  this  nation  shall  have  a  new  birth  of  freedom  and 
that  government  of  the  people,  by  the  people,  for  the  people 
shall  not  perish  from  the  earth. 

The  reading  of  these  words  was  most  impressive. 
I  realised  in  it  the  Gospel  of  America — something 
more  national  than  even  the  starry  flag. 

When  the  reading  was  accomplished  the  eight 
veterans  fired  their  salute,  not  up  at  heaven,  but 
across  and  over  the  people's  heads,  as  at  an  unseen 
enemy.  Then  the  old  grey-headed  man  who  had 
read  the  words  of  Lincoln  pronounced  the  blessing: 

The  peace  of  God,  which  passeth  all  understanding,  keep 
your  hearts  and  minds  in  the  knowledge  and  love  of 
God.  . 


x  DECORATION  DAY  181 

And  we  dispersed  to  wander  among  the  graves 
and  see  the  decorations,  and  add  decorations  of  our 
own  if  we  willed.  Wherever  I  went,  the  haunting 
air  was  in  my  ears : 

Let  him  sleep, 

Sweetly  sleep, 
Till  the  call  of  the  roll  on  high. 

Americans  believe  very  really  in  the  roll-call.  They 
believe  that  they  will  answer  to  their  names  on 
a  great  last  day — "  When  the  roll  is  called  up 
yonder,  I'll  be  there,"  says  a  popular  hymn.  It  is 
all  important  to  the  American  that  he  feels  he  lives 
and  dies  for  the  Right,  for  the  moral  virtues.  The 
glory  of  the  wars  which  the  Americans  have  fought 
in  their  history  is  not  only  that  they,  the  Americans, 
were  victorious,  but  that  they  were  morally  right 
before  ever  they  started  out  to  fight. 

Well,  civilisation  has  approved  the  abolition  of 
slavery.  The  great  mass  of  people  nowadays  con 
sider  slavery  as  something  wrong  in  itself.  The 
North  took  up  its  weapons  and  convinced  the  South, 
and  the  negro  was  freed.  The  peculiar  horrors  of 
slavery  no  longer  exist — no  one  man  has  power  of 
life  and  death  over  the  African.  That  much  the 
war  has  achieved.  But  it  is  strange  that  for  the 
rest  the  negro  seems  to  have  become  worse  off, 
and  that  America  feels  that  she  cannot  extend  the 
personal  privileges  of  democracy  to  the  blacks. 
America  has  brutalised  the  nigger ;  has  made  of  a 
very  gentle,  loving  and  lovable  if  very  simple 


182         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  x 

creature,  an  outcast,  a  beast,  who  may  not  sit  beside 
an  ordinary  man.  It  has  in  its  own  nervous  imagina 
tion  accused  him  of  hideous  crimes  which  he  did  not 
commit,  did  not  even  imagine ;  it  has  deprived  him 
of  the  law,  tortured  him,  flayed  him,  burned  him  at 
the  stake.  It  has  made  a  black  man  a  bogey ;  so 
that  a  fluttering  white  woman,  finding  herself  alone 
in  the  presence  of  a  negro,  will  rush  away  in  terror, 
crying  "murder,"  "rape,"  "fire,"  just  because  she 
has  seen  the  whites  of  his  eyes.  Then  the  hot- 
blooded  southern  crowd  comes  out.  .  .  . 

The  war  was  a  healthy  war.  It  did  much  good, 
it  strengthened  the  roots  of  many  American  families  ; 
it  gave  the  nation  a  criterion  for  future  development  ; 
it  brought  many  individuals  nearer  to  reality,  brought 
them  to  the  mystery  of  life,  caused  them  to  say  each 
day  their  prayers  to  God.  But  if  a  war  must  be 
judged  by  its  political  effect,  then  as  regards  the 
happiness  of  the  negro  the  war  has  not  yet  proved 
to  be  a  success.  The  service  by  the  graveside,  and 
the  apt  words  of  Abraham  Lincoln  were  a  reminder 
to  the  American  people  that  though  they  realise  to 
themselves  the  maximum  of  prosperity  the  New 
World  affords,  and  yet  lose  their  souls,  it  profits  them 
nothing.  America  by  her  unwritten  but  infallible 
charter  is  consecrated  to  freedom.  If  America  is 
going  to  be  true  to  itself  it  must  work  for  freedom, 
it  must  carry  out  the  idea  of  freedom.  The  emigrant 
from  Europe  expects  to  realise  in  America  the  idea 
of  freedom,  the  opportunity  for  personal  and  indi- 


x  DECORATION  DAY  183 

vidual  development.  He  does  not  expect  to  find 
repeated  there  the  caste  system  and  relative  in 
dustrial  slavery  of  the  East. 

Clearfield  was  much  touched  by  the  grave -side 
service.  The  whole  evening  after  it  the  men  in  the 
hotel  lounge  talked  American  sentiment.  The  lads 
and  lasses  crowded  into  the  cinema  houses,  and 
watched  with  much  edification  the  specially  instructive 
set  of  films  which,  on  the  recommendation  of  the 
town  council,  had  been  specially  installed  for  the 
occasion, — the  perils  of  life  for  a  young  girl  going 
to  dance-halls,  the  Soudanese  at  work,  Japanese 
children  at  play,  the  ferocious  habits  of  the  hundred- 
legs,  a  review  of  troops  at  Tiflis,  a  portrait  of  the 
Governor  of  Mississippi  wearing  a  high  silk  hat, 
pottery-making  in  North  Borneo,  the  Path6  news. 
It  was  good  to  see  so  many  pictures  of  foreign  and 
dark-skinned  people  presented  in  an  interesting  and 
sympathetic  manner.  The  Americans  need  to  care 
more  for  the  national  life  of  other  races.  For  they 
are  often  strangely  contemptuous  of  the  people  they 
conceive  to  be  wasting  their  time. 

I  had  a  pleasant  talk  with  a  doctor  who  was 
extremely  keen  on  "  temperance."  He  struck  up 
acquaintance  with  me  by  complimenting  me  on  my 
complexion,  and  betting  I  didn't  touch  spirituous 
liquors.  "The  war's  still  going  on,"  said  he.  "I 
wage  my  part  against  drink  and  disease.  I'd  like 
to  make  the  medical  profession  a  poor  one  to  enter, 


1 84         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  x 

yes,  sirr.  I'd  like  to  uproot  disease,  and  if  I  could 
stop  the  drinking  in  America  I'd  do  it.  Never 
touch  liquor  and  you'll  never  have  gout,  live  to  a 
good  age,  and  be  happy.  I  am  glad  to  meet  you, 
sir,  glad  to  meet  a  Briton.  America  will  stand 
shoulder  and  shoulder  with  the  British  in  war  or 
peace.  They  are  of  the  same  blood.  The  only  two 
civilised  nations  in  the  world." 

All  the  same,  Clearfield  regarded  me  with  some 
suspicion,  and  as  I  sat  at  my  bedroom  window  at 
night  a  young  man  called  up  : 

"  English  Gawd  :  Lord  Salisbury." 


XI 
WAYFARERS  OF  ALL  NATIONALITIES 

THE  men  whom  you  meet  during  the  day  are  like 
a  hand  of  cards  dealt  out  to  you  by  Providence. 
But  they  are  more  than  that,  for  you  feel  that  luck 
does  not  enter  into  it.  You  feel  there  is  no  such 
thing  as  luck,  and  that  the  wayfarer  is  in  his  way 
a  messenger  sent  to  you  by  the  hospitable  spirit  of 
man.  He  brings  a  sacred  opportunity. 

I  sit  tending  my  fire,  and  watching  and  balancing 
the  kettle  upon  it ;  or  I  sit  beside  the  cheerful  blaze 
on  which  I  have  cooked  my  breakfast  or  my  dinner, 
and  I  hold  my  mug  of  coffee  in  my  hand  and  my 
piece  of  bread  ;  I  chip  my  just-boiled  eggs,  or  I  am 
digging  into  a  pot  of  apple-jelly  or  cutting  up  a 
pine-apple,  and  I  feel  very  tender  towards  the  man 
who  comes  along  the  road  and  stops  to  pass  a 
greeting  and  give  and  take  the  news  of  the  day 
and  the  intelligence  of  the  district. 

There  is  a  sort  of  hermit's  charity.  It  is  to 
have  a  spirit  that  is  quietly  joyful,  to  be  in  that 
state  towards  man  that  a  gentle  woodsman  is  towards 

the  shy  birds  who  are  not  afraid  of  him  as  he  lies 

185 


i86         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  xi 

on  a  forest  bank  and  watches  them  tripping  to  and 
from  their  little  nests.  Your  fellow-man  instinctively 
knows  you  and  trusts  you,  and  he  puts  aside  the 
mask  in  which  he  takes  refuge  from  other  fellow- 
travellers  who  are  alert  and  busy.  I  cherish  as  very 
precious  all  the  little  talks  I  had  with  this  man  and 
that  man  who  came  up  to  me  in  America. 

As  I  sat  one  day  by  the  side  of  my  pleasant 
Susquehanna  road,  an  oil-carrier  met  me,  a  gentle- 
voiced  man  in  charge  of  four  tons  of  kerosene  and 
petrol,  which  his  horses  were  dragging  over  the 
mountains  from  village  to  village  and  store  to  store. 
It  was  an  opportunity  to  rest  the  horses,  and  the 
driver  pulled  up,  relaxed  his  reins  and  entered  into 
converse  with  me.  Was  I  going  far?  Why  was  I 
tramping  ?  What  nationality  was  I  ?  I  told  him 
what  I  was  doing,  and  he  said  he  would  like  to  give 
up  his  job  and  do  the  same  ;  he  also  was  of  British 
origin,  though  his  mother  was  a  German.  He  was  a 
descendant  of  Sir  Robert  Downing.  "  There  used 
to  be  many  English  about  here,"  said  he,  "  but  they 
wore  off."  He  went  on  to  tell  me  what  a  wild 
district  it  had  once  been.  His  grandfather  had  shot 
a  panther  on  the  mountains.  But  there  were  no 
panthers  now.  The  railways  and  the  automobiles 
had  frightened  the  wild  things  away.  The  change 
had  come  about  very  suddenly.  He  remembered 
when  there  were  no  telephone-poles  along  the  road, 
but  only  road-poles.  It  used  to  be  a  posting- road, 
and  a  good  one  too ;  but  now  the  automobiles  had 


xi  WAYFARERS  187 

torn  up  all  the  surface,  and  no  one  would  take  any 
trouble  about  the  needs  of  horse  vehicles. 

One  hot  noontide,  on  the  road  to  Shippenville  and 
Oil  City,  I  was  having  luncheon  when  a  very  pleasant 
Swede  came  down  the  road  carrying  a  bucket  in  his 
hand, — Mr.  G.  B.  Olson,  bossing  a  gang  of  workers 
on  the  highway.  He  was  going  down  the  hill  to  a 
special  spring  to  draw  water  for  his  thirsty  men,  but 
he  could  hardly  resist  the  smoke  of  my  wayside  fire, 
and  he  told  me,  as  it  seemed,  his  whole  story.  He 
had  come  to  America  in  1873,  and  had  worked  on  a 
farm  in  Illinois  before  the  great  Chicago  fire.  He 
was  twenty-four  then,  and  was  sixty-five  now. 

When  he  heard  I  was  British  he  told  me  how 
he  had  come  from  Europe  via  Leith  and  Glasgow, 
and  had  been  fifteen  and  a  half  days  crossing  the 
Atlantic. 

"  Have  you  ever  been  back  to  Sweden  ? "  I 
asked. 

"  No,  sirr,  never." 

"  Are  you  content  with  America?  " 

"  Yes,  sirr ;  it's  the  finest  country  under  the  sun. 
It  gives  the  working  man  a  show." 

"  The  Americans  speak  very  kindly  of  your 
countrymen.  They  like  them." 

"  Yes.  We  gave  the  Americans  a  good  lift,  we 
Swedes,  Norwegians,  Danes,  and  Germans,  by 
settling  the  land  when  the  rest  of  the  colonists  were 
running  to  the  towns.  We  came  in  and  did  the 
rough  pioneer  work  that  had  to  be  done  if  America 


188         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  xi 

was  going  to  be  more  than  a  mushroom  growth. 
Where  would  America  be  to-day  if  it  were  not  for 
us  in  Minnesota,  Wisconsin,  Iowa?  You  can't  keep 
up  big  cities  unless  you've  got  plenty  of  men  work 
ing  in  the  background  on  the  land." 

The  Swede  went  on  to  compliment  me  on  my 
English.  I  spoke  pretty  clear  for  one  who  had  been 
only  three  months  in  the  country.  He  had  met 
many  British  who  spoke  "  very  broken,"  especially 
Scotch.  "  I  shouldn't  have  been  able  to  understand 
them,"  said  he,  "  but  that  I  am  a  foreigner  myself, 
and  know  what  it  is  not  to  speak  good." 

"  Well,  I  must  be  off,"  he  added,  and  pointed  to 
the  bucket. 

"  You've  got  a  gang  of  men  working  up  above  ?  " 

"Yes.  I'm  bossing  them  for  the  State.  A 
good  job  it  is  too,  good  money,  and  I  don't  have  to 
work  much." 

"  I  should  say  you'd  make  a  kind  boss ! " 

"Yes.  I  never  do  anything  against  them.  I 
get  a  good  day's  work  out  of  the  men,  but  I  never 
put  myself  above  them.  I've  got  authority,  that's 
all — it  doesn't  make  me  better'n  they.  I've  got  to 
boss  them,  they've  got  to  work.  That's  how  it's 
turned  out.  .  .  .  Well,  I  must  be  off  to  water  my 
hands ! " 

And  he  hastened  away  down  the  hill,  whilst  I  put 
my  things  together  and  shouldered  my  pack. 

The  strange  thing  about  this  American  journey 
was  the  diversity  of  nationality  I  encountered,  and 


xi  WAYFARERS  189 

the  friendly  terms  in  which  it  was  possible  for  me  as 
a  man  on  the  road  to  converse  with  them. 

On  leaving  Clearfield  I  fell  in  with  Peter  Deemeff, 
a  clever  little  Bulgarian  immigrant,  and  spent  two 
days  in  his  company.  He  was  an  unpractical, 
rebellious  boy,  a  student  by  inclination,  but  a 
labourer  by  necessity,  nervous  in  temperament,  and 
alternately  gay  and  despondent.  He  was  thin- 
bodied,  broad-browed,  clean-shaven,  but  blue-black 
with  the  multitude  of  his  hair-roots  ;  he  had  two 
rows  of  faultless,  little  milk-white  teeth,  an  angelic 
Bulgarian  smile,  and  an  occasional  ugly  American 
grimace. 

We  tramped  along  the  most  beautiful  Susque- 
hanna  road  to  Curwenville,  and  then  through 
magnificent  gorges  to  the  height  of  Luthersburg. 

"  Ho  !  Where  you  going  ?  "  said  one  of  a  group 
of  Italian  labourers  at  Curwenville. 

"Oil  City,"  I  answered. 

"  You'll  be  sore,"  the  Italian  rejoined,  and  slapped 
his  thigh.  "  Why  not  stop  here  and  get  good  job  ?  " 

But  Peter  and  I  were  not  looking  for  a  job  just 
then,  and  we  went  on.  I  was  glad  the  Bulgarian 
was  not  tempted,  for  I  relished  his  company,  and  he 
was  pleasantly  loquacious. 

"  Do  you  like  the  Americans?  "  I  asked  him. 

He  raised  his  eyebrows.  Evidently  he  did  not 
like  them  very  much. 

"  Half-civilise,"  said  he.  "When  I  say  my  boss, 
*  I  go,'  he  want  me  fight.  He  offens  me.  I  say, 


190         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  xi 

'  You  Americans — bulldogs,  no  more,  half-civilise.' 
And  I  go  all  the  same  and  no  fight  great  big  fat 
American." 

"  You  think  Bulgaria  a  better  country  ?  " 

"  'S  a  poor  country,  that's  all.  There's  more  life 
in  Europe.  Americans  don't  know  what  they  live 
for." 

I  looked  with  some  astonishment  on  this  day- 
labourer  in  shabby  attire  talking  thus  intelligently, 
and  withal  so  frankly. 

He  told  me  he  hated  the  English.  They  had 
said,  anent  the  Balkan  War,  "  The  fruits  must  not  be 
taken  from  the  victors  "  ;  but  when  Montenegro  took 
Scutari  they  were  the  first  to  say  to  King  Nicholas, 
"  Go  back,  go  back."  He  thought  I  was  a  Slav 
immigrant  like  himself,  or  he  would  not  have  struck 
up  acquaintance  with  me.  But  he  seemed  relieved 
when  I  told  him  my  sympathies  were  entirely  with 
the  Slavs. 

We  talked  of  Russian  literature,  and  of  Tolstoy 
in  particular. 

"  Tolstoy  understood  about  God,"  said  he.  "  He 
said  God  is  within  you,  not  far  away  or  everywhere, 
but  in  yourself.  By  that  I  understand  life.  All  life 
springs  from  inside.  What  comes  from  outside  is 
nahthing.  That  is  how  Americans  live — in  outside 
things,  going  to  shows,  baseball  matches.  ...  I 
know  Shakespeare  was  the  mirror  of  life,  that's  not 
what  I  mean.  .  .  .  To  be  educated  mentally  is  light 
and  life  ;  to  be  developed  only  physically  is  death 


xi  WAYFARERS  191 

and  .  .  .  That's  why  I  say  bulldogs,  not  civilise. 
When  I  was  in  Philadelphia  I  hear  a  Socialist  in  the 
Park  and  he  asked,  '  How  d'ye  fellows  live? — eat — 
work,  eat — work — drink,  eat — work — sleep,  eat — 
work — sleep.  Machines  that's  what  y'are.' ' 

The  most  astonishing  evidence  of  thought  and 
culture  that  Peter  Deemeff  gave  me  was  contained 
in  a  reflection  he  made  half-aloud,  in  a  pause  in  the 
conversation — "A  great  writer  once  said,  *  If  God 
had  not  existed,  man  would  have  invented  his  God  ' 
— that  is  a  good  idea,  eh  ?  "  Fancy  that  from  the 
lips  of  an  unskilled  labourer!  These  foreign 
working-men  are  bringing  something  new  to 
America.  If  they  only  settle  down  to  be  American 
citizens  and  look  after  their  children's  education ! 

"  Do  many  Bulgarians  think  ?  "  I  asked  him. 

"  Yes,  many — they  think  more  than  I  do." 

We  spent  the  night  under  great  rocks ;  he  under 
one,  I  under  another.  My  bed,  which  I  made  soft 
with  last  year's  bracken,  was  under  three  immense 
boulders,  a  natural  shelter,  a  deep  dark  cavern  with 
an  opening  that  looked  across  the  river-gorge  to  the 
forested  cliff  on  the  other  side.  The  Bulgarian,  less 
careful  about  his  comfort,  lay  in  a  ferny  hollow,  just 
sheltered  by  an  overhanging  stone.  Before  lying 
down  he  commended  himself  to  God,  and  crossed 
himself  very  delicately  and  trustfully.  With  all  his 
philosophy  he  had  not  cast  off  the  habits  of  the 
homeland.  And  almost  directly  he  laid  himself 
down  he  fell  asleep. 


192         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  xi 

It  was  a  wonderful  night.  As  I  lay  in  my  cave 
and  the  first  star  was  looking  down  at  me  from  over 
the  great  wooded  cliff,  what  was  my  astonishment 
to  see  a  living  spark  go  past  the  entrance  of  the 
cave,  a  flame  on  wings — the  firefly.  I  lay  and 
watched  the  forest  lose  its  trees,  and  the  cliff  become 
one  great  black  wall,  ragged  all  along  the  crest. 
Mists  crept  up  and  hid  the  wall  for  a  while,  and 
then  passed.  An  hour  and  a  half  after  I  had  lain 
down,  and  the  Bulgarian  had  fallen  asleep,  I  opened 
my  eyes  and  looked  out  at  the  black  wall — little 
lamps  were  momentarily  appearing  and  disappearing 
far  away  in  the  mysterious  dark  depths  of  the  cliff 
It  seemed  to  me  that  if  when  we  die  we  perish 
utterly,  then  that  living  flame  moving  past  my  door 
was  something  like  the  passing  of  man's  life.  It 
was  strange  to  lie  on  the  plucked  rustling  bracken, 
and  have  the  consciousness  of  the  cold  sepulchre- 
like  roof  of  the  cave,  and  look  out  at  the  figure  of 
man's  life.  But  the  river  chorus  lulled  me  to  sleep. 
Whenever  I  reawakened  and  looked  out  I  saw  the 
little  lights  once  more,  appearing  and  vanishing, 
like  minutest  sprites  searching  the  forest  with 
lanterns. 

Peter  and  I  woke  almost  at  the  same  time  in  the 
morning  in  a  dense  mist.  I  sent  him  for  water,  and 
I  collected  wood  for  a  fire.  We  made  tea,  took  in 
warmth,  and  then  set  off  once  more. 

"  Let  us  go  to  a  farm-house  and  get  some  break 
fast,"  said  I. 


xi  WAYFARERS  193 

"  We  get  it  most  likely  for  nothing,  because  it's 
Sunday,"  said  Peter,  with  a  smile. 

The  Americans  are  much  more  hospitable  on 
Sundays  than  on  week-days.  They  do  not,  how 
ever,  like  to  see  you  tramping  the  road  on  the  day 
of  rest ;  it  is  thought  to  be  an  infraction  of  the 
Sabbath — though  it  is  difficult  to  see  what  tramps 
can  do  but  tramp  on  a  Sunday. 

We  had  a  splendid  breakfast  for  ten  cents  apiece 
at  a  stock-breeding  farm  below  Luthersburg, — pork 
and  beans,  bread  and  butter  and  cookies,  strawberry 
jam  and  home-canned  plums,  pear-jelly.  I  thanked 
the  lady  of  the  establishment  when  we  had  finished, 
and  remarked  that  I  thought  it  very  cheap  at  the 
price.  She  answered  that  she  didn't  serve  out 
lunches  for  a  profit,  but  wouldn't  let  decent  men 
pass  hungry. 

"  Are  you  hiking  to  the  next  burg  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Chicago,"  said  I. 

"  Gee ! " 

We  came  to  Luthersburg,  high  up  on  the  crest  of 
the  hills,  a  large  village,  with  two  severe -looking 
churches. 

"When  I  see  these  narrow  spires  I'm  afraid," 
said  the  Bulgarian.  "  I  should  have  to  wither  my 
soul  and  make  it  small  to  get  into  one  of  these 
churches.  I  like  a  church  with  walls  of  praise  and 
a  spire  of  yearning, — Tolstoy,  eh  ?  That  spire  says 
to  me,  '  I  feared  Thee,  O  God,  because  Thou  art  an 


austere  man.' " 


i94         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  xi 

I,  for  my  part,  thought  it  strange  that  Americans, 
taking  so  many  risks  in  business,  and  daring  and 
imagining  so  large-heartedly  in  the  secular  world, 
should  be  satisfied  with  so  cramped  an  expression 
of  their  religion. 

Peter  and  I  went  down  on  the  other  side  of  the 
hills  to  Helvetia,  the  first  town  in  a  wild  coaling 
district,  a  place  of  many  Austrians,  Poles,  and  Huns. 
It  was  the  Sunday  evening  promenade,  and  every 
one  was  out  of  doors,  hundreds  of  miners  and 
labourers  in  straight -creased  trousers  (how  soon 
obtained)  and  cheap  felt  hats,  a  similar  number  of 
dark,  interesting-looking  Polish  girls  in  their  gaudy 
Sunday  best.  We  passed  a  hundred  yards  of  grey 
coke-ovens  glowing  at  all  their  doors  and  emitting 
hundreds  of  fires  and  flames.  Peter  seemed  un 
usually  attracted  by  the  coke-ovens  or  by  the  Slav 
population,  and  he  decided  to  remain  at  Helvetia 
and  seek  for  a  job  on  the  morrow.  So  I  accom 
panied  him  into  a  "  boarding-house,"  and  was  ready 
to  spend  the  night  with  him.  But  when  I  saw  the 
accommodation  of  coaly  beds  I  cried  off.  So  the 
Bulgarian  and  I  parted.  I  went  on  to  Sykesville 
and  the  Hotel  Sykes.  Obviously  I  was  in  America, 
— fancy  calling  a  hotel  in  England  "  Hotel  Sykes." 
But  I  did  not  stay  there,  preferring  to  hasten  up 
country  and  get  a  long  step  beyond  black  breaker- 
towers,  the  sooty  inclines  up  which  trucks  ran  from 
the  mines,  the  coke-ovens,  the  fields  full  of  black 
stumps  and  rotting  grass,  the  seemingly  poverty- 


xi  WAYFARERS  195 

stricken  frame-buildings,  and  more  dirt  and  misery 
than  you  would  see  even  in  a  bad  district  in  Russia. 
It  surprised  me  to  see  the  Sunday  clothes  of  Sykes- 
ville,  the  white  collars,  the  bright  red  ties,  the  blue 
serge  trousers  with  creases,  the  bowler  hats,  and 
American  smiles.  Despite  all  the  dirt,  these  new- 
come  immigrants  say  Yes  to  American  life  and 
American  hopes.  But  to  my  eyes  it  was  a  terrible 
place  in  which  to  live.  It  was  an  astonishing 
change,  moreover,  to  pass  from  the  magnificent 
loveliness  of  the  Susquehanna  gorges  to  this  inferno 
of  a  colliery.  But  I  managed  to  pass  out  of  this 
region  almost  as  quickly  as  I  came  into  it,  and  next 
day  was  in  the  lovely  country  about  Reynoldsville ; 
and  I  tramped  through  beautiful  agricultural  or 
forested  country  to  the  bright  towns  of  Brookville, 
Clarion,  and  Shippenville,  clean,  new,  handsome 
settlements,  with  green  lawns,  shady  avenues,  fine 
houses,  and  well -stocked  shops.  In  such  places 
I  saw  America  at  its  best,  just  as  at  Helvetia  and 
Sykesville  I  saw  it  at  about  its  worst.  I  suppose 
Sykesville  will  never  be  made  as  beautiful  as  Brook 
ville  ;  the  one  is  the  coal -cellar,  the  other  is  the 
drawing-room  in  the  house  of  modern  America. 

But  I  had  definitely  left  the  coal  region  behind  ; 
now  I  was  striking  north,  for  oil.  In  three  days 
I  came  into  Oil  City,  so  wonderfully  situated  on  the 
wide  and  stately  Alleghany  river — the  river  having 
brown  rings  here  and  there,  glimmering  with 
wandering  oil.  The  city  is  built  up  five  or  six 


196         WITH   POOR  IMMIGRANTS  XT 

hills,  and  is  only  a  unity  by  virtue  of  its  fine  bridges. 
It  is  a  clean  town  compared  with  Scranton,  as  oil  is 
cleaner  to  deal  with  than  coal.  But  the  houses  are 
more  ramshackle.  The  poor  people's  dwellings 
suggest  to  the  eye  that  they  were  made  in  a  great 
hurry  many  years  ago,  and  are  now  falling  to  bits  ; 
they  are  set  one  behind  another  up  the  hills,  and 
you  climb  to  them  by  wooden  stairways.  Some  seem 
veritably  tumbling  down  the  hill.  There  were  a  fair 
number  of  foreign  immigrants  there,  mostly  Italians  ; 
but  the  oil  business  seems  to  be  worked  by  Ameri 
cans,  the  foreigners  being  too  stupid  to  understand. 
Oil  City  is  a  cheap  town  to  live  in.  I  was  boarded 
at  a  hotel  for  a  dollar  a  day  ;  and  when  I  bought 
provisions  for  my  next  tramp  to  Erie  Shore  I  found 
everything  cheaper  than  in  Eastern  Pennsylvania. 
There  appeared  to  be  little  cultured  life,  however, 
no  theatre  but  the  cinema,  and  little  offered  for  sale 
in  the  shape  of  books. 

I  set  out  for  Meadville  on  the  "Meadville  Pike." 
A  feature  of  the  new  landscape  and  of  the  road  and 
fields  was  the  oil -pump,  working  all  by  itself,  the 
long  cables,  connecting  the  pump  with  the  engine, 
often  coming  across  the  roadway,  the  jig,  jig,  jig  of 
the  pumping  movement,  the  clump,  clump,  clump, 
stump  of  the  engine — the  pulse  of  the  industrial 
countryside. 

I  met  a  Dutchman.      He  asked  : 

-What's  on?     What  is  it  for  ?" 

I  told  him  I  was  studying  the  emerging  American, 


xi  WAYFARERS  197 

and  he  told  me  what  a  menace  the  fecund  Slavs 
were  to  the  barren  Americans.  According  to  him 
the  extinction  of  the  American  was  a  matter  of 
mathematics. 

I  came  upon  an  enormous  gang  of  Americans, 
Russians,  Slavs,  Italians  at  work  on  the  high  road, 
digging  it  out,  laying  a  bed  of  mortar,  putting  down 
bricks  ;  some  hundreds  of  workmen,  extending  over 
a  mile  and  a  half  of  closed  road.  Many  of  the 
American  workmen  were  dressed  as  smartly  as 
stockbrokers'  clerks  and  city  men,  and  they  kept 
themselves  neat  and  clean — a  new  phenomenon  in 
labouring.  Americans,  however,  were  working 
together,  Italians  together,  and  Russians  together. 
A  fine-looking  American  workman  said  to  me 
knowingly,  "  You  can  photograph  me  if  you  like, 
but  the  Guineas  won't  want  to  be  photographed — 
most  of  them  shot  some  one  sometime  or  other,  you 
bet ! " 

Near  Cochranton  I  made  the  acquaintance  of 
five  little  girls — Julia,  Margaret,  Elinor,  Cora,  and 
Georgiana — scampering  about  in  bare  legs  and 
week-day  frocks,  whilst  father  and  mother,  with 
gauze  bags  on  their  heads,  were  "boxing  the  bees." 
It  was  the  first  swarm  of  summer ;  two  lots  of  bees 
had  been  boxed,  but  the  third  was  giving  much 
trouble.  Julia,  aged  twelve,  was  a  very  pretty  girl, 
and  when  at  her  mother's  recommendation  she 
went  indoors,  washed  her  face  and  put  on  a  Sunday 
frock,  she  looked  a  very  smart  young  lady.  She 


i98         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  xi 

was  conscious  of  that  fact,  and  informed  me  in  course 
of  conversation  that  she  was  going  to  travel  when 
she  was  grown  up.  She  was  dying  to  see  Paris, 
and  she  wanted  to  visit  all  the  European  towns ! 

Some  miles  north,  near  Frenchville,  I  met  one 
of  the  French  colonists  of  Northern  Pennsylvania,— 
a  tall,  well-built  stripling, — and  he  told  me  how  the 
Breton  peasants  had  settled  at  Boussot  and  French 
ville,  bringing  all  their  French  ways  of  farming  and 
economy,  and  becoming  the  admiration  of  the 
district  round — a  little  Brittany.  The  young  man's 
father-in-law  had  been  the  first  Frenchman  to  come 
and  settle  in  the  district.  After  him  had  come, 
straight  from  France,  relatives  and  friends,  and 
relatives  of  friends  and  friends  of  friends  in  widen 
ing  circles.  They  were  beginning  to  speak  English 
well  now,  but  the  newcomers  were  still  without  the 
new  language.  It  was  interesting  for  me  to  realise 
what  a  great  gain  such  people  were  to  America — 
to  the  American  nation  in  the  making.  It  is  good 
to  think  of  such  agricultural  settlements  lying  in 
the  background  of  industrial  America — the  whole 
villages  of  Swedes,  of  Russians,  of  Danes,  Finns, 
Germans,  French.  They  are  ethnic  reserves  ;  they 
mature  and  improve  in  the  background.  They  are 
Capital.  If  urban  America  can  subsist  on  the 
interest,  the  surplus  of  the  ambitious,  how  much 
richer  she  will  be  than  if  the  population  of  whole 
country-sides  is  tempted  to  rush  p£le-mele  to  the 
places  of  fortune-making  and  body-wasting. 


xi  WAYFARERS  199 

Coming  into  Meadville,  a  town  of  twelve  thousand 
inhabitants,  most  of  the  labourers  of  whom  are 
Italians  employed  at  the  great  railway  works,  I  was 
attracted  to  Nicola  Hiagg,  a  Syrian,  sitting  outside 
his  ice-cream  shop  reading  the  Syrian  paper.  Whilst 
I  had  a  "  pine-apple  soda,"  I  drew  him  into  talk. 
It  was  a  matter  of  pleasing  interest  to  him  that  I 
had  myself  tramped  in  Syria,  and  knew  the  con 
ditions  in  his  native  land.  Nicola  had  first  left 
Syria  twelve  years  ago,  had  come  to  Philadelphia, 
and  started  making  his  living  selling  "  soft  drinks  " 
in  the  street.  After  five  years  he  had  saved  enough 
to  take  a  holiday  and  go  back  to  the  old  land.  He 
and  his  brother  had  been  merchants  in  Jerusalem 
before  he  set  out  for  America ;  the  brother  had  had 
charge  of  the  store,  and  Nicola  had  convoyed  the 
merchandise  and  the  train  of  thirty  asses  to  and 
from  the  country.  He  had  many  friends  in  Syria, 
but  it  was  a  poor  country.  The  Turks  were  blood 
suckers,  and  drained  it  of  every  drop  of  vital  energy. 

"  I  lived  in  a  poor  little  town  between  Beyrout 
and  Damascus,  not  with  my  brother  in  Jerusalem. 
So  poor  !  You  cannot  start  anything  new  in  Syria 
—the  Turk  interferes.  No  bizness !  What  you 
think  of  the  war  ?  The  Turk  is  beaten,  hey  ?  Now 
is  the  time  for  the  Syrians  to  unite  and  throw  off 
the  Turk.  There  are  Syrians  all  over  the  world ; 
they  are  prosperous  everywhere  but  in  Syria.  .  .  . 
America  is  a  fine  country ;  but  if  Syria  became 
independent  I'd  go  back.  .  .  ." 


200        WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  xi 

Nicola,  when  he  had  his  holiday,  found  a  Syrian 
girl  and  brought  her  back  to  America  as  his  wife. 
She  was  not  visible  now,  however ;  for  the  Syrian 
kept  her  in  the  background,  and  he  told  me  he 
didn't  believe  in  women's  rights  to  public  life.  A 
bit  of  a  Turk  himself! 

He  was  very  proud  of  his  little  girl,  who  is  being 
brought  up  as  an  American  in  the  town  school. 
"  Already  she  can  write,  and  when  you  say  to  her, 
'Write  something/  she  does  not  look  up  at  you 
and  say,  '  How  d'you  spell  it  ?'  She  just  writes  it." 

"  She's  sharp." 

"You  bet." 

The  Turks,  the  Greeks,  and  the  Syrians,  and  to 
some  extent  the  Italians,  are  engaged  in  the  sweet- 
stuff  and  ice-cream  business.  Turkish  Delight,  the 
most  characteristic  thing  of  the  Levant,  seems  to 
be  their  bond  of  union.  It  is  a  great  business  in 
America,  for  the  Americans  are,  beyond  all  com 
parison,  fonder  of  sweet  things  than  we  are.  I 
stopped  one  day  at  a  great  candy  shop  in  South 
Bend,  Indiana.  It  was  kept  by  a  Mr.  Poledor, 
who  was  so  pleased  that  I  had  been  in  Greece  and 
knew  the  habits  of  the  Greek  Orthodox,  that  he 
gave  me  the  freedom  of  the  shop  and  bade  me 
order  anything  I  liked — he  would  "  stand  treat." 
There  were  over  a  hundred  ways  of  having  ice 
cream,  twenty  sorts  of  ice-cream  soda,  thirteen 
sorts  of  lemonade,  twelve  frappes,  and  the  menu 
card  was  something  like  a  band  programme. 


xi  WAYFARERS  201 

Mr.  Poledor  was  a  man  of  inventiveness,  and  the 
names  of  some  of  the  dishes  were  as  delicious  as 
the  dishes  themselves.  I  transcribe  a  few  : 

Merry  Widow. 
Don't  Care. 
John  D.  (is  very  rich). 
Yankee  Doodle. 
Upside  down. 
New  Moon. 
Sweet  Smile. 
Twin  Beauties. 
N6tre  Dame. 
Lover's  Delight. 
Black-eyed  Susan. 

A  young  man  could  take  his  girl  there  and  give 
her  anything  she  asked  for,  were  it  the  moon 
itself.  The  Greek  was  a  magician. 

But  to  return.  As  I  was  going  out  of  Mead- 
ville,  two  young  men  swung  out  of  a  saloon  and 
addressed  me  thus  strangely  : 

"  Have  you  had  a  benevolent  ?  We're  giving 
them  away." 

One  of  them  showed  me  a  stylographic  pen. 

"  Wha're  you  doing  ?  "  said  the  other. 

"  Oh,  I'm  travelling,"  I  replied. 

"  How  d'ye  get  your  living  ?  " 

*'  I  write  in  the  magazines  now  and  then." 

A  look  of  disappointment  crept  over  the  faces  of 
the  young  men.  The  stylographic  pen  was  replaced 
in  waistcoat  pocket. 

14  Did  you  say  you  were  working  for  a  magazine  ? 


202         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  xi 

So  are  we — The  Homestead.  I  was  about  to  ask 
you  to  become  a  subscriber." 

"And  the  benevolent?"  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  these  are  given  away  to  subscribers." 

I  explained  that  I  wasn't  a  commercial  traveller, 
but  one  of  those  who  wrote  sometimes  in 
magazines. 

"  You'd  be  a  sort  of  reporter  ?  " 

"  Well,  not  quite." 

"A  poet?" 

"  No.     I  earn  my  living  by  writing." 

"  Better  than  a  poet,  I  suppose.  Well,  good- 
day,  wish  you  luck  !  " 

So  I  won  free  of  my  last  big  town  in  mighty 
Pennsylvania,  and  set  out  for  the  State  of  Ohio. 

I  had  a  "still-creation-day"  in  quiet  country,  and 
towards  evening  came  through  the  woods  to  the 
store  and  house  of  Padan-Aram.  And  just  on  the 
border  of  Ohio  an  elf-like  person  skipped  out  of  a 
large  farm  and  conducted  me  across,  a  boy  of  about 
twenty  years,  who  cried  out  to  me  shrilly  as  he 
caught  me  up : 

"  I  say,  you're  still  in  Pennsylvania." 

"  Yes,"  said  I. 

"  Yes,  but  that  house  over  there  is  in  Ohio.  Say ! 
Would  you  like  some  candy  ?  " 

"  I  thought  you  were  fumbling  in  your  pocket  for 
tobacco,"  said  I. 

"  No  use  for  it,"  said  the  boy.  "  I've  found  God. 
I  used  to  chew  it,  but  I've  stopped  it." 


xi  WAYFARERS  203 

"  That  is  good.     You've  a  strong  will,"  said  I. 

"  I  reckon  God  can  break  any  will,"  said  the  boy. 
"  Once  I  ran  away  from  home  with  five  hundred 
dollars.  You're  walking  ?  I  can  walk.  I  walked  a 
hundred  miles  in  five  days  and  five  nights.  Feet 
were  sore  for  a  week.  Five  times  I  ran  away.  The 
sixth  time  I  stayed  away  four  years  and  worked  on 
the  steel  works." 

"Were  your  parents  unkind?"  I  asked.  "Or 
did  you  run  away  to  see  life  ?  " 

"  Ran  to  show  them  I  could,"  said  the  boy. 
"  They  lay  in  to  me,  I  can  tell  you.  There  were 
Chinamen  and  niggers — all  sorts.  Hit  a  fellow 
over  the  head  with  an  ice-cream  refrigerator — 
killed  him  dead." 

"Where  was  this?'* 

"  Poke.  At  the  institution.  I  showed  them  I 
could  fight." 

"  What  are  you,  American  ?  " 

"  Pennsylvanian  Dutch." 

"  I  suppose  there  is  a  church  about  here  that  you 
go  to  ?  " 

"Yes;  a  Methodist.  But  I  don't  go.  Family 
service.  We  get  many  blessings." 

"  Is  there  a  hotel  at  Padan-Aram  ?  " 

"  No  ;  but  at  Leon.  If  you  go  there,  you'll  get  a 
Christian  woman.  You'll  find  God.  She'll  lighten 
your  load.  She's  a  saint.  I  know  her  well." 

"What's  your  name?     I'll  mention  you  to  her." 

"  Dull." 


204         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  xi 

"  I'll  tell  her  I  met  you." 

"  Tell  her  you  met  Ralph  Dillie— she'll  know." 

-All  right,"  said  I. 

"  Now  you're  in  Ohio,"  said  the  boy.     "  Are  you 
going  into  the  store  at  Padan-Aram  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Don't  you  want  to  buy  some  candy  ?  " 

"  No.     I  don't  eat  it  along  the  road." 

"  Buy  some  for  me." 

"All  right;  yes." 

"  Buy  a  nickel's  worth." 

-Yes." 

Ralph  Dillie  rejoiced.     We  went  into  the  store 
and  ordered  a  nickel's  worth  of  candy.    And  directly 
the  boy  got  it  he  started  back  for  home  on  the  run. 
And  I  watched  him  re-cross  the  border  once  more— 
into  Pennsylvania. 


XII 
CHARACTERISTICS 

THE  chief  characteristic  of  America  is  an  immense 
patriotism,  and  out  of  that  patriotism  spring  a 
thousand  minor  characteristics,  which,  taken  by 
themselves,  may  be  considered  blemishes  by  the 
critical  foreigner, — such  troublesome  little  character 
istics  as  national  pride  and  thin-skinnedness,  national 
bluster  and  cock-sureness.  But  personal  annoyance 
should  not  blind  the  critic  or  appreciator  to  the 
fundamental  fact  of  the  American's  belief  in  America. 
This  belief  is  not  a  narrow  partizanship,  though  it 
may  seem  unpleasantly  like  that  to  those  who  listen 
to  the  clamour  of  excited  Americans  at  the  Olympic 
games  and  other  competitions  of  an  international 
interest.  It  is  not  merely  the  commercial  instinct 
ever  on  the  watch  for  opportunities  for  self- 
advertisement.  It  is  a  real,  hearty  patriotic  fervour, 
the  deepest  thing  in  an  American.  It  is  something 
that  cannot  be  shaken. 

"It  is  a  sacrament  to   walk   the  streets  as   an 

American  citizen"  says    a    Presbyterian    circular. 

205 


206        WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS          xn 

"Being  an  American  is  a  sacred  mission.  Our 
whole  life  must  be  enthralled  by  a  holy  passion." 

You  could  never  hear  it  said,  except  in  an 
imperial  way,  that  being  a  Briton,  or  being  a  German, 
or  being  a  Russian  was  a  sacred  mission.  In 
Britain  it  would  be  bad  form,  in  Germany  absurd, 
in  Russia  quite  untrue.  It  is  part  of  the  greatness 
of  America  that  she  can  come  forward  unashamed  and 
call  herself  the  handmaiden  of  the  Lord. 

Now  there  is  a  fine  healthy  spirit  abroad  in  the 
land  counteracting  the  more  sentimental  and  sancti 
monious  self-honour  of  the  Americans.  Something 
more  in  deeds  than  in  words,  a  pulse  that  beats  for 
America,  a  greater  purpose  that  breathes  through 
myriads  of  personal  acts,  done  for  personal  ends. 
Outside,  beyond  the  degrading  commercialism  of 
the  nation,  there  is  a  feeling  that  building  for  a  man 
is  building  also  for  America  ;  that  buying  and  selling 
in  the  store  is  buying  and  selling  for  the  great 
nation  ;  that  writing  or  singing  or  painting,  though 
done  in  self- conceited  cities  and  before  limited 
numbers,  is  really  all  consecrated  to  the  idea  of  the 
new  America. 

In  several  schools  of  America  the  children  take 
the  following  pledge  : 

I  am  a  citizen  of  America  and  an  heir  to  all  her 
greatness  and  renown.  The  health  and  happiness  of  my 
own  body  depend  upon  each  muscle  and  nerve  and  drop 
of  blood  doing  its  work  in  its  place.  So  the  health  and 
happiness  of  my  country  depend  upon  each  citizen  doing 
his  work  in  his  place. 


xii  CHARACTERISTICS  207 

I  will  not  fill  any  post  or  pursue  any  business  where  I 
can  live  upon  my  fellow  -  citizens  without  doing  them 
useful  service  in  return  ;  for  I  plainly  see  that  this  must 
bring  suffering  and  want  to  some  of  them.  I  will  do 
nothing  to  desecrate  the  soil  of  America,  or  pollute  her 
air  or  degrade  her  children,  my  brothers  and  sisters. 

I  will  try  to  make  her  cities  beautiful,  and  her  citizens 
healthy  and  happy,  so  that  she  may  be  a  desired  home 
for  myself  now,  and  for  her  children  in  days  to  come. 

Teachers  are  recommended  to  explain  to  children 
that  patriotism  means  love  of  your  own  country  and 
not  hate  of  other  countries  ;  and  that  the  best  mode 
of  patriotism  is  love  and  care  for  the  ideals  of  the 
fatherland. 

The  most  obvious  fields  of  activity  are  the  school,  the 
building,  the  yard  or  playgrounds,  and  the  surrounding 
streets.  Whatsoever  is  offensive  and  unsightly,  detrimental 
to  health,  or  in  violation  of  law,  is  a  proper  field  for  action. 
The  litter  of  papers  and  refuse  ;  marks  on  side  walks,  build 
ings,  and  fences ;  mutilation,  vandalism,  and  damage  of 
any  kind  to  property ;  cleanliness  of  the  school  building 
and  the  surrounding  streets,  door-yards,  and  pavements  ; 
observance  of  the  ordinances  for  the  disposal  of  garbage 
by  the  scavenger  and  people  in  the  community ;  protec 
tion  and  care  of  shade  trees  ;  improper  advertisements, 
illegal  signs  and  bill-boards ;  unnecessary  noises  in  the 
streets  around  the  school,  including  cries  of  street-vendors 
and  barking  of  dogs  and  blowing  of  horns  ;  the  display  of 
objectionable  pictures  and  postcards  in  the  windows  of 
stores — all  supply  opportunities  to  the  teachers  to  train 
pupils  for  good  citizenship. 

Circulars  like  the  following  are  scattered  broad 
cast  to  citizens,  and  they  breathe  the  patriotism  of 
the  American : 


208         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS          xn 

Do  you  approve  of  your  Home  City  ? 

I  mean,  do  you  like  her  looks,  her  streets,  her  schools, 
her  public  buildings,  her  stores,  factories,  parks,  railways, 
trolleys,  and  all  that  makes  her  what  she  is  ?  Do  you 
approve  of  these  things  as  they  are  ?  Do  you  think  they 
could  be  better?  Do  you  think  you  know  how  they  can 
be  made  better? 

If  you  do  you  are  unusual.  Few  take  the  trouble  to 
approve  or  disapprove.  Many  may  think  they  care  about 
the  city  ;  but  few,  very  few,  act  as  if  they  did  ! 

When  you  see  something  you  think  can  be  improved 
you  go  straight  and  find  out  who  rs  the  man  who  has 
that  something  in  charge  ;  whatever  it  is,  factories,  smoke, 
stores,  saloons,  parks,  paving,  playgrounds,  lawns,  back 
yards,  ash-cans,  overhead  signs,  newspapers,  bill-boards, 
side-walks,  street  cars,  street  lighting,  motor  traffic,  freight 
yards,  or  what  not,  you  find  out  who  is  the  man  who  has 
in  charge  that  thing  you  dislike  ;  then  you  talk  to  him,  or 
write  to  him,  and  tell  him  what  you  disapprove  of,  and 
ask  him  if  he  can  and  will  make  it  better,  or  tell  you  why 
he  can't.  He  wants  to  make  it  better.  He  will  if  he  can. 
Almost  invariably  he  wants  to  do  his  work  of  looking  after 
that  thing  better  than  it  was  ever  done  before.  He  will 
welcome  your  complaint ;  he  will  explain  his  handicaps  ; 
he  will  ask  your  help.  Then  you  give  the  help. 

J.  C.  D. 

Making  the  city  beautiful  and  fostering  a  love 
for  the  home-city,  however  dingy  and  dreary  that 
city  may  at  present  be,  is  one  of  the  most  potent 
and  attractive  expressions  of  American  patriotism, 
and  it  is  well  to  note  the  characteristic.  It  has 
great  promise  for  the  America  of  the  future,  the 
America  which  the  sons  and  daughters  of  the 


INGENIOUS  PHOTOGRAPHS  OF  AMERICAN  TYPES. 


xii  CHARACTERISTICS  209 

immigrants  will  inherit.  The  America  of  the 
future  is  to  be  one  of  artistically  imagined  cities  and 
proud,  responsible  citizens.  Even  now,  despite  the 
unlovely  state  of  New  York  and  Chicago  and  the 
reputation  for  devastating  ugliness  which  America 
has  in  Europe,  there  are  clear  signs  of  the  com 
mencement  of  an  era  of  grace  and  order.  Already 
the  parks  of  the  American  cities  are  the  finest  in  the 
world,  and  are  worth  much  study  in  themselves. 
American  townsmen  have  loved  Nature  enough  to 
plant  trees  so  that  every  decent  town  on  the  western 
continent  has  become  a  cluster  of  shady  avenues. 
Some  cities  favour  limes,  some  maples ;  New  Haven 
is  known  as  "  The  City  of  Elms  "  ;  in  Washington 
alone  it  is  said  that  there  are  78,000  street  trees ; 
Cleveland  has  been  called  "  The  City  of  the  Forest." 
Wherever  I  tramped  in  America  I  found  the  most 
delicious  shade  in  the  town  streets — excepting,  of 
course,  the  streets  of  the  coaling  infernos  of  Penn 
sylvania.  No  idea  of  the  expense  of  land  deters 
the  American  from  getting  space  and  greenery  into 
the  midst  of  his  wilderness  of  brick  and  mortar.  It 
is  said  that  the  value  of  the  parks  in  such  a  city  as 
Newark,  for  instance,  is  over  two  and  a  quarter 
millions  of  pounds  (nine  million  dollars).  "Our 
aim,"  says  a  Newark  circular,  "is  the  city  beautiful, 
and  it  requires  the  aid  of  everyday  patriots  to  make 
it  so.  Pericles  said,  '  Make  Athens  beautiful,  for 
beauty  is  now  the  most  victorious  power  in  the 

world.' " 

p 


210         WITH   POOR  IMMIGRANTS  xn 

America  has  become  the  place  of  continuous 
crusades — against  dirt,  against  municipal  corruption, 
immorality,  noise.  It  would  surprise  many  Euro 
peans  to  know  the  fight  which  is  being  made  against 
bell-advertisement,  steam  whistles,  organ-grinders' 
music,  shouts  of  street  hawkers,  and  the  exuberance 
of  holiday-makers. 

"  Don't  be  ashamed  to  fight  for  your  city  to  get 
it  clean  and  beautiful,  to  rid  it  of  its  sweat-shops 
and  hells,"  I  read  in  a  Chicago  paper.  "  Some  folk 
call  our  disease  Chicagoitis,  but  that  is  a  thousand 
times  better  than  Chicagophobia.  Those  suffering 
from  Chicagophobia  are  as  dangerous  to  society  as 
those  who  have  hydrophobia." 

Then,  most  potent  expression  of  all  in  American 
patriotism  is  the  American's  belief  in  the  future  of 
its  democracy,  the  faith  which  is  not  shattered  by 
the  seeming  bad  habits  of  the  common  people,  the 
flocking  to  music-halls  and  cinema  shows,  the 
reading  of  the  yellow  press. 

It  has  been  noted  in  the  last  few  years  that  there 
is  a  distinct  falling  off  in  the  acceleration  of  reading 
at  the  public  libraries.  This  is  attributed  to  the 
extraordinary  amount  of  time  spent  by  men  and 
women  at  the  "  movies,"  when  they  would  otherwise 
be  reading.  Such  a  fact  would  breed  pessimism  in 
Great  Britain  or  Europe  were  it  established.  But 
America  has  such  trust  in  the  hearts  and  hopes  of 
the  common  people  that  it  approves  of  the  picture 
show.  "  If  readers  of  books  go  back  to  the  cinema, 


xii  CHARACTERISTICS  211 

let  them  go,"  says  the  American  ;  "  it  is  like  a  child 
in  the  third  class  voluntarily  going  back  to  the  first 
class,  because  the  work  being  done  there  is  more 
suited  to  his  state  of  mind."  The  cinema  show  is 
doing  the  absolutely  elementary  work  among  the 
vast  number  of  immigrants,  who  are  almost  illiterate. 
It  is  not  a  be-all  and  an  end-all,  but  stimulates  the 
mind  and  sets  it  moving,  thinking,  striving.  The 
picture  show  will  bring  good  readers  to  the  libraries 
in  time.  It  is  the  first  step  in  the  cultural  ladder  of 
the  democracy. 

Then  people  of  good  taste  in  Europe  decry  the 
reading  of  newspapers  ;  a  leader  of  thought  and 
politics  like  A.  J.  Balfour  can  boast  that  he  never 
reads  the  papers.  But  America  says,  "You  have 
the  newspaper  habit,  This  habit  is  one  of  the  most 
beneficial  and  entertaining  habits  you  have.  Few 
people  read  too  many  newspapers.  Most  people  do 
not  read  enough."  This,  of  American  papers  of  all 
papers  in  the  world.  But  let  me  go  on  quoting  the 
most  significant  words  of  America's  great  librarian, 
J.  Cotton  Dana : 

Readers  of  newspapers  are  the  best  critics  of  them. 
The  more  they  are  read  the  wiser  the  readers  ;  the  wiser 
the  readers  the  more  criticisms,  and  the  more  the  news 
papers  are  criticised  the  better  they  become. 

Do  you  say  this  does  not  apply  to  the  yellow  journal  ? 
I  would  reply  that  it  does.  The  yellow  journal  caters  all 
the  time  to  the  beginners  in  reading,  who  are  also  the 
beginners  in  newspaper  reading.  A  new  crop  of  these 
beginners  in  reading  is  born  every  year.  This  new  crop 


212         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS          xn 

likes  its  reading  simply  printed,  in  large  letters,  and  with 
plenty  of  pictures.  The  more  of  this  new  crop  of  readers 
there  are  the  more  the  yellow  journals  flourish  ;  and  the 
more  the  yellow  journals  flourish  the  sooner  this  new  crop 
is  educated  by  the  yellow  journals,  by  the  mere  process  of 
reading  them,  and  the  sooner  they  get  into  the  habit  of 
reading  journals  that  are  not  yellow  and  contain  a  larger 
quantity  of  more  reliable  information,  until  at  last  the 
yellow  journals  are  overpassed  by  the  readers  they  have 
themselves  trained. 

The  yellow  press  is  the  second  rung  on  the 
cultural  ladder  of  democracy.  America  is  glad  of 
it,  glad  also  of  the  princess  novelette,  the  pirate 
story,  glad  of  Hall  Caine  and  Marie  Corelli ;  all 
these  are,  as  it  were,  divining-rods  for  better  things. 
The  American  says  "  Yes  "  to  the  novels  of  Florence 
Barclay,  as  indeed  most  sensible  Britons  would 
also.  The  Rosary  was  a  most  helpful  book — so 
much  more  helpful  to  the  unformed  intellect  and 
young  intelligence  of  the  mass  of  the  people 
than,  for  instance,  Tolstoy's  dangerously  overpraised 
Resurrection  or  Wells's  New  Machiavelli.  America 
recognises  the  truth  that  the  ugly  has  power  to 
make  those  who  look  at  it  ugly  like  itself;  but  that 
the  crude  and  elementary  stuff,  however  poor  it 
may  be  artistically,  is  nevertheless  most  useful  to 
democracy  if  it  speaks  in  language  and  sentiment 
which  is  common  knowledge  to  the  reader.  How 
useful  to  America  is  such  a  book  as  Churchill's 
Inside  of  the  Cup. 

It  is  a  very  true  dictum  that  "  reading  makes  more 


xii  CHARACTERISTICS  213 

reading " ;  and  in  a  young,  hopeful  nation,  striving 
to  divine  its  own  destiny  and  to  visualise  its  future, 
"  more  reading  "  always  means  better  reading. 

Perhaps  the  cultured  ladder  of  democracy  may 
be  seen  allegorically  as  the  ladder  of  Jacob's  dream. 
Religion,  which  may  be  thought  to  have  flown  from 
the  churches,  is  in  evidence  at  the  libraries.  It  is  a 
librarian  who  is  able  to  say  in  The  Inside  of  the 
Cup  that  we  are  on  the  threshold  of  a  greater 
religious  era  than  the  world  has  ever  seen. 


In  America  to-day  we  are  confronted  with  two 
parties,  —  one  the  great  multifarious,  unformed 
mass  of  the  people,  and  the  other  the  strong, 
emancipated,  cultured  American  nation,  which  is 
at  work  shaping  the  democracy.  The  aspect  of 
the  "rabble,"  the  commercial  heathen,  and  horde 
of  unknowing,  unknown  immigrants,  gives  you  the 
first  but  not  the  final  impression  of  America.  You 
remark  first  of  all  the  slouching,  blank-eyed,  broad- 
browed  immigrant,  who  indulges  still  his  European 
vices  and  craves  his  European  pleasures,  flocking 
into  saloons,  debauching  his  body,  or  at  best  looking 
dirty  and  out  of  hand,  a  reproach  to  the  American 
flag.  You  see  the  Jews  leaping  over  one  another's 
backs  in  the  orgy  of  mean  trade.  You  see  the  fat 
American,  clever  enough  to  bluff  even  the  Jew — the 
strange  emerging  bourgeois  type  of  what  I  call 
the  "white  nigger,"  low-browed,  heavy -cheeked, 


214         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS          xn 

thick-lipped,  huge -bodied,  but  white;  men  who 
seem  made  of  rubber,  so  elastic  they  are  ;  men  who 
seem  to  get  their  thoughts  from  below  upward. 
I've  often  watched  one  of  these  "  white  negroes" 
reflecting ;  he  seems  to  sense  his  thoughts  in  his 
body  first  of  all — you  can  watch  his  idea  rise  up  to 
him  from  the  earth,  pass  along  his  body,  and  flicker 
at  last  in  a  true  American  smile  across  his  lips — a 
transition  type  of  man,  I  should  say.  One  wonders 
where  these  men,  who  are  originally  Jews  or  Anglo- 
Saxons  or  Dutch  or  Germans,  got  their  negro  souls. 
It  would  almost  tempt  one  to  think  that  there  were 
negro  souls  floating  about,  and  that  they  found 
homes  in  white  babies. 

Beside  the  fat  American  is  the  more  familiar 
lean,  hatchet-faced  type,  which  is  thought  to  corre 
spond  to  the  Red  Indian  in  physiognomy.  Perhaps 
too  much  importance  is  attached  to  the  Darwinian 
idea  that  the  climate  of  America  is  breeding  a  race 
of  men  with  physique  and  types  similar  to  the 
aborigines.  The  American  is  still  a  long  way  from 
the  red-skin.  Meanwhile,  however,  one  may  note 
with  a  smile  the  extraordinary  passion  of  Americans 
for  collecting  autographs,  curios,  snippets  of  the 
clothes  of  famous  men,  Italian  art,  British  castles, — 
which  seems  to  be  scalp-hunting  in  disguise.  The 
Americans  are  great  scalp-hunters. 

On  the  whole,  the  dry,  lean  Americans  are  the 
most  trustworthy  and  honourable  among  the  masses 
of  the  people.  In  England  we  trust  fat  men,  men 


xii  CHARACTERISTICS  215 

"who  sleep  o'  nights,"  but  in  America  one  prefers/^ 
the  lean  man.  Shakespeare  would  not  have  written 
of  Cassius  as  he  did  if  he  had  been  an  American  of 
to-day.  Of  course  too  much  stress  might  easily 
be  laid  on  the  unpleasantness  of  the  "  white-nigger  " 
type.  There  are  plenty  of  them  who  are  true 
gentlemen. 

The  American  populace  has  also  its  bad  habits. 
There  are  those  who  chew  "  honest  scrap,"  and 
those  who  chew  "spearmint/'  It  is  astonishing  to 
witness  the  service  of  the  cuspidor  in  a  hotel,  the 
seven  or  eight  obese,  cow-like  American  men,  all 
sitting  round  a  cuspidor  and  chewing  tobacco ; 
almost  equally  astonishing  to  sit  in  a  tramcar  full  of 
American  girls,  and  see  that  every  jaw  is  moving  up 
and  down  in  the  mastication  of  sweet  gum.  , 

America  suffers  terribly  from  its  own  success,  its 
vastness,  its  great  resources,  its  commercial  scoops, 
its  wealth,  vested  en  masse  and  so  vulgarly  in  the 
person  of  lucky  or  astute  business  men.  This  has 
bred  a  tendency  to  chronic  exaggeration  in  the 
language  of  the  common  people  ;  it  has  brought  on 
the  jaunty  airs  and  tall  talk  of  the  man  who,  how 
ever  ignorant  he  may  be,  thinks  that  he  knows  all. 
But  success  has  also  brought  kindness  and  an  easy 
going  temperament.  There  are  no  people  in  the 
world  less  disposed  to  personal  ill-temper  than  the 
Americans.  They  are  very  generous,  and  in  friend 
ship  rampageously  exuberant.  They  are  not  mean, 
and  are  disinclined  to  incur  or  to  collect  small  debts. 


2i6         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS          xn 

They  would  rather  toss  who  pays  for  the  drinks  of 
a  party  than  pay  each  his  own  score.  They  have 
even  invented  little  gambling  machines  in  cigar 
stores  and  saloons  where  you  can  put  a  nickel  over 
a  wheel  and  run  a  chance  between  having  five  cigars 
for  five  cents,  or  paying  twenty -five  cents  for  no 
cigars  at  all. 

So  stands  on  the  one  hand  the  "  many-headed," 
sprung  from  every  country  in  Europe,  an  uncouth 
nation  doing  what  they  ought  not  to  do,  and  leaving 
undone  what  they  ought  to  do,  but  at  least  having 
in  their  hearts,  every  one  of  them,  the  idea  that 
America  is  a  fine  thing,  a  large  thing,  a  wonderful 
promise.  Opposite  them  stands  what  may  be  called 
the  American  intelligence,  ministering  as  best  it  can 
to  the  wants  of  young  America,  and  helping  to 
fashion  the  great  desideratum, — a  homogeneous 
nation  for  the  new  world. 

It  seems  perhaps  a  shame  to  question  the 
significance  of  any  of  the  phenomena  of  American 
life  of  to-day,  to  tie  what  may  be  likened  to  a  tin 
can  to  the  end  of  this  chapter ;  but  I  feel  that  this 
is  the  most  fitting  place  to  put  a  few  notes  which  I 
have  made  of  tendencies  which  are  apt  to  give 
trouble  to  the  mind  of  Europeans  otherwise  very 
sympathetic  to  America  and  America's  ideal.  They 
are  quite  explicable  phenomena,  and  in  realising 
and  understanding  them  for  himself  the  reader  will 
be  enabled  to  get  a  truer  idea  of  the  atmosphere  of 
America. 


xii  CHARACTERISTICS  217 

On  my  way  into  Cleveland  I  read  in  the  Pittsburg 
Post  the  following  statistics  of  life  at  Princetown 
College,  of  the  students  at  the  College : 

184  men  smoke. 

76  began  after  entering  College,  but  5  I  students  have 
stopped  smoking  since  entering  College. 

9 1  students  wear  glasses,  and  5  7  began  to  wear  them 
since  entering. 

I  5  students  chew  tobacco. 

19  students  consider  dancing  immoral. 

1 6  students  consider  card-playing  immoral. 
206  students  correspond  with  a  total  of  579  girls. 
203  students  claim  to  have  kissed  girls  in  their  time. 

24  students  have  proposed  and  been  rejected. 


Another  day  I  read  in  the  New  York  American 
the  story  of  the  adventures  of  Watts's  "  Love  and 
Life  "  in  America  : 

The  peripatetic  painting,  "  Love  and  Life,"  the  beautiful 
allegorical  work,  by  George  Frederick  Watts,  once  more 
reposes  in  an  honoured  niche  in  the  White  House.  The 
varied  career  of  this  painting  in  regard  to  White  House 
residence  extends  over  seventeen  years. 

This  picture,  painted  in  1884,  was  presented  to  the 
national  Government  by  Watts  as  a  tribute  of  his  esteem 
and  respect  for  the  United  States,  and  was  accepted  by 
virtue  of  a  special  act  of  Congress.  This  was  during  the 
second  administration  of  President  Cleveland,  and  he 
ordered  it  hung  in  his  study  on  the  second  floor  of  the 
White  House.  Two  replicas  were  made  by  Watts  of 
the  painting,  and  one  was  placed  by  the  National  Art 
Gallery,  London,  and  the  other  in  the  Louvre,  Paris. 

The  two  figures  of  "  Love  and  Life  "  are  entirely  nude, 


2i8         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  xn 

and  the  publication  of  reproductions  awoke  the  protests 
of  purists  who  circulated  petitions  to  which  they  secured 
hundreds  of  names  to  have  it  removed  to  an  art  gallery. 
Finally,  the  Clevelands  yielded  to  the  force  of  public 
opinion,  and  sent  the  offending  masterpiece  to  the  Corcoran 
Art  Gallery. 

When  Theodore  Roosevelt  became  President  he  brought 
the  art  exile  back  to  the  White  House.  The  hue  and  cry 
arose  again,  and  he  sent  it  back  to  the  Gallery,  only  to 
bring  it  back  again  toward  the  close  of  his  administration 
to  hang  in  the  White  House  once  more. 

The  Tafts,  failing  to  see  the  artistic  side  of  the  painting, 
had  it  carried  back  to  the  Gallery. 

There  it  seemed  destined  to  stay.  The  other  day  Mrs. 
Woodrow  Wilson,  accompanied  by  her  daughter  Eleanor, 
both  artists  of  merit,  toured  the  Corcoran  Art  Gallery. 
They  were  shown  "  Love  and  Life,"  and  told  the  tragic 
story  of  its  wanderings. 

Mrs.  Wilson  thereupon  requested  the  painting  to  be 
returned  to  the  White  House.  There  once  more  it  hangs 
and  tells  its  immortal  lesson  of  how  love  can  help  life  up 
the  steepest  hills. 


Whilst  in  New  York  I  visited  the  charming 
Fabians,  who  were  the  hosts  of  Maxim  Gorky 
before  the  American  Press  took  upon  itself  the  role 
of  doing  the  honours  of  the  house  to  a  guest  of 
genius.  The  story  of  Gorky  need  not  be  repeated. 
But  it  is  in  itself  a  question-mark  raised  against  the 
American  civilisation. 


Tramping  through   Sandusky,   I    came   upon    a 
suburban    house    all    scrawled     over    with     chalk 


inscriptions : 


xii  CHARACTERISTICS  219 

"  Hurrah  for  the  newly-weds." 

"  Oh,  you  beautiful  doll !  " 

"  Well !      Then  what  ?  " 

"  We  should  worry." 

"  Home,  sweet  Home." 

"  May  your  troubles  be  little  ones  !     Ha,  He  ! " 

"  You  thought  we  wouldn't  guess,  but  we  caught  you." 

As  the  house  seemed  to  be  empty,  I  inquired  at 
the  nearest  store  what  was  the  reason  for  this  out 
burst.  The  storekeeper  told  me  it  was  done  by  the 
neighbours  as  a  welcome  to  a  newly-married  couple 
coming  home  from  their  honeymoon  on  the  morrow. 
It  was  a  custom  to  do  it,  but  this  was  nothing  to  the 
way  they  "tied  them  up"  sometimes. 

"  Won't  they  be  distressed  ?  " 

"Oh  no,  they'll  like  it." 

"  Are  the  neighbours  envious,  or  what  is  it  ? "  I 
asked.  The  storekeeper  began  to  sing,  "  Snookey- 
ookums." 

"  All  night  long  the  neighbours  shout 

(to  the  newly-married  couple  whose  kisses  they  hear) 
"  *  Cut  it  out,  cut  it  out,  cut  it  out.' " 


On  Independence  Day  I  saw  a  crowd  of  roughs 
assailing  a  Russian  girl  who  had  gone  into  the  water 


220         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS          xn 

to  bathe,  dressed  in  what  we  in  Britain  would  call 
"  full  regulation  costume."  The  crowd  cried  shame 
on  her  because  she  was  not  wearing  stockings  and  a 
skirt  in  addition  to  knickers  and  vest. 


In  many  districts  men  bathing  naked  have  been 
arrested  as  a  sort  of  breach  of  the  peace.  Naked 
statues  in  public  have  been  clothed  or  locked  away. 
In  several  towns  women  wearing  the  slashed  skirt 
have  had  to  conform  to  municipal  regulations  con 
cerning  underwear. 


I  have  noted  everywhere  mockery  on  the  heels 
of  seriousness. 

No  doubt  these  question-marks  will  be  followed 
by  satisfactory  answers  in  the  minds  of  most  readers, 
especially  in  the  light  of  the  statement  that  "it  is  a 
sacrament  to  walk  the  streets  as  an  American  citizen. 
Being  an  American  is  a  sacred  mission." 


XIII 
ALONG  ERIE   SHORE 

CLEVELAND  exemplifies  the  characteristics  of  con 
temporary  America,  and  points  to  the  future.  It 
has  its  horde  of  foreign  mercenaries  living  by  alien 
ethics,  and  committing  every  now  and  then  atrocious 
crimes  which  shock  the  American  community.  But 
it  is  a  "  cleaned-up  "  town.  All  the  dens  of  the  city 
have  been  raided  ;  there  is  no  gambling,  little 
drunkenness  and  immorality.  On  my  first  night  in 
the  town  I  had  my  supper  in  a  saloon,  and  as  I  sat 
among  the  beer-drinking  couples  I  listened  to  an  old 
man  who  was  haranguing  us  all  on  the  temptations  of 
women  and  drink.  The  saloon-keeper  had  no  power 
to  turn  him  out,  and  possibly  had  not  even  the  wish 
to  do  so.  The  passion  for  cleaning  up  America 
overtakes  upon  occasion  even  those  whose  living 
depends  upon  America  remaining  "  unclean." 

Cleveland  is  well  built,  and  has  fine  avenues  and 
broad  streets.  It  is  well  kept,  and  in.  the  drawing- 
room  of  the  town  you'd  never  suspect  what  was 
going  on  in  the  back  kitchen  and  the  yard.  But 
take  a  turn  about  and  you  see  that  the  city  is  not 


221 


222         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS         xm 

merely  one  of  good  clothes,  white  buildings,  and 
upholstery ;  there  are  vistas  of  smoke  and  sun, 
bridges  and  cranes,  endless  railway  tracks  and 
steaming  engines.  They  are  working  in  the  back 
ground,  the  Slavs  and  the  Italians  and  the 
Hungarians,  the  Kikes  and  the  Wops  and  the 
Hunkies.  There  is  a  rumour  of  Chicago  in  the 
air  ;  you  can  feel  the  pulse  of  the  hustling  West. 

Perhaps  nothing  is  more  promising  than  the 
twelve  miles  of  garden  suburb  that  go  westward 
from  the  city  along  Erie  Shore.  Tchekof,  working 
in  his  rose-garden  in  the  Crimea,  used  to  say, 
"  I  believe  that  in  quite  a  short  time  the  whole 
world  will  be  a  garden."  This  growth  of  Cleveland 
gives  just  that  promise  to  the  casual  observer. 
How  well  these  middle-class  Americans  live ! 
Without  the  advertisement  of  the  fact,  they  have 
finer  arrangements  of  streets  and  houses  than  we 
have  at  Golders  Green  and  Letchworth.  Nature  is 
kind.  There  is  a  grand  freshness  and  a  steeping 
radiance.  The  people  know  how  to  live  out-of- 
doors,  and  the  women  are  public  all  day.  No 
railings,  fences,  bushes,  just  sweet  lawn  approaches, 
verandahs,  on  the  lawns  sprinklers  and  automatic 
fountains  scattering  water  to  the  sparrows'  delight. 
The  iris  is  out  and  the  honeysuckle  is  in  bloom. 

I  prefer,  however,  to  walk  in  the  sight  of  wooded 
hills  or  great  waters,  and  as  soon  as  I  could  find 
a  way  to  the  back  of  the  long  series  of  suburban 
villas  I  went  to  the  sandbanks  of  the  shore  and  into 


THE  LITHUANIAN  WHO  SAT  BEHIND  THE  ASPHALT  AND   COAL-OIL 

SCATTERER. 


xni  ALONG  ERIE  SHORE  223 

the  company  of  the  great  lake.  It  was  just  sunset 
time,  and  the  sun  of  fire  was  changing  to  a  sun 
of  blood  and  sinking  into  the  waters.  There  was 
a  great  suffusion  of  crimson  in  the  western  sky 
and  a  reflection  of  it  in  the  green  and  placid  lake. 
But  the  water  in  the  foreground  was  grey,  and  it 
rippled  past  silver  reeds.  I  stood  and  listened  ; 
the  great  silence  of  the  vast  lake  on  the  one  hand 
and  the  whiz  of  automobiles  on  the  other,  the 
paup-paup  of  electric-tram  signals,  the  great  whoop 
of  the  oncoming  freight  trains  on  the  Lake-Shore 
railway.  Far  out  on  the  water  there  were  black 
dashes  on  the  lit  surface  and  little  smokes  pro 
ceeding  from  them — steamers.  The  lake  became 
lucent  yellow  with  blackness  in  the  West  and 
mystery  in  the  East.  A  steamer  in  the  East 
seemed  fixed  as  if  caught  in  a  spell.  Then  the 
blackness  of  the  West  came  like  an  intense  dye 
and  poured  itself  into  the  rest  of  the  sky.  The 
East  became  still — indigo,  very  precious  and  holy, 
the  colour  of  incense  smoke. 

I  tramped  by  Clifton  through  the  deep  dust 
of  a  motor-beaten  road  towards  Lorain.  It  was 
night  before  I  found  a  suitable  place  for  sleeping, 
for  most  of  the  ground  was  private,  and  there  were 
many  people  about.  At  last  I  found  a  deserted 
plot,  where  building  operations  had  evidently  been 
taking  place  during  the  day,  but  from  which  the 
workmen  had  gone.  There  were,  however,  many 
tools  and  covetable  properties  lying  about,  and  I 


224         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS         xm 

had  hardly  settled  down  before  I  heard  the  baying 
of  dogs  on  a  chain.  About  half-past  eleven  Fedka 
the  watchman  came  along,  singing  a  Russian  song 
to  himself,  and  he  lighted  a  large  lantern,  unloosed 
two  dogs,  then  went  into  a  shed,  lay  down  and  went 
to  sleep — a  nice  watchman  !  My  only  consideration 
was  the  dogs,  a  bull -dog  and  a  collie,  but  they 
didn't  know  of  my  presence.  They  had  expeditions 
after  tramps  on  the  road,  after  waggons,  auto 
mobiles,  tramcars,  trains,  but  never  once  sniffed 
at  the  stranger  sleeping  under  their  noses.  How 
ever,  at  about  three  in  the  morning  the  bull-dog 
spotted  me,  and  no  doubt  had  rather  a  queer  turn. 
He  actually  tripped  on  me  as  he  was  prowling 
about,  and  my  heart  stood  still.  He  eyed  me, 
growled  low,  sniffed  at  my  knees,  snorted  ;  "  He  will 
spring  at  my  throat  in  a  moment,"  I  thought;  "  I'll 
defend  myself  with  that  big  saw  lying  so  handy 
beside  me ! "  But  no,  wonder  of  wonders !  the 
dog  did  not  attack  me,  but  just  lay  calmly  down 
beside  me  and  was  my  gaoler.  He  dozed  and 
breathed  heavily,  but  every  now  and  then  opened 
one  eye  and  snarled  ;  evidently  he  took  his  duties 
seriously.  I  forgot  him  and  slept.  But  I  had  the 
consciousness  that  in  the  morning  I  had  to  get  away 
somehow. 

But  about  half  an  hour  before  dawn  some  one 
drove  a  score  of  cows  down  the  road,  causing  the 
collie  to  go  mad — so  mad  that  the  bull-dog  bestirred 
himself  and  followed  superciliously,  not  sure  whether 


xin  ALONG  ERIE  SHORE  225 

he  were  needed  or  not.  Then  I  swiftly  put  my 
things  together  and  decamped — and  got  away. 

I  watched  the  dawn  come  up  out  of  a  rosy  mist 
over  Erie.  The  lake  was  vast  and  placid  and  mud- 
coloured,  but  there  were  vague  purple  shadows  in  it. 
I  learned  that  mud  was  the  real  colour  at  this  point, 
and  there  was  no  clear  sparkling  water  to  bathe  in, 
but  only  a  sea  stirred  up. 

Down  by  the  shore,  just  after  my  dip,  I  caught  a 
young  oriole  with  red  breast  and  mouth  so  yellow, 
and  I  tried  to  feed  him  with  sugar  and  butter ;  but 
he  was  very  angry,  and  from  many  trees  and  low 
bushes  round  about  came  the  scolding  and  calling 
of  the  parents,  who  had  been  rashly  giving  their 
progeny  his  first  run. 

I  tramped  to  the  long  settlement  of  Lorain  with 
its  store-factory  and  many  Polish  workers,  but  con 
tinued  to  the  place  called  Vermilion,  walking  along 
the  grey-black  sands  of  the  shore.  I  came  to  Crystal 
Beach.  It  was  a  perfect  day,  the  zenith  too  radiant 
to  look  at,  the  western  sky  ahead  of  the  road  a 
rising  smoke  of  sapphire,  but  filled  with  ineffable 
sunshine.  It  was  difficult  to  look  otherways  but 
downward,  and  I  needed  all  the  brim  of  my  hat 
to  protect  my  neck  and  my  eyes.  The  lake  was 
now  blue-grey  as  the  sea,  but  still  not  very  tempt 
ing,  though  Crystal  Beach  is  a  great  holiday  resort. 
It  seemed  to  me  more  than  a  lake  and  yet  less  than 
a  sea — the  water  had  no  other  shore  and  yet  sug 
gested  no  infinity.  The  visitor,  however,  considered 

Q 


226         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS         xm 

it  beautiful.  That  was  clear  from  the  enthusiastic 
naming  of  the  villas  and  resorts  on  the  shore. 
Again,  it  was  strange  to  pass  from  the  workshop 
of  America  to  the  parlour, — from  industrial  Lorain 
to  ease-loving  Vermilion,  and  to  exchange  the  vision 
of  unwashed  immigrants  in  slouch  hats  for  dainty 
girls  all  in  white  and  smart  young  men  in  delicate 
linen. 

I  went  into  the  general  store  and  bought  butter 
and  sugar  and  tea,  and  then  to  the  baker  for  a  loaf 
of  bread  and  a  peach  pie.  What  a  delicacy  is  an 
eightpenny  peach  pie  when  you  know  you  are  going 
to  sit  on  a  bank  and  munch  it,  drink  coffee,  and 
watch  your  own  wood-blaze. 

On  my  way  to  Sandusky  I  got  several  offers 
of  jobs.  A  road  surveyor  and  his  man,  trundling 
and  springing  along  the  road  in  their  car,  nearly  ran 
me  down,  and  as  a  compensation  for  my  experience 
of  danger  stopped  and  gave  me  a  lift,  offering  also 
to  give  me  work  if  I  wanted  it.  All  the  highway 
from  Cleveland  to  Toledo  was  to  be  macadamised 
by  next  summer ;  thousands  of  men  were  wanted 
all  along  the  line,  and  I  could  get  to  work  that  very 
afternoon  "  farming  ditches  on  each  side  of  the  road  " 
if  I  wished. 

I  jigged  along  three  miles  in  the  automobile  and 
then  stepped  down  to  make  my  dinner.  Whilst  I 
was  lighting  my  fire  a  Bohemian  came  and  had  a 
little  chat  with  me. 

"  How  far  ye  going  ?  " 


xiii  ALONG  ERIE  SHORE  227 

"Chicago/1 

"  You  should  get  on  a  freight  train.  I  come  up 
from  New  York  myself  on  a  freighter  and  dropped 
off  here  two  days  ago.  It's  too  far  to  walk  ;  you 
carry  heavy  things.  Besides,  there's  a  good  job 
here  mending  the  road.  I've  just  been  taken  on. 
A  mile  up  the  road  you'll  see  a  waggon  ;  ask  there, 
they're  making  up  a  gang.  The  work's  a  bit  rough 
but  the  pay  good." 

Then  I  came  on  a  gang  of  Wops  and  Huns 
loading  bridge-props  and  ribbons  and  guard-rails 
on  to  an  electric  trolley,  and  the  boss  again  applied 
to  me. 

"No,  thanks!" 

A  man  with  an  asphalt  and  coal -oil  scatterer 
came  past.  His  was  a  dirty  job.  He  sat  behind 
a  boiler-shaped  cistern,  which  another  man  was 
dragging  along  with  a  petrol  engine.  It  had  a  rose 
like  a  watering-cart,  but  instead  of  water  there 
flowed  this  dark  mixture  of  asphalt  and  oil.  The 
man,  a  Lithuanian,  was  sitting  on  the  rose,  his  legs 
were  dangling  under  it,  and  it  was  his  task  to  keep 
his  finger  on  the  tap  and  regulate  the  flow  of  the 
fast -trickling  mixture.  Though  a  Lithuanian  by 
birth  he  spoke  a  fair  English,  and  explained  that  the 
asphalt  and  oil  laid  the  dust  for  the  whole  summer, 
and  solidified  the  surface  of  the  road,  so  that  auto 
mobiles  could  go  pleasantly  along.  There  was 
another  machine  waiting  behind,  and  they  had  not 
men  to  work  it.  If  I  liked  to  report  myself  at  the 


228         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS         xm 

depot  I  could  get  a  job,  it  was  quite  simple,  not 
hard  work,  and  the  pay  was  good.  He  got  two 
dollars  a  day. 

Then,  as  I  was  going  through  a  little  town,  a 
Norwegian  came  running  out  of  a  shop  and  pulled 
me  in,  saying,  "  You're  a  professional,  no  doubt, 
stay  here  and  take  photographs  "  ;  and  he  showed 
me  his  screens  and  classical  backgrounds.  It  was 
interesting  to  consider  the  many  occasions  on  which 
I  might  have  given  up  Europe  and  started  as  a 
young  man  in  America,  entering  life  afresh,  and 
starting  a  new  series  of  connections  and  acquaint 
ances.  But  I  had  only  come  as  a  make-believe 
colonist. 

As  the  weather  was  very  hot  I  took  a  wayside 
seat  erected  by  a  firm  of  clothiers  to  advertise  their 
wares,  and  it  somewhat  amused  me  to  think  that 
as  I  sat  in  my  somewhat  ragged  and  dust-stained 
attire  that  the  seat  seemed  to  say  I  bought  my  suit 
at  Clayton's.  As  I  sat  there  six  Boy  Scouts  came 
tramping  past,  walking  home  from  their  camping- 
ground,  boys  of  twelve  or  thirteen,  all  carrying 
saucepans  and  kettles,  one  of  them  a  bag  of  medical 
appliances  and  medicines,  all  with  heavy  blankets 
— sun-browned,  happy  little  bodies. 

There  is  all  manner  of  interest  on  the  road. 
The  gleaming,  red -headed  woodpecker  that  I 
watch  alights  on  the  side  of  the  telegraph-pole, 
looks  at  the  wood  as  at  a  mirror,  and  then,  to  my 
mild  surprise,  goes  right  into  the  pole.  There  must 


xni  ALONG  ERIE  SHORE  229 

be  a  hole  there  and  a  nest.  I  hear  the  guzzling  of 
the  little  woodpeckers  within.  Upon  reflection,  I 
remember  that  the  mother's  beak  was  disparted,  and 
there  was  something  between.  Rather  amusing,  a 
woodpecker  living  in  a  telegraph-pole  —  Nature 
taking  advantage  of  civilisation  ! 

Then  there  are  many  squirrels  in  the  woods  by 
the  road,  and  they  wag  their  tails  when  they 
squeak. 

At  tea-time,  by  the  lake  shore,  a  beautiful  white- 
breasted  but  speckled  snipe  tripped  around  the  sand, 
showing  me  his  round  head,  plump  body,  and  dainty 
legs.  He  had  his  worms  and  water,  I  my  bread  and 
tea ;  we  were  equals  in  a  way. 

Then  after  tea  I  caught  a  little  blind  mouse,  no 
bigger  than  my  thumb,  held  him  in  my  hand,  and 
put  him  in  his  probable  hole. 

As  I  rested  by  a  railway  arch  Johnny  Kishman, 
a  fat  German  boy,  got  off  his  bicycle  to  find  out 
what  manner  of  man  I  was.  His  chief  interest  was 
to  find  out  how  much  money  I  made  by  walking. 
And  I  flabbergasted  him. 

I  came  into  Huron  by  a  road  of  coal-dust,  and 
left  the  beautiful  country-side  once  more  for  another 
industrial  inferno.  Here  were  many  cranes,  black 
iron  bridges,  evil  smells,  an  odorous  green  river. 
There  was  a  continuous  noise  as  of  three  rolls  of 
thunder  in  one  from  the  machinery  of  the  port.  I 
stopped  a  party  of  Slavs,  who  were  strolling  out  of 
the  town  to  the  strains  of  an  accordion,  and  asked 


23o         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS         xm 

them  by  what  the  noise  was  made.  I  was  informed 
it  was  the  lading  of  Pennsylvanian  coal  and  the  un 
lading  of  Wisconsin  and  Canadian  ore,  the  tipping 
of  five  to  ten  tons  at  a  time  into  the  holds  of  coal 
boats  or  into  trucks  of  freight  trains. 

I  went  into  a  restaurant  in  the  dreary  town,  and 
there,  over  an  ice-cream,  chatted  with  an  American, 
who  hoped  I  would  lick  Jack  London  and  Gibson 
and  the  rest  of  them  "to  a  frazzle."  A  girl,  who 
came  into  the  shop,  told  me  that  last  year  she 
wanted  to  walk  to  Chicago  and  sleep  out,  but  could 
not  get  a  companion — a  chance  for  me  to  step  in. 
Mine  host  was  one  of  these  waggish  commercial 
men  in  whom  America  abounds,  and  he  had  posted 
above  his  bar : 

ELEVEN   MEN  WHO   ASKED 

CREDIT 
LIE  DEAD  IN  MY  CELLAR 

But  he  made  good  ice-cream. 

Every  one  combined  to  boost  the  town  and  advise 
me  to  see  this  and  that.  The  port  machinery  and 
lading  operations  were  the  wonder  of  Erie  Shore, 
and  provided  work  for  a  great  number  of  Hun 
garians,  Italians,  and  Slavs.  Not  so  many  years 
back  there  was  no  such  machinery  here,  and  the 
work  was  done  with  buckets  and  derricks. 

I  forbore  to  have  supper  at  the  creditless  inn, 
but  as  I  walked  out  of  the  dark  town  I  spied  a  fire 
burning  on  a  bit  of  waste  land,  and  there  I  boiled 


"JOHNNY  KISHMAN,   A  GERMAN  BOY,  GOT  OFF  HIS  BICYCLE  TO 
FIND   OUT  WHAT  MANNER  OF  MAN   I  WAS." 


xm  ALONG  ERIE  SHORE  231 

my  kettle  and  made  coffee.  It  was  an  eerie  pro 
ceeding,  and  as  I  sat  in  the  dusk  I  saw  several 
children  come  peering  at  me,  hsh'mg  the  younger 
ones,  and  inferring  horrible  suspicions  as  to  my 
identity.  When  I  had  finished  my  supper  I  went 
down  to  the  beach,  and  there,  on  the  sand  amidst 
old  logs,  under  a  stooping  willow  tree,  I  made  my 
bed. 

It  was  a  wonderful,  placid  night  after  a  long,  hot 
day.  The  smoke-coloured  lake  was  weakly  plash 
ing.  There  was  no  sign  of  the  past  sunset  in  the 
west,  and  smoke  seemed  to  be  rising  from  the  dark 
ness  of  the  horizon.  The  one  light  on  the  city  pier 
had  its  stab  of  reflection  in  the  water  below.  Near 
me,  still  trees  leant  over  the  water.  The  branches 
and  leaves  of  the  willow  under  which  I  slept  were 
delicately  figured  against  the  sky  as  I  looked  up 
ward,  and  far  away  over  the  lake  the  faint  stars 
glimmered.  The  moon  stood  high  in  the  south, 
and  illumined  the  surface  of  the  waters  and  the  long 
coast  line  of  the  bay. 

When  I  awoke  next  morning,  what  a  sight !  The 
blue-grey  lake  so  placid,  just  breathing,  that's  all, 
and  crimson  ripples  stealing  over  it  from  the  illumin 
ated  smoky  east.  It  was  clear  that  the  smokiness 
of  the  horizon  came  from  real  smoke — from  all  the 
chimneys  and  stacks  of  Huron.  I  saw  massed 
volumes  of  it  hurrying  away  from  the  docks  and 
the  works,  and  standing  out  on  the  lake  like  a  great 
wall.  As  I  lay  on  my  spread  on  the  sand,  looking 


232         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS         xm 

out  idly  with  my  cheek  on  my  hand,  I  saw  the  sun 
come  sailing  through  the  smoke  like  a  red  balloon. 
No  celestial  sunrise  this,  but  Nature  beautifully 
thwarted. 

I  made  a  fire  and  cooked  my  breakfast,  and  sat 
on  a  log  enjoying  it ;  and  all  the  while  the  sun 
strove  to  be  himself  and  shine  in  splendour  over 
the  new  world,  whose  beauties  he  himself  had  called 
into  being.  For  a  whole  hour,  though  there  was 
not  a  cloud  in  the  sky  or  a  mist  on  the  lake,  he 
made  no  more  progress  than  on  a  foggy  January 
morning  in  London.  He  gave  no  warmth  to  speak 
of;  he  was  an  immaterial,  luminous  moon. 

But  at  last  he  got  free,  and  began  to  rise  indeed, 
exchanging  the  ragged  crimson  reflection  in  the 
water  for  a  broad-bladed  flashing  silver  dagger. 
A  great  glory  grew  about  him ;  all  the  wavelets  of 
the  far  lake  knew  him  and  looked  up  to  him  with 
their  tiny  faces.  His  messengers  searched  the 
horizon  for  the  shadows  of  night,  for  all  lingering 
wraiths  and  mists,  and  banished  them.  The 
smoky  door  by  which  the  sun  had  come  out  of 
the  east  was  shut  after  him.  But  he  shed  so 
much  light  that  you  could  not  see  the  door  any 
longer. 

I  went  in  for  a  swim,  and  as  I  was  playing  about 
in  the  sunlit  water  the  first  human  messenger  of  the 
morning  came  past  me — a  fisherman  in  a  tooting, 
panting  motor-boat,  dragging  fishing-nets  after  him. 
He  gave  me  greeting  in  the  water. 


xni  ALONG  ERIE  SHORE  233 

Fishing  is  good  here — as  a  trade.  Every  day 
many  tons  of  carp  are  unloaded.  The  fish  are 
caught  in  gill-nets — nets  with  a  mesh  from  which 
the  fishes  are  unable  to  extricate  themselves,  their 
gills  getting  caught.  The  nets  are  framed  on 
stakes,  floated  by  corks  and  steadied  by  leads.  The 
fishermen  leave  them  standing  two  or  three  days, 
and  when  the  fish  are  wearied  out  or  dead  they 
haul  them  in. 

This  very  hot  day  I  marched  to  an  accompani 
ment  of  the  thunder  of  the  dock-works,  and  reached 
Sandusky, — a  very  large  industrial  port,  the  junction 
of  three  railways,  not  a  place  of  much  wealth,  its 
population  at  least  half  foreign. 

I  had  a  shave  at  a  negro  barber's,  and  chatted 
with  the  darkie  as  he  brandished  the  razor. 

After  the  war  he  and  his  folks  had  come  north 
and  settled  in  Michigan.  He  sent  all  his  children 
to  college.  One  was  earning  a  hundred  and 
twenty-five  dollars  a  month  as  music-mistress  in 
Washington. 

"  They  treat  you  better  up  here  than  in  the 
South  ?  "  said  I. 

"  Why,  yes ! " 

"  And  in  London  better  still." 

"  Oh,  I  know.  My  father  went  to  London. 
He  stayed  at  a  big  hotel,  and  there  turned  up  three 
Southerners.  They  went  up  to  the  hotel-keeper 
and  said,  '  Look  hyar,  that  coloured  feller  '11  have 
to  go ;  we  cahn  stay  here  with  him ! '  And  the 


234        WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS         xm 

hotel-keeper  said,  '  If  he  don't  please  you,  you  go; 
we  won't  keep  you  back.' ' 

"Very  affecting,"  said  I. 

"  There  was  a  fellah  came  hyar  to  play  the  organ 
for  the  Episcopal  Church,"  the  negro  went  on. 
11  He  was  called  Street.  The  other  fellah  was  only 
fit  to  turn  the  music  for  him.  He  had  the  goods, 
b'  God  he  had.  Tha's  what  I  told  them." 

With  that  I  got  away.  Outside  the  shop  a 
hawker  cried  out  to  me : 

"  Kahm'ere ! " 

"  What  d'  you  want  ?  "  said  I. 

"  I've  a  good  safety  razor." 

"  Don't  use  them." 

"  A  fountain  pen  to  write  home  to  your 
wife.  .  .  ." 

The  hawker  had  many  wares. 

I  spent  the  night  in  a  saloon  at  Venice,  and 
watched  the  rate  at  which  German  fishermen  can 
drink  beer. 

Next  morning  I  walked  across  Sandusky  Bay 
by  the  Lake  Shore  railway-bridge,  a  mile  and  a  half 
long — an  unpleasant  business,  watching  for  the 
express  trains  and  avoiding  being  run  over.  At 
last  I  got  to  Danbury,  and  could  escape  from  the 
rails  to  the  cinder-path  at  the  side.  The  engine- 
drivers  and  firemen  of  the  freight  trains  greeted  me 
as  they  passed  me,  and  now  and  then  I  was  able  to 
offer  "  Casey  Jones  "  a  cup  of  coffee  and  exchange 
gossip. 


xm  ALONG  ERIE  SHORE  235 

The  enormous  freight  trains  told  their  tale  of 
the  internal  trade  of  America ;  on  no  other  lines 
of  railway  in  the  world  could  you  witness  such 
processions  of  produce.  All  sorts  of  things  flew 
past  on  these  lumberous  trains — cars  full  of  hogs 
with  hundreds  of  motionless  black  snouts  poking 
between  the  bars ;  refrigerator  cars  full  of  ham — 
dead  hogs,  dripping  and  slopping  water  as  they 
went  along  in  the  heat,  and  the  sun  melted  the  ice ; 
cars  of  coal ;  open  cars  of  bright  glistening  tin- 
scraps  going  to  be  molten  a  second  time ;  cars  of 
agricultural  machinery ;  cars  laden  with  gangs  of 
immigrant  men  being  taken  to  work  on  a  big  job 
by  labour  contractors  ;  closed  cars  full  of  all  manner 
of  unrevealed  merchandise  and  machinery.  On  the 
cars,  the  names  of  the  railways  of  America — Illinois 
Central,  Wabash,  Big  Four,  Lake  Shore.  .  .  . 

At  Gypsum  I  returned  to  the  high  road,  and 
there  once  more  had  an  offer  of  a  job  from  a  gang. 
I  was  surprised  to  see  boys  of  thirteen  or  fourteen 
hard  at  work  with  spade  and  shovel. 

"  I  see  you're  working  for  your  living,"  said  I. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you  ?  " 

"  I  said  '  You're  working  for  your  living.' ' 

"Wahnajahb?" 

"  No  ;  I'm  not  looking  for  one.  I'm  walking  to 
Chicago." 

A  contractor  came  forward,  a  short  Frenchman 
in  waistcoat  and  shirt-sleeves.  His  bowler  hat  was 
pushed  to  the  back  of  his  head,  and  his  hair  poked 


236         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS         xm 

out  from  under  it  over  his  scarred,  perspiring  brow. 
He  was  not  working — only  directing. 

"  What  would  you  be  ?  A  sort  of  tramp  ?  "  said 
he.  "I  used  to  have  a  hobo -station  at  Toledo. 
I've  seen  the  shiner1  line  up  sixty  or  seventy  of 
them  and  send  them  to  work  with  car  fare  paid. 
They'd  work  half  a  day  and  then  disappear 
mysteriously.  We  have  pay-day  once  in  two 
weeks  ;  but  these  tramps,  many  of  them  educated 
fellers  too,  would  never  work  the  time  through  or 
wait  for  their  pay.  Thousands  of  dollars  have  been 
lost  by  hoboes  who  gave  up  their  jobs  before 
pay-day." 

There  was  an  Englishman  from  Northampton 
in  the  gang,  and  he  testified  that  America  had 
"England  licked  ten  times  over." 

There  were  fat  Germans  in  blouses,  mustachioed 
Italians  with  black  felt  hats  pulled  down  over  sun 
burnt,  furrowed  brows.  All  the  men  and  the  boys 
were  suffering  from  a  sort  of  "  tar  blaze  "  in  the  face. 
They  were  glad  to  ease  up  a  little  to  talk  to  me ; 
but  they  had  a  watchful  eye  on  the  face  of  the 
boss,  who  besides  being  contractor  was  a  sort  of 
timekeeper. 

The  contractor  was  vexed  that  I  wouldn't  take  a 
job.  Labour  was  scarce.  He  averred  that  before 
I  reached  Chicago  the  farmers  would  come  on  to 
the  road  and  compel  me  to  work  on  their  fields. 
Trains  had  been  held  up  before  now. 

1  Policeman. 


xm  ALONG  ERIE  SHORE  237 

"  I  thought  slavery  was  abolished  ?"  said  I. 

The  next  town  on  my  route  was  Port  Clinton,  a 
bright  little  city,  and  in  the  eyes  of  at  least  one 
of  its  citizens  a  very  important  one.  I  had  a  long 
talk  with  a  chance-met  journalist  and  the  keeper  of 
a  fruit -shop.  The  journalist,  by  way  of  interviewing 
me,  told  me  all  I  wanted  to  know  about  the  district. 
Fruit-growing  was  far  in  advance  here.  Perry 
Camp,  the  greatest  shooting-butts  in  the  world,  was 
near  by.  The  Lake  Shore  railway  was  going  to 
spend  a  million  dollars  in  order  to  shorten  the  track 
a  quarter  of  a  mile.  The  greengrocer  told  me  I 
had  the  face  of  a  Scotsman,  but  spoke  English  like 
a  Swede — which  just  shows  how  badly  Americans 
speak  our  tongue,  and  hear  it  as  a  rule. 

In  the  course  of  my  interview  I  confessed  that 
for  roadside  literature  I  read  the  Gospel  of  St.  John 
and  the  Book  of  Revelation,  a  chapter  a  day,  and 
when  I  came  to  the  end  of  either  book  I  started 
again.  The  greengrocer  interrupted  the  journalist, 
and  said  : 

"  When  you're  tired,  you  just  take  out  the  Bible 
and  read  a  little,  eh,  and  you  get  strength  and  go 
on  ?  I  knew  you  were  that  sort  when  I  saw  you 
first  coming  up  the  other  side  of  the  road,  and  I 
said  to  my  friend,  '  He  reads  his  Bible.' ' 

The  greengrocer  was  much  edified,  and  told  me 
that  he  was  the  agent  for  the  district  of  Billy 
Sunday,  the  revivalist.  Wouldn't  I  stay  and  address 
a  mass  meeting  ? 


238         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS         xm 

I  fought  shy  of  this  offer.  The  journalist  looked 
somewhat  sourly  at  the  greengrocer  for  breaking 
into  his  interrogatory.  But  then  a  third  interrupter 
appeared,  a  little  boy,  who  had  come  to  purchase 
bananas,  and  he  addressed  me  thus  : 

"  On  which  side  di.d  your  family  fight  in  the  year 
1745  ?  On  the  side  of  Prince  Charlie?  That's  the 
side  I'm  on." 

No  descendant  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers  he. 

On  the  way  out  to  Lacarne  two  old  fishermen  in 
a  cart  offered  me  a  ride,  and  I  stepped  up. 

"What  are  you,  German?"  I  asked,  always  on 
the  look-out  for  the  immigrant. 

"We  are  Yankees." 

' '  Your  father  or  grandfather  came  from  Germany  ?  " 

"  No ;  we're  both  Yankees,  I  tell  yer." 

"  I  suppose  your  ancestors  came  from  England 
then." 

"  No  ;  we've  always  bin  'ere." 

They  had  been  out  three  nights  seine-fishing  on 
the  lake,  were  very  tired,  and  rewarded  themselves 
with  swigs  of  rum  every  now  and  then,  passing  the 
bottle  from  one  to  the  other  and  then  to  me  with 
real  but  suspicious  hospitality.  Their  families  had 
always  been  in  America.  The  fact  that  they  came 
originally  from  England  meant  no  more  to  them 
than  Hengist  and  Horsa  does  to  some  of  us. 

By  the  way,  Hengist  and  Horsa  were  a  couple 
of  savages,  were  they  not  ? 

The  fishermen  put  me  down  beside  a  plantation, 


xin  ALONG  ERIE  SHORE  239 

which  they  said  was  just  the  place  in  which  to  sleep 
the  night.  I  wasn't  sorry  to  get  on  to  my  feet 
again,  and  I  watched  them  out  of  sight, — fat,  old, 
sleepy,  hospitable  ruffians. 

The  plantation  was  a  mosquito-infested  swamp, 
and  I  did  not  take  the  fishermen's  advice.  Myriads 
of  "  husky "  mosquitoes  were  in  the  air,  the  un- 
pleasanter  sort,  with  feathered  antennae,  and  when 
ever  I  stood  still  on  the  road  scores  of  "  Canadian 
soldiers  "  settled  on  me,  a  loathsome  but  innocuous 
species  of  diptera. 

I  sought  shelter  of  man  that  night,  and  through 
the  hospitality  of  a  Slav  workman  found  a  place  in 
a  freight  train — a  strange  bed  that  not  only  allows 
you  to  sleep,  but  takes  you  a  dozen  miles  farther  on 
in  the  morning.  The  engine-driver  told  me  that 
there  was  a  "  whole  bunch  of  tramps  "  on  the  train, 
but  that  no  one  ever  turned  tramps  off  an  empty 
freight  train, — not  on  the  Lake  Shore  railway  at  any 
rate. 

When  I  "  dropped "  from  the  freighter  I  found 
myself  at  Elliston,  and  commenced  there  a  day  of 
delicious  tramping.  The  opal  dawn  gave  birth  to 
a  great  white  horse  of  cloud,  and  out  of  the  cloud 
came  a  strong  fresh  breeze,  having  health  and 
happiness  on  its  wings.  A  quiet  Sunday.  I  reached 
Toledo  this  day — and  parted  company  with  Erie 
Shore — great,  busy,  happy,  prosperous  Toledo.  It 
was  strange  to  exchange  the  country  for  the  town  ; 
to  come  out  of  the  green,  fresh,  silent  landscape  into 


24o        WITH   POOR  IMMIGRANTS         xm 

the  close,  stifling,  bustling  town,  full  of  promenaders 
talking  and  laughing  among  themselves  vociferously. 

As  I  came  into  the  city  the  day-excursion  boat 
was  just  about  to  start  on  the  return  journey  to 
Detroit.  Excursionists  were  flocking  together  to  the 
quay,  a  great  spectacle  to  a  Briton.  All  the  men 
were  carrying  their  coats  in  their  arms,  many  had 
their  collars  off  and  the  neckbands  of  their  shirts 
turned  down,  bunches  of  carnations  on  their  naked 
chests ;  many  were  without  waistcoats,  and  had 
tickets  with  the  name  of  their  town  pinned  to  their 
fancy-coloured  shirts  ;  the  red,  perspiring,  glistening 
faces  of  many  of  them  suggested  an  over-confidence 
in  beer  as  a  quencher  of  thirst.  The  women  carried 
parasols  of  coloured  paper.  They  were  all  in  white, 
and  were  so  thinly  clad  that  you  asked  yourself 
why  they  were  so  thin.  But  despite  all  precautions 
the  sun  had  marked  everybody,  but  marked  them 
kindly. 

Suddenly  a  bell  was  rung  on  the  steamer,  and  a 
little  man  came  forward  and  announced  in  broken 
English : 

"  Somebody  wan'  to  come  on  the  boat ;  the  time 
is  supp." 


XIV 
THE  AMERICAN  LANGUAGE 

EVEN  Americans  of  the  highest  culture  and  of 
Boston  families  speak  English  differently  from  any 
people  in  the  old  country.  The  difference  may  not 
be  obvious  to  all,  but  it  is  there,  and  it  is  a  thing 
to  rejoice  in,  not  to  be  sorry  for.  The  American 
nation  is  different  from  the  British,  has  different 
history  and  a  different  hope  ;  it  has  a  different  soul, 
therefore  its  expression  should  be  different.  The 
American  face  as  a  type  is  different ;  it  would  be 
folly  to  correct  the  words  of  the  mouth  by  Oxford, 
or  Eton,  or  Granville  Barker's  theatre,  or  the 
cultured  Aberdonian,  or  any  other  criterion.  The 
use  of  American  expressions  of  quite  moderate  tone 
amounts  to  a  breach  of  good  taste  in  many  British 
drawing-rooms  ;  and  if  you  tell  a  story  in  which 
American  conversation  is  repeated  with  the  accent 
imitated,  you  can  feel  the  temperature  going  down  as 
you  proceed ;  that  is,  if  you  are  not  merely  making 
fun  of  the  Americans.  Making  fun  of  any  foreign 
people  is  always  tolerable  to  the  British ;  a  truly 
national  and  insular  trait.  The  literary  world  and 

241  R 


242         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS          xiv 

the  working  men  and  women  of  Britain  can  enter 
into  the  American  spirit,  and  even  imitate  it  upon 
occasion  ;  but  that  is  only  the  misfortune  of  our 
populace,  who  ought  to  be  finding  national  expres 
sion  in  journalism  and  music-hall  songs  and  dancing, 
and  who  are  merely  going  off  the  lines  by  imitating 
a  foreign  country.  It  is  loss  to  Britain  that  the 
Americans  speak  a  comprehensible  dialect  of  our 
tongue,  and  that  the  journalist  of  Fleet  Street, 
when  he  is  hard-up  for  wit,  should  take  scissors  and 
paste  and  snip  out  stories  from  American  papers  ; 
or  that  commercial  entrepreneurs  should  bring  to 
the  British  public  things  thought  to  be  sure  of 
success  because  they  have  succeeded  in  America— 
-Within  the  Law,"  "I  Should  Worry,"  -Hullo 
Ragtime  ! "  and  the  rest.  The  people  who  are  surest 
in  instinct,  though  they  are  sympathetic  to  a  brother- 
people,  hate  the  importation  of  foreign  uglinesses, 
and  the  substitution  of  foreign  for  local  talent. 

The  American  language  is  chiefly  distinguished 
from  the  British  by  its  emphatic  expressive  character. 
Britain,  as  I  have  said,  lives  in  a  tradition ;  America 
in  a  passion.  We  are  laconic,  accidental,  inarticu 
late  ;  our  duty  is  plain,  and  we  do  it  without  words. 
But  the  American  is  affirmative,  emphatic,  striving ; 
he  has  to  find  out  what  he's  going  to  do  next,  and 
he  has  got  to  use  strong  words.  Britain  also  is  the 
place  of  an  acknowledged  Caste  system  ;  but  America 
is  the  place  of  equal  citizens,  and  many  American 
expressions  are  watchdogs  of  freedom  and  instru- 


xiv       THE  AMERICAN  LANGUAGE       243 

ments  of  mockery,  which  reduce  to  a  common 
dimension  any  people  who  may  give  themselves 
airs. 

•n 

The  subtler  difference  is  that  of  rhythm. 
American  blood  flows  in  a  different  tempo,  and  her 
hopes  keep  different  measure. 

Americans  commonly  tell  us  that  theirs  is  the 
language  of  Shakespeare  and  Shakespearian  Eng 
land,  and  that  they  have  in  America  the  "  well  of 
English  undefiled."  But  if  they  have  any  purely 
European  English  in  that  country  it  must  be  a 
curiosity.  Shakespeare  was  a  lingual  junction,  but 
we've  both  gone  on  a  long  way  since  then,  and  in 
our  triangle  the  line  subtending  the  Shakespearian 
angle  gets  longer  and  longer.  O.  Henry  makes  a 
character  in  one  of  his  stories  write  a  telegram  in 
American  phraseology,  so  that  it  shall  be  quite 
unintelligible  to  people  who  only  know  English  : 

His  nibs  skedaddled  yesterday  per  jack-rabbit  line  with 
all  the  coin  in  the  kitty  and  the  bundle  of  muslin  he's 
spoony  about.  The  boodle  is  six  figures  short.  Our 
crowd  in  good  shape,  but  we  need  the  spondulicks.  You 
collar  it.  The  main  guy  and  the  dry  goods  are  headed 
for  the  briny.  You  know  what  to  do. — BOB. 

This  is  not  Shakespearian  English,  but  of  course 
it  is  not  Shakespearian  American.  The  worst  of 
the  contemporary  language  of  America  is  that  it  is 
in  the  act  of  changing  its  skin.  It  is  difficult  to  say 
what  is  permanent  and  what  is  merely  eruptive  and 


244         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS          xiv 

dropping.     Such  expressions  as  those  italicised  in 
the  following  examples  are  hardly  permanent : 

"  One,  two,  three,  cut  it  out  and  work  for  Socialism." 

"  /  should  worry  and  get  thin  as  a  lamp-post  so  that 
tramps  should  come  and  lean  against  me." 

"  Him  with  the  polished  dome" 

"  She  hadn't  been  here  two  days  before  I  saw  her 
kissing  the  boss.  Well,  said  I,  ttiafs  going  some" 

"  This  is  Number  Nine  of  the  Ibsen  highbrow  series." 

"  Do  you  get  me  ?  " 

"V\\putyou  wiser 

"  And  how  is  your  yoke-mate  ?  " 

"He  thinks  too  much  of  himself:  too  much  breathed  on 
by  girls." 

"  A  low  lot  of  wops  and  hunkies  :   white  trash" 

"  Poor  negroes  ;  coloured  trash" 

"  She  is  one  good-looker" 

"  She  is  one  sweetie" 

"  My  !     You  have  a  flossy  hat" 

But  I  suppose  "  He  is  a  white  man  "  is  permanent,  and 
"  Buy  a  postcard,  it'll  only  set  you  back  a  nickel" 

"  She  began  to  lay  down  the  law  :  thus  and  so" 

"  Now  beat  it  \  " 

"  Roosevelt  went  ranching,  that's  how  he  got  so  husky? 

"  Is  it  far  ?     It  is  only  a  little  ways" 

"  Did  they  feed  that  to  you  ?  " 

"  When  he  started  he  was  in  a  poor  way,  and  carried 
in  his  hay  in  his  arms,  but  now  he  is  quite  healed" 

But  the  difference  in  speech  is  too  widespread 
and  too  subtle  to  be  truly  indicated  by  this  collection 
of  examples,  and  the  real  vital  growth  of  the  language 
is  independent  of  the  flaming  reds  and  yellows  of 
falling  leaves.  In  the  course  of  conversation  with 
Americans  you  hear  plenty  of  turns  of  expression 


xiv       THE  AMERICAN  LANGUAGE       245 

that  are  unfamiliar,  and  that  are  not  merely  the 
originality  of  the  person  talking.  Thus  in  : 

"  How  do  they  get  on  now  they  are  married  ?  " 
"  Oh,  she  has  him  feeding  out  of  her  hand," 

though  the  answer  is  clear  it  owes  its  form  to  the 
American  atmosphere. 
Or  again  in  : 

"  I  suppose  she's  sad  now  he's  gone  ?  " 

"  Oh !     He  wasn't  a  pile  of  beans  to  her,  believe  me," 

you  feel  the  manner  of  speech  belongs  to  the  new 
American  language.  The  following  parody  of 
President  Wilson's  way  of  speaking  is  also  an 
example  of  the  atmosphere  of  the  American 
language  : 

So  far  as  the  prognosticationary  and  symptomatic  pro- 
blemaciousness  of  your  inquiry  is  concerned  it  appears  to 
me  that  while  the  trusts  should  be  regulated  with  the  most 
unrelentful  and  absquatulatory  rigorosity,  yet  on  the  other 
hand  their  feelings  should  not  be  lacerated  by  rambunk- 
tions  and  obfusticationary  harshness.  Do  you  bite  that 
off? 

Punch  would  have  no  stomach  for  such  Rabelaisian 
vigour. 

But  wherever  you  go,  not  only  in  the  cities,  but 
in  the  little  towns,  you  hear  things  never  heard 
in  Britain.  I  go  into  a  country  bakery,  and  whilst 
I  ask  for  bread  at  one  counter  I  hear  behind  me 
at  the  other : 

"  Kendy,  ma-ma,  kendy !  " 


246         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS          xiv 

"  Cut  it  out,  Kenneth." 

"  Kendy,  kendy,  kendy  !  " 

"  Oh,  Kenneth,  cut  it  out !  " 

Or,  as  I  sit  on  a  bank,  a  girl  of  twelve  and  her 
little  baby  sister  come  toddling  up  the  road.  The 
little  one  loses  her  slipper,  and  the  elder  cries  out : 

"  Slipper  off  again  !     Ethel,  perish  ! " 

America  must  necessarily  develop  away  from  us  at 
an  ever-increasing  rate.  Influenced  as  she  is  by  Jews, 
Negroes,  Germans,  Slavs,  more  and  more  foreign 
constructions  will  creep  into  the  language,  —  such 
things  as  "  I  should  worry,"  derived  from  Russian- 
Jewish  girl  strikers.  "  She  ast  me  for  a  nickel," 
said  a  Jew-girl  to  me  of  a  passing  beggar.  "  I  should 
give  her  a  nickel,  let  her  work  for  it  same  as  other 
people  !"  The  1 shoulds  of  the  Jew  can  pass  into  the 
language  of  the  Americans,  and  be  understood  from 
New  York  to  San  Francisco  ;  but  such  expressions 
make  no  progress  in  Great  Britain,  though  brought 
over  there,  just  because  we  have  not  the  big  Jewish 
factor  that  the  Americans  have. 

To-day  the  influence  that  has  come  to  most  fruition 
;  is  that  of  the  negro.  The  negro's  way  of  speaking 
has  become  the  way  of  most  ordinary  Americans, 
but  that  influence  is  passing,  and  in  ten  or  twenty 
years  the  Americans  will  be  speaking  very  differently 
from  what  they  are  now.  The  foreigner  will  have 
modified  much  of  the  language  and  many  of  the 
rhythms  of  speech.  America  will  have  less  self- 
consciousness  then.  She  will  not  be  exploiting  the 


xiv       THE  AMERICAN  LANGUAGE       247 

immigrant,  but  will  be  subject  to  a  very  powerful 
influence  from  the  immigrants.  No  one  will  then 
be  so  cheap  as  the  poor  immigrant  is  to-day.  Much 
mean  nomenclature  will  have  disappeared  from  the 
language,  many  cheap  expressions,  much  mockery ; 
on  the  other  hand,  there  will  be  a  great  gain  in 
dignity,  in  richness,  in  tenderness. 


XV 

THROUGH  THE  HEART  OF  THE 
COUNTRY 

I  HAVE  come  to  that  portion  of  my  journeying  and 
of  my  story  where  all  day,  every  evening,  and  all 
night  long  I  was  conscious  of  the  odour  of  mown 
clover,  of  fields  of  ambrosia. 

I  was  tramping  along  the  border  of  Northern 
Ohio  and  Southern  Michigan,  from  Toledo  to 
Angola,  Indiana.  I  was  entering  the  rich  West. 
The  fields  were  vast  and  square,  the  road  was  long 
and  flat,  and  straight  and  quiet,  the  June  haze  hung 
over  luxuriant  meadows,  and  there  was  a  wonderful 
silence  and  ripening  peace  over  the  country. 

One  evening,  as  the  red  sun  sank  into  night- 
darkened  mist,  I  talked  with  an  old  farmer,  who  was 
smoking  his  pipe  at  his  gate. 

"  I  came  along  this  same  road  like  you,  with  a 
bundle  on  my  back,  forty  years  ago,"  said  he,  "and 
I  took  work  on  a  farm ;  then  I  rented  a  farm. 
Many's  the  lad  I've  seen  go  past  of  an  evening. 
And  one  or  two  have  stopped  here  and  worked 

some  days,  for  the  matter  of  that." 

248 


xv  THE  HEART  OF  THE  COUNTRY  249 

The  farmer  had  left  England  when  he  was  a 
stripling,  and  I  tried  to  talk  to  him  of  the  old 
country,  but  he  was  not  really  interested.  He  did 
not  want  to  go  back. 

That  is  the  Colonial  feeling. 

Strange  to  plough  all  day,  or  sow  or  reap,  and  in 
the  evening  to  return  to  the  quiet,  solitary  house  of 
wood  beside  the  great  red-painted  barn  and  not 
want  England  or  Europe,  not  be  interested  in  it, 
not  want  anything  more  than  you've  got ;  to  have 
the  sun  go  down  red  and  whisper  nought,  and  the 
stars  come  up  and  the  moon,  and  yet  not  yearn  ;  to 
work,  to  eat,  to  market ;  to  have  children  growing 
about  you  ripening  in  so  many  years,  and  corn 
springing  up  in  the  fields  ripening  in  so  many  weeks  ; 
births,  marriages,  deaths,  sowings,  harvests.  .  .  . 

There  is  all  the  pathos  of  man's  life  in  it. 

I  slept  that  night  in  the  dry  wayside  hay, 
under  the  broad  sky  and  the  misty  golden  moon. 
It  was  a  quiet  night,  warm  and  gentle.  Earth 
held  the  wanderer  in  her  cradle  and  rocked  him  to 
sleep. 

They  are  kind  people  about  here.  Next  morning 
as  I  sat  by  my  fire  a  woman  sent  her  son  out  to  me 
with  a  quart  of  milk  and  a  bag  of  cookies.  And 
milk  is  a  much  commercialised  business  on  this 
western  road, — the  electric  freight  train  carries 
nearly  all  the  milk  away  in  churns  to  Toledo.  It 
was  a  very  welcome  talkative  boy  who  brought  out 
the  milk.  His  father  rented  one-third  of  a  section 


250         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS          xv 

(213  acres),  but  was  now  laid  up  with  pneumonia. 
As  a  consequence  of  the  father's  illness  the  young 
children  had  to  work  very  hard  in  the  fields.  And 
there  was  a  sick  cow  on  the  farm — sick  through 
eating  rank  clover.  And  the  boy  himself  had  had 
scarlet  fever  in  the  spring.  The  serving-girl  had 
had  to  go  away  "to  have  her  little  baby,"  and  the 
one  that  came  in  her  place  brought  the  fever. 

"  What's  your  name?  "  said  I. 

"  Charles." 

Cheerful  little  Charles.  He  had  much  responsi 
bility  on  his  shoulders. 

There  were  some  big  farms  along  the  road,  and 
near  Metamora  I  had  the  privilege  of  seeing  a  dozen 
cows  milked  simultaneously  by  a  petrol  engine, 
rubber  tubes  being  fixed  to  their  teats  and  the  milk 
pumped  out.  It  was  astonishing,  the  matter-of-fact 
way  in  which  the  latest  invention  was  applied  to 
farm  life. 

"  It's  rather  ugly,"  said  I. 

"Well,  what  are  you  to  do  when  labour  is  so 
scarce?"  was  the  reply. 

Land  is  rich  here,  but  labour  is  scarce.  I  fell  in 
with  a  garrulous  farmer  who  told  me  that  land  now 
sold  at  150  dollars  (^30)  the  acre,  and  that  in  a  few 
years  it  would  rise  to  250  dollars.  The  days  of  large 
farmers  were  over.  All  the  big  ranches  were  being 
sold  up,  and  the  farmers  were  taking  holdings  that 
they  could  farm  themselves  without  help.  Labour 
was  expensive,  owing  to  the  high  wages  paid  in  the 


xv  THE  HEART  OF  THE  COUNTRY  251 

towns  for  industrial  work ;  even  at  two  and  a  half 
dollars  (ten  shillings)  a  day  it  was  difficult  to  get  a 
decent  gang  to  do  the  work  in  the  harvest  season. 
You  could  do  better  with  a  small  piece  of  land. 
Fields  here  were  forty  and  fifty  acres,  and  the  steam 
plough  was  not  used.  In  the  old  days  land  was  dirt 
cheap,  and  you  could  buy  vast  tracts  of  it ;  there 
were  no  taxes,  no  extra  expenses,  and  you  just  went 
in  to  raise  tremendous  crops  and  make  a  big  scoop. 
To-day  things  were  different.  To  work  on  a  large 
scale  a  horde  of  labourers  was  necessary.  But  now 
the  Socialists  were  stopping  the  flow  of  immigrants 
into  the  country.  Socialists  said  that  it  was  too 
difficult  to  organise  newcomers.  The  newcomers 
behaved  like  blacklegs,  strike-breakers,  all  the  first 
year  of  their  stay  in  America.  They  didn't  know 
the  language,  were  very  poor,  suspected  their 
brother  workmen  of  jealousy,  and  just  took  any 
wage  offered  them.  The  Socialists  wanted  to  keep 
the  price  of  labour  up,  and  my  farmer  friend  bore 
them  a  grudge  because  it  was  difficult  to  develop 
the  land  unless  the  price  was  reduced. 

A  little  later,  outside  Fred  M'Gurer's  farm,  the 
jovial  farmer  himself  came  and  squatted  beside  the 
fire  and  chatted  of  affairs.  He  had  insured  his 
house  for  1000  dollars,  but  it  would  take  1800 
dollars  to  rebuild  it.  "I  think  it's  only  fair  to  take 
some  of  the  risk  myself,"  said  he  ;  "and  if  the  place 
burns  down  the  company  will  know  I  didn't  set  it 
alight  o'  purpose." 


252          WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  xv 

Fifty-eight  years  old  is  Fred  M'Gurer,  and  his 
son  is  now  coming  to  live  and  work  with  him 
altogether,  after  seven  years  spent  wintering  in  the 
city  and  summering  in  the  country.  Irish  once,  and 
of  an  Irish  family — but  they  go  to  no  church.  The 
old  man  feels  that  he  is  a  Christian  all  the  same,  and 
will  get  to  heaven  at  last,  because  he  "deals  square 
with  his  fellow-men." 

Fred  and  his  son  work  the  farm  all  by  them 
selves,  outside  labour  is  so  expensive.  The  beet- 
fields  take  all  the  immigrants.  Did  I  see  the  red 
waggons  as  I  came  along,  full  of  Flemish  and 
Russians  living  by  beet-picking  on  the  beetroot 
farms  near  by  ? 

I  saw  them. 

"  America  is  a  high  hill  for  them  that  don't 
speak  the  language,"  said  Fred.  But  he  said  that 
because  he  likes  talking  himself,  and  can't  imagine 
himself  in  a  land  where  he  could  not  hold  converse. 
The  immigrants  manage  very  well  without  the 
language,  and  scale  the  hill,  and  rake  in  the  dollars 
easily.  Perhaps  they  do  not  glean  much  of  the 
American  ideal,  and  the  hope  of  the  American 
nation.  But  I  suppose  Fred  did  not  mean  that. 

I  had  a  pleasant  talk  with  a  successful  German 
farmer,  who  took  me  in  a  cart  from  Pioneer  to 
Grizier,  through  comparatively  poor  country.  He 
had  possessed  a  farm  of  five  acres  in  Germany,  but 
there  each  acre  had  been  worth  between  450  and 
500  dollars.  When  he  came  to  Grizier  land  was 


xv  THE  HEART  OF  THE  COUNTRY  253 

selling  at  25  dollars  an  acre,  and  he  was  able  to  buy 
fifty  acres  of  it  and  to  bring  up  his  family  in  health 
and  plenty.  His  farm  was  now  worth  more  than 
5000  dollars. 

I  slept  on  an  old  waggon  in  a  wheat-field  near 
Grizier ;  but  about  midnight  it  began  to  rain,  and 
I  was  obliged  to  seek  shelter  in  a  crazy,  doorless, 
windowless  cottage,  and  there  I  sat  all  next  day 
and  slept  all  the  next  night  whilst  the  elements 
raged.  In  the  cottage  were  two  chairs,  a  home 
made  table,  and  a  broken  bedstead.  I  cooked  my 
meals  on  the  rainy  threshold.  The  refuge  was 
shared  by  a  great  big  bumble-bee,  two  red-admirals, 
a  brown  squirrel,  and  two  robins. 

The  second  morning  was  Sunday,  radiant,  fresh, 
and  green.  The  road  was  soft  but  clean,  with 
yielding  cakes  of  mud  ;  the  grass  was  fresh,  for 
every  blade  had  been  washed  on  Saturday  ;  the  wild 
strawberry  was  a  brighter  ruby ;  on  spread  bushes 
the  wild  rose  was  in  bloom  ;  there  were  sun-browned 
country  girls  upon  the  road,  who  were  shy  but 
might  be  spoken  to  ;  the  odour  of  clover  was  purer, 
the  hay-fields  had  round  shoulders  after  the  storm, 
and  you'd  think  cows  had  been  lying  down  where 
the  wind  had  laid  the  tussocks  low.  The  sun  shone 
as  if  it  had  forgotten  it  had  shone  before,  and  was 
doing  it  for  the  first  time.  To-day  it  became  evi 
dent  that  the  grain  was  ripening;  the  apple  trees 
in  fantastic  shapes  were  knee -deep  in  yellowing 
corn.  The  little  oak  trees  by  the  side  of  the  road 


254         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  xv 

presented  foliage,  every  leaf  of  which  looked  as  if  it 
had  been  carefully  polished. 

In  America  wild  strawberries  are  three  on  a  stalk, 
which  causes  a  pleasant  profusion.  .  .  . 

I  got  a  whole  loaf  of  home-made  bread  given  me 
at  Cooney  .  .  .,  and  a  quart  of  milk  at  "  Fertile 
Valley  Farm."  .  .  . 

Only  at  sunset  did  I  strike  the  main  Angola 
Road,  and  off  that  road  I  made  my  bed  in  a  wheat- 
field  and  fell  asleep,  watching  the  bearded  ears 
disproportionately  magnified  and  black  in  the  flame 
of  the  crimson  sky.  Next  day,  when  I  awoke,  life 
was  just  creeping  into  the  blue-green  night,  a  soft 
radiance  as  of  rose  petals  was  in  the  east,  and  a 
breeze  was  wandering  like  a  rat  among  the  stalks 
of  the  wheat.  I  fell  asleep  again,  and  when  I  re 
opened  my  eyes  it  was  bright  morning. 

The  Sunday  gave  way  to  the  week-day.  There 
is  nothing  happening  on  the  roads  on  the  Sunday  ; 
the  tramp  is  left  with  Nature,  but  directly  Monday 
comes  the  work  and  life  of  the  people  reveal  them 
selves,  and  adventures  are  more  frequent. 

My  first  visitor  this  Monday  was  a  man  of 
business.  As  I  was  making  my  tea  he  came  up 
towards  me  driving  two  lean  horses  and  a  great 
black  oblong  box  on  wheels.  At  the  farm  where  I 
had  drawn  water  for  my  kettle  he  pulled  up  and 
dismounted.  A  girl  who  had  seen  him  from  a 
window  of  the  farm-house  came  tripping  to  meet 
him.  He  exchanged  some  words  with  her,  and 


xv  THE  HEART  OF  THE  COUNTRY  255 

then  from  the  far  side  of  his  hearse-like  cart  he 
produced  a  black  chest,  out  of  which  he  pulled  a 
pair  of  boots.  The  young  lady  then  hopped  back 
to  the  house  to  try  them  on.  Satisfied  as  to  her 
purchase,  she  took  in  addition  a  pound  of  tea  and 
a  packet  of  sugar.  The  cart  was  a  moving  store : 
here  were  all  manner  of  things  for  sale.  But  the 
storekeeper  received  no  money  ;  all  his  debts  were 
paid  in  eggs.  One  side  of  the  hearse  was  full  of 
merchandise,  the  other  contained  nested  boxes  and 
crates  for  the  accommodation  of  hundreds  of  dozens 
of  eggs. 

The  storeman  gave  me  a  lift  and  explained  to  me 
his  business.  He  possessed  a  cold-storage  estab 
lishment  in  the  city ;  he  credited  the  farm  people 
with  sixteen  cents  (eightpence)  for  every  dozen  eggs 
they  gave  him,  then  he  stored  them  in  his  freezing- 
house  till  autumn,  when  they  could  be  thrown  on  the 
market  at  twenty-five  to  thirty  cents  the  dozen. 

He  was  a  great  believer  in  cold  storage.  "  Meat," 
said  he,  "  is  tenderer  when  it  has  been  frozen  some 
weeks/' 

Business  in  eggs  used  to  be  better.  Now  the 
State  set  a  limit  on  the  time  you  could  keep  them  in 
cold  storage.  Sometimes  he  had  to  sell  out  at  a 
loss.  The  hope  was  to  keep  all  the  farm  produce 
till  there  was  a  real  scarcity  and  prices  went  high. 
Then  it  would  be  possible  to  make  a  small  fortune. 

"  But  I'm  tired  of  this  business,"  said  the  store- 
I'd  like  to  give  it  up  and  buy  land." 


256         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS          xv 

We  lumbered  along  the  road  and  stopped  at  each 
farm-house.  Sometimes  we  sold  articles,  but  whether 
we  sold  anything  or  not  we  always  took  a  few  dozen 
eggs  ;  every  farmer  was  in  business  with  my  man 
and  used  him  as  a  sort  of  egg-bank.  Even  if  they 
were  not  in  debt  to  him  they  were  glad  to  hand 
over  their  eggs  and  be  credited  with  the  corre 
sponding  amount  of  money.  We  took  four  or  five 
dozen  eggs  at  least  at  every  farm,  and  sometimes 
as  many  as  twenty  and  thirty  dozen.  The  store- 
man  left  behind  an  empty  crate  at  each  farm,  so  that 
it  might  be  filled  for  him  next  time  he  came  along, 
and  he  took  aboard  the  crate  already  filled.  In 
exchange  he  sold  kerchiefs,  boots,  corsets,  cloth, 
brooms,  brushes,  coffee,  corn-flake,  wire-gauze  to 
keep  out  mosquitoes,  etc.  At  the  end  of  his  round 
he  would  have  got  rid  of  almost  all  his  merchandise 
and  have  filled  both  sides  of  the  hearse  with  eggs. 
He  took  home  upon  occasion  as  many  as  five 
hundred  dozen  eggs ! 

A  cheerful  American  with  a  word  of  news,  a 
titbit  of  gossip,  and  the  top  of  the  morning  for 
all  the  country  women.  He  was  eagerly  awaited, 
and  children  at  farm-gates  descried  him  a  long  way 
off  and  ran  in  to  tell  their  mothers.  Even  the 
babies  were  excited  at  his  approach,  for  they  knew 
he  carried  a  supply  of  candy.  At  each  farm  where 
there  was  a  baby  the  storeman  left  a  little  bag  of 
candy.  He  knew  the  value  of  good-will. 

"  It's  a  good  business,"  said  he;  "  no  expense  of 


xv  THE  HEART  OF  THE  COUNTRY  257 

keeping  a  shop,  double  profit, — profit  on  the  goods 
and  profit  on  the  eggs;  it  pays  all  right.  But  I'm 
tired  of  it,  and  I  think  I  shall  give  it  up  and  buy 
land."  To  several  of  his  customers  who  asked  after 
his  business  he  replied  in  the  same  terms.  He  was 
getting  tired  of  it,  and  was  thinking  of  buying  land. 
When  I  took  a  photograph  of  his  cart  and  himself 
he  said  he  would  be  very  glad  to  have  a  copy,  just  to 
remind  him  of  old  days — for  he  was  thinking  of 
giving  it  up,  etc. 

It  is  interesting  to  observe  the  commercialisation 
that  goes  on  in  the  country  in  America.  Not  only 
does  the  egg-bank  and  travelling  store  come  round, 
but  the  cream-vans  come  also  and  buy  up  all  the 
cream,  and  the  baker  comes  from  the  bread  factory 
and  dumps,  twice  or  three  times  a  week,  huge  baskets 
of  damp,  tasteless  loaves,  all  wrapped  in  grease- 
paper.  Not  many  people  bake  their  own  bread — 
they  save  time  and  take  this  astonishing  substitute. 
Then  travellers  in  coffee  have  exploited  special 
brands— "  Euclid  Coffee,"  "Primus  Coffee,"  "Old 
Reliable,"  and  the  like,  done  up  in  pound  packets. 
Rural  Americans  do  not  realise  that  good  coffee 
is  coffee  and  no  more. 

No  one  had  a  quart  of  milk  to  spare  on  the  road 
to  Angola,  so  I  hit  on  a  plan  which  I  recommend  to 
others  in  like  circumstances.  I  went  to  a  farm 
house  and  asked  for  a  cupful  of  milk  to  have  with 
my  coffee ;  I  got  it  easily  and  freely.  The  farmer 

was    rather   touched.       But    as   you   cannot    make 

s 


258         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  xv 

decent  coffee  with  one  cupful  of  milk  I  went  to 
another  farm  and  begged  another  cupful,  and  then 
to  another.  I  was  able  to  make  a  good  pot  of  coffee, 
despite  the  scarcity  of  milk. 

Whilst  I  was  having  lunch,  I  had  an  interesting 
talk  with  an  ancient  man  who  was  mowing  grass  at 
the  side  of  the  road. 

"  You  look  like  Father  Time,"  said  I. 

"Well,  I've  mown  a  good  many  days,"  he 
replied.  "  I  shall  soon  die  now.  There's  no 
strength  in  me ;  my  day  is  over." 

"  Have  you  enjoyed  life  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Yes,  I  have,"  he  replied,  his  face  lighting  up. 

"  Do  you  work  your  farm  yourself?  " 

"  No !  My  son  works  it ;  he  is  twenty-two. 
Yes,  I  married  late.  Thirty-two  years  I  wandered 
as  you  are  doing.  I've  been  in  thirty  states.  I 
was  ten  years  on  the  Lakes,  a  sailor.'1 

"  Ever  across  the  Atlantic  ?  " 

"  Never  on  the  big  waters." 

"  And  how  do  you  think  America  is  going  on  ?  " 

"  I  think  she  is  going  bad.  The  new  generation 
is  weak.  There'll  soon  be  no  old  farmer  stock. 
The  old  folk  work,  but  the  children  go  to  school. 
My  father  was  an  old  Connecticut  Yankee — a 
republican — so  am  I  ;  but  the  party  has  broken  up, 
the  country's  going  wild." 

The  old  man  had  a  dog  "  Colonel,"  named  after 
Colonel  Somebody,  who  was  his  father's  Squire  in 
Connecticut. 


"  i  HAD  AN  INTERESTING  TALK  WITH  AN  ANCIENT  MAN 

BY  THE  SIDE  OF  THE  ROAD." 


xv    THE  HEART  OF  THE  COUNTRY  259 

"A  fine  dog,"  said  I. 

"  More  helpful  than  a  boy,"  said  the  old  farmer. 
"He  can  drive  the  hog  home  straight,  and  he 
always  helps  me  up  when  I  tumble  down.  I'm 
weak  now — have  had  two  strokes,  and  after  the  last 
I  was  just  like  a  baby.  I  can't  mow  properly — 
no  strength  to  move  anything.  Often  I  fall  of  a 
heap,  and  Colonel  runs  in  and  gets  under  my 
stomach  with  his  head  and  raises  me.  A  'cute 
dog " 

A  pleasant  vision  of  not  unhappy  age! 

I  passed  through  Angola — a  neat  little  city 
round  about  a  shoppy  square ;  a  quiet  market-place 
functionising  the  agricultural  country  round  about. 
I  had  dinner  at  one  of  several  restaurants,  and  had 
three  quick-lunch  courses  brought  to  me  at  once — 
an  array  of  nine  or  ten  plates  on  a  little  grey  stone 
table — not  very  appetising. 

There  were  three  or  four  country  loungers  at  the 
ice-cream  bar  of  the  establishment,  and  a  negro  was 
sitting  at  another  table  with  a  tall  glass  and  a  straw 
and  a  "soda."  At  my  side  was  what  I  took  to  be  a 
piano — very  dusty,  and  with  the  keyboard  out  of 
sight.  Suddenly,  without  any  warning,  it  jumped 
into  music,  and  thumped  out  a  cake-walk  in  its 
interior.  It  was  as  if  a  lot  of  niggers  were  doing 
the  dance  in  an  empty  room. 

I  paid  no  attention,  facially.  Alas  !  we  are  quite 
familiar  with  such  marvels,  with  all  that  can  be  shown. 
We  raise  no  eyebrow.  But  bring  in  an  aboriginal 


26o         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  xv 

Chinee  and  sit  him  there  where  I  was,  and  start 
this  box  a-going,  and  he'd  jump  out  of  his  wits. 
How  was  it  started?  Some  one  went  softly  across 
the  room  and  put  a  cent  in  a  slot — that's  all.  Is 
it  not  maddening  to  be  uninterested,  unthrilled? 
None  of  us  paid  any  attention.  The  loungers 
gossiped  with  the  ice-cream  girl,  the  nigger  drew 
up  his  soda,  I  strove  with  my  hard  roast  beef. 

St.  John's  Eve!  Unusual  things  might  be 
expected  to  happen  this  night.  I  had  lived  with 
the  growing  summer,  had  caught  in  my  hands  one 
evening  not  long  since  a  large  dusky  lovely  emperor- 
moth,  and  had  received  an  invitation  from  fairyland. 
The  strange  thing  was  that  as  I  tramped  out  of 
Angola  on  the  Lagrange  Road,  it  did  not  occur  to 
me  what  day  it  was.  Only  in  the  middle  of  the 
night  did  I  reflect — there  is  something  unusual  astir, 
something  is  happening  all  about  me,  this  is  no 
ordinary  night.  And  only  in  the  morning  did  I 
realise  it  had  been  St.  John's  Eve. 

I  slept  by  an  orchard  on  a  hill.  Below  me  was 
a  little  lake,  on  the  right  a  straw  stack,  on  the  left 
an  apple  tree,  over  me  a  plum  tree  with  wee  plums. 
All  night  long  little  apples  fell  from  their  weak 
stalks,  the  frogs  sang — now  solos,  now  choruses, 
the  mosquitoes  hummed  in  the  plum  tree.  On  the 
surface  of  the  little  lake  little  lights  appeared 
and  disappeared  as  the  wandering  fireflies  carried 
messages  from  reed  to  reed.  Processions  of  clouds 


xv  THE  HEART  OF  THE  COUNTRY  261 

stole  over  the  starry  sky,  and  I  thought  of  rain,  but 
the  whole  night  was  hot  and  odorous  and  full  of 
dreams. 

I  did  not  awake  next  morning  till  it  was  bright 
day.  Between  me  and  the  straw  stack  there  was 
a  fluttering  and  squawking  of  young  birds  being 
taught  to  fly  by  their  mother.  Every  time  a  young 
bird  alighted  after  a  little  flutter,  it  always  fell  on 
its  nose.  My  attention  was  divided  between  the 
birds  and  a  big  bee,  who  thought  I  had  made  my 
bed  over  his  nest.  What  a  distressing  way  the 
bumble-bee  has  of  losing  himself  and  thinking  you 
are  to  blame ! 

I  tramped  to  the  reedy  lake  of  Whip-poor- Will. 
The  wind  blew  now  hot  from  the  sun's  mouth,  now 
cold  from  a  cloud's  shoulder.  The  question  was, 
Would  the  Midsummer  day  turn  to  heat  or  come  to 
rain  ?  It  turned  to  heat.  What  a  day  of  happiness 
I  spent  on  the  sandy  ups  and  downs  of  country 
roads !  After  weeks  among  plains,  I  was  glad  of  a 
country-side  that  had  corners  again.  I  was  among 
"dear  little  lakes,"  the  children  of  the  great  lakes— 
in  the  nursery. 

I  came  to  Flint,  and  met  the  "  pike  road  "  from 
Detroit  to  Chicago.  Flint  has  a  large  general 
store  and  a  barber's  shop.  I  bought  three  oranges 
out  of  the  refrigerator  of  the  store,  and,  to  make  them 
last  longer,  half  a  pound  of  honey-cakes. 

At  noon  I  made  my  midday  fire  in  the  bed  of  a 
dried-up  rivulet.  The  weather  was  almost  too  hot 


262         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  xv 

for  tending  a  fire ;  tawny  spots  appeared  on  my 
wrists,  and,  viewing  my  face  in  the  metal  back  of 
my  soap-box,  I  was  startled  to  see  the  fire  in  my 
eyebrows  and  cheeks.  But  with  the  heat  there  was 
a  wind,  and  in  the  afternoon  great  cumuli  grew  up 
in  the  sky,  and  it  was  possible  to  think  the  earth 
was  a  ship  and  the  clouds  the  billows  which  we 
were  rolling  over.  Up  hill  and  down  dale,  round 
corners,  by  snug  farms  with  green  and  crimson 
cherry  orchards,  over  hills  where  miles  of  corn  were 
blanching  and  waving !  I  came  to  Brushy  Prairie, 
and  camped  for  the  night  in  an  angle  of  the  road 
beside  the  village  cemetery. 

I  read  and  wrote,  mended  my  clothes,  cleaned 
my  pack  of  waste  dust,  collected  hay  to  make 
a  bed.  Many  carts  came  past,  and  the  people  in 
them  hailed  me  with  facetious  remarks.  After  I 
had  lain  down  one  old  village  wife  came  to  see  if 
I  were  sick  and  wanted  medicine.  It  was  strange 
to  lie  by  the  cemetery  and  hear  a  party  of  girls  go 
by  in  a  buggy,  singing,  "  When  the  roll  is  called  up 
yonder,  I'll  be  there." 

I  lay  and  watched  the  sky,  scanning  the  clouds 
for  a  certitude  of  a  dry  night.  A  great  war  was 
going  on  between  the  forces  of  the  clear  sky  and 
of  the  clouds.  There  was  a  party  of  skirmishers 
advancing  from  the  south-west.  There  was  a  long 
array  of  clouds  in  the  north  and  in  the  south,  and 
the  main  army  lay  heavy  and  invincible  in  the 
north-west.  But  the  clear  sky  scattered  the  enemy 


xv  THE  HEART  OF  THE  COUNTRY  263 

wherever  it  encountered  them,  and  even  forced  the 
main  army  to  take  up  a  new  position.  The  camp 
of  the  clouds  was  made  far  away,  and  lights  came 
out  in  their  leaguer. 

The  night  became  silent  and  brilliant  and  perfect, 
and  I  lay  with  my  eyes  open,  and  did  not  look,  but 
just  saw.  .  .  . 

I  slept.  Whilst  my  eyes  were  closed  there  was  a 
great  night  attack,  and  when  I  woke  again  I  found 
the  armies  of  the  clear  sky  completely  routed. 
There  was  a  shower  of  rain,  and  I  jumped  up  and 
tripped  along  to  the  church.  The  door  was  open. 
I  struck  a  match  and  saw  all  the  pews  and  prayer- 
books  and  hymn-sheets,  and  away  in  the  shadows  the 
platform  and  the  pulpit. 

But  the  shower  ceased.  I  reflected  that  if  heavy 
rain  came  on  I  could  easily  come  into  shelter,  so  I 
returned  to  my  hay-spread,  and  lay  down  again  and 
watched  the  renewed  battle  in  the  sky. 

A  desperate  rally !  One  star,  two  stars  were 
shining,  and  round  about  them  a  great  stand  was 
being  made.  They  fought  lustily.  They  seemed 
to  be  gaining  ground.  Yes.  Three,  four,  five  stars 
showed,  six.  ...  I  fell  asleep  again,  knowing  that 
the  side  I  favoured  would  win.  When  I  wakened 
next  it  was  to  greet  the  great  General  coming  from 
the  east  in  all  his  war-paint,  and  hung  all  over  with 
silver  medals.  A  glorious  day  followed. 

I  spent  a  morning  by  the  clear  St.  Joseph 
River.  On  the  road  to  Middlebury  wild  raspberries 


264         WITH   POOR  IMMIGRANTS  xv 

abounded.  I  could  have  picked  a  pound  or  so  of 
berries  along  the  road.  Raspberry  bushes  occur  in 
many  places,  but  I've  seen  few  raspberries  hitherto. 
That  is  because  the  great  friends  of  the  raspberries 
live  so  near — human  boys  and  girls — and  they  are 
always  taking  the  raspberries  to  school,  to  church, 
to  the  corn-field.  If  they  are  going  home  they  insist 
on  taking  the  little  raspberries  home  too,  to  the 
distress  of  fathers  and  mothers  sometimes,  for  the 
raspberries  know  how  to  disagree  with  the  children 
upon  occasion,  especially  the  young  ones. 

There  were  not  many  farm-houses  about  here, 
but  at  one  of  them  I  was  given  a  pot  full  of  ripe 
cherries,  and  made  a  "smash"  of  them,  and  ate 
them  with  milk  and  sugar. 

A  motorist  took  me  along  a  dozen  miles  in  a 
bouncing,  petrol-spurting  runabout  car,  a  Dutchman, 
who  paid  me  the  compliment  of  saying  I  spoke  very 
grammatically  for  a  foreigner. 

There  was  a  thundershower  in  the  afternoon. 
In  the  evening  I  obtained  permission  to  sleep  in  a 
barn,  and  the  farmer  talked  to  me  as  I  lay  in  the 
straw.  There  had  been  a  runaway  team  the  day 
before,  and  his  neighbour's  bay  mare  had  twenty- 
four  stitches  in  her  now,  and  he  didn't  reckon  she'd 
be  much  more  good. 

A  waggoner  taking  fowls  and  dairy  produce  to 
sell  at  restaurants  and  quick-lunch  shops  took  me 
into  Elkhart  next  morning.  Elkhart  is  a  large  city, 
with  many  car  factories  and  buggy  factories,  and  by 


xv  THE  HEART  OF  THE  COUNTRY  265 

comparison  with  the  country  round  is  very  foreign, 
full  of  Italians,  Poles,  and  Jews.  It  is  a  well-built, 
handsome  city,  with  much  promise  for  the  future. 

As  I  stepped  out  on  the  Shipshewaka  Road  I  saw 
by  a  notice  that  a  prize  was  being  offered  for  the 
most  popular  woman  and  the  homeliest  man.  What 
a  contrast  this  implies  to  the  life  of  the  East.  Here 
is  a  land  where  women  are  public,  and  where  nobility 
in  a  man  is  best  expressed  by  being  handy  about 
the  house. 

I  tramped  along  the  north  side  of  St.  Joseph's 
River,  through  beautiful  country  under  delightful 
conditions.  The  corn-fields  had  turned  red-gold,  the 
grass  was  all  in  flower,  and  little  brown  fluffy  bees 
considered  it  the  best  time  of  summer.  What  a  sun 
there  was,  what  a  breeze  !  I  found  the  "  Bachelor's 
Retreat "  on  the  St.  Joseph's  River,  two  boat-houses, 
a  stairway  through  the  forest  banks,  and  a  little 
wooden  pier  stretching  out  into  the  pleasant  water — 
a  good  place  for  a  swim  ! 

Just  before  Mishewaka  I  met  old  Samuel  Judie, 
seventy-six  years  of  age,  lying  on  a  bank  with  a  stick 
in  his  hand,  tending  the  cows  of  his  own  farm  and 
philosophising  on  life. 

"  It's  a  marvellous  thing  that  the  sun  stands  still 
and  the  earth  goes  round  it,"  said  he.  "  A  marvellous 
thing  that  there  are  stars.  They  find  out  how  to 
make  automobiles,  and  they  find  out  lots  of  things 
about  the  stars,  but  the  human  race  won't  ever  know 
out  the  facts." 


266         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS          xv 

To  most  of  the  remarks  I  made  Mr.  Judie 
answered  "  Shah." 

"  England  has  fifty  million  people." 

-Oh,  shah!" 

"  London  is  twenty  miles  broad  and  twenty  miles 
long." 

"Oh,  shah!" 

"  There  are  plenty  of  farms  of  only  ten  acres." 

"  Oh,  shah  !  " 

He  grumbled  a  great  deal  at  the  automobiles. 

"  Last  Sunday,"  said  he,  "a  man  and  his  wife 
were  knocked  down  just  here.  They  had  been 
saving  and  pinching  for  years,  and  had  at  last  cleared 
the  mortgage  off  their  farm,  and  were  reckoning  to 
live  decently.  The  automobile  cut  the  woman's 
head  right  off,  and  the  man  is  lying  in  the  hospital. 
There  ought  to  be  a  law  against  the  automobiles 
rushing  through  from  Elkhart  to  South  Bend  on 
Sundays." 

"  I  suppose  South  Bend  is  a  rich  place  ?  " 

"  Shah ! " 

"  What  do  they  make  there  ?  " 

"  Boots,  waggons,  ploughs,  the  wooden  parts  of 
Singer's  sewing-machines.  .  .  .  They  are  terribly 
hard  up  for  hands.  .  .  .  You'd  get  a  job  easy.  .  .  . 
There  is  a  great  lot  of  girls  working  in  the  factories, 
many  foreign.  They  soon  marry  and  go  on  to  a 
farm.  Factory  folks  make  a  pile  of  money ;  get 
tired,  and  then  buy  a  few  acres  of  land  and  live 
on  it.  Farms  about  here  are  split  up  into  small 


OLD   SAMUEL  JUDIE,    LYING  ON   A   BANK,   AND   PHILOSOPHISING 

ON   LIFE." 


xv  THE  HEART  OF  THE  COUNTRY  267 

portions  and  sold  to  poor  folk.  Some  want  me  to 
divide  up  my  farm  and  sell  part  of  it,  but  I  won't 
do  it." 

Mr.  Judie  had  had  to  work  all  his  life,  and  to 
work  hard  a  good  deal  of  it,  and  he  felt  entitled  to 
have  his  own  mind  on  any  subject,  and  to  act 
accordingly. 

A  wealthy  American  took  me  along  in  his  car 
through  Mishewaka  to  South  Bencl,  and  showed  me 
the  great  factory  of  wind-mill  sails,  Dodge's  factory 
of  "  transmission  power  "  of  pulleys  and  connections 
and  all  things  that  join  up  engines  and  plant ;  then 
the  famous  Studebaker's  factory  of  plough-handles, 
shafts,  waggons,  etc.,  the  rubber-boot  factory,  Singer's 
frame  factory,  and  several  other  establishments  which 
indicated  how  busy  these  Indiana  cities  are. 

I  tramped  out  to  New  Carlisle,  spending  a  night 
there  under  a  deep  dark  maple  tree,  which  after 
sunset  looked  like  a  great  overlapping  thatch — not  a 
poke  of  light  came  through.  As  I  lay  beside  the 
high  road,  and  as  the  American  holidays  had  just 
commenced,  scores  of  cars  came  by,  and  as  each  one 
appeared  on  the  road  horizon  it  lit  up  my  leafy 
ceiling  with  its  great  flashlights.  How  hot  the 
night  was.  ...  I  slept  without  covering.  It  was 
hot  even  at  dawn. 

It  was  next  day  on  the  road  to  Michigan  City 
that  I  gave  water  to  a  thirsty  calf,  who  actually  ran 
to  me  and  butted  into  me  to  persuade  me  to  fill  his 
bucket.  It  was  on  this  road  that  having  thrown  a 


268         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS  xv 

potful  of  water  at  some  sheep  they  followed  me  down 
the  dusty  road,  crying  to  me  to  do  it  again. 

Michigan  City  was  sweltering.  I  took  refuge 
from  the  heat  in  the  waiting-room  of  the  large  rail 
way  station,  and  watched  the  crowds  in  the  New 
York  and  Chicago  trains,  and  the  rush  of  the 
restaurant  boys  with  hundreds  of  cones  of  ice-cream. 

A  pretty  negress  came  and  sat  next  me  and 
began  talking. 

"  Ah  come  over  heer  two  manths  ago  to  the 
carnaval,  and  have  been  playing  vaudy-ville,  but 
the  home  folks  said  ah  mus'  come  back.  Mai,  how 
I  cried  when  I  heard.  I  did  take  on.  .  .  ." 

She  was  under  police  supervision,  and  a  big 
Irish  policeman  came  and  took  her  away  when  he 
saw  her  talking  with  me.  She  stood  on  the  plat 
form  until  the  train  came  in,  and  then  she  was  put 
in  charge  of  a  guard.  She  had,  no  doubt,  been 
arrested  under  suspicious  circumstances  in  the 
streets  of  Michigan,  and  had  been  brought  before  a 
kind  magistrate,  who  had  forborne  to  punish  her  on 
condition  that  she  went  back  to  her  mother. 

The  road  from  Michigan  undulated  over  a  weedy 
wilderness  and  gnat-swarming  marshes.  I  had  a 
bad  time  as  to  the  heat  and  the  mosquitoes,  and, 
despite  use  of  strong  disinfectants,  I  got  badly 
stung,  and  was  consequently  feverish  for  some  days. 
I  was  also  very  idle,  very  much  inclined  to  sit  on 
palings  and  consider  how  hot  it  was.  On  the 
Sunday,  just  to  see  whether  the  plaints  of  the 


xv  THE  HEART  OF  THE  COUNTRY  269 

farmers  were  justified,  I  made  a  census  of  all  the 
vehicles  that  passed  me.  On  the  Monday  I  got  to 
Hammond,  and  on  Tuesday  came  in  by  car  to 
Chicago.  That  day  was  the  hottest  of  the  year. 
Fifty-three  people  died  from  the  heat  in  the  city 
that  day.  I  could  have  understood  a  few  tramps 
dying  even  on  the  road. 


XVI 
THE  CHOIR  DANCE  OF  THE  RACES 

THE  road  into  Chicago  was  one  of  increasing  noise 
and  smoke  and  desolation,  of  heat  and  gloom,  and 
the  rumour  of  a  sordid  defeat  of  life.  I  remember 
Calumet  City  by  the  factory  stacks,  the  chimneys 
whose  blackness  seemed  fainting  out  of  sight  in  the 
haze  of  the  heat.  Dark  smokes  and  white  steams 
curled  above  many  workshops ;  along  the  roadside 
black  rivulets  flowed  from  the  factories.  There 
were  heaps  of  ashes  and  tin  cans  lying  in  odorous 
ponds.  The  leaves  of  the  trees  and  the  grasses  of 
the  fields  were  wilted  and  yellowed  by  the  airs  and 
fumes  of  Chicago.  At  Hammond  a  drunken,  one- 
armed  man  followed  me  for  about  a  mile,  attract 
ing  a  crowd  of  street  Arabs  by  his  foul  language. 
East  Chicago  looked  to  me  like  parts  of  suburban 
London,  and  I  was  reminded  in  turns  of  Peckham, 
Hackney  Marshes,  Commercial  Road,  Whitechapel. 
There  was,  however,  much  that  was  unlike  any 
thing  in  London — the  ominous  squads  of  factory 
chimneys  ;  clouds  of  heavy-rolling,  ochreous  fumes 

and   smoke ;   palings   with  such    advertisements    as 

270 


xvi    CHOIR  DANCE  OF  THE  RACES    271 

"Read  no  scab  newspapers"  or  "  You'll  Holler"; 
wooden  houses;  dilapidated,  ramshackle  frame-build 
ings  of  grey  wood  ;  broken-down  verandahs  ;  black 
stairways ;  grey  washing  hanging  on  strings  from 
stairway  to  stairway  ;  half-  naked  children  ;  piles  of 
old  cans  and  rusty  iron. 

The  vehicles  increased  on  the  highway,  the 
lumber  of  much  traffic  commenced,  the  red  and 
yellow  tramcars  multiplied,  railway  lines  crossed  the 
road,  and  by  the  rush  of  trains  one  felt  that  all  the 
traffic  of  Eastern  and  Central  America  was  con 
verging  to  one  point.  The  open  country  dis 
appeared.  The  air  of  the  roadway  became  full  of 
dust.  The  heat  increased  ten  degrees,  and  to  move 
a  limb  was  to  perspire.  Foreigners  jostled  one 
another  on  the  sidewalks,  negroes  and  negresses  sat 
in  doorways.  The  odour  of  carcases  came  to  the 
nostrils  from  Packing-town,  and  at  last  the  great 
central  roar  of  traffic — Chicago. 

I  can  give  no  account  of  the  great  city  here — it 
would  be  only  to  recount  and  add  together  the 
uglinesses  and  the  promises  of  other  cities.  It  was 
at  once  worse  and  better  than  I  had  expected.  The 
hopelessness  of  the  picture  given  by  Upton  Sinclair 
in  The  Jungle  I  felt  to  be  exaggerated.  I  was  told 
at  Hull  House  that  the  novelist  had  got  all  his 
stories  at  the  stockyards,  but  that  the  massed 
calamities  that  are  so  appalling  in  the  story  never 
occurred  to  one  family  in  real  life.  The  effect  of 
accumulated  horrible  detail  in  The  Jungle  deprives 


272         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS         xvi 

you  at  the  time  of  any  love  towards  America;  it 
made  me,  a  Briton,  feel  hatred  towards  America, 
and  when  first  I  read  the  book  I  felt  that  no  Russian 
who  read  it  carefully  would  entertain  willingly  the 
idea  of  going  to  America.  If  he  had  entertained 
the  idea,  having  read  The  Jungle  he  would  abandon 
it.  It  is  an  astonishing  tract  on  the  fate  of  a 
Russian  peasant  family  leaving  the  -land  of  so- 
called  tyranny  for  a  land  of  so-called  freedom  ;  and 
its  obvious  moral  is  that  Russia  is  a  better  country 
for  the  individual  than  America  —  that  America 
takes  the  fine  peasant  stock  of  Europe  and  shatters 
it  to  bits. 

It  is  true  that  Chicago  makes  a  convenience  of 
men,  and  that  there  man  exists  that  commerce  may 
thrive  rather  than  that  commerce  exists  that  man 
may  thrive.  It  is  a  place  where  the  physical  and 
psychical  savings  of  Europeans  are  wasted  like 
water,  and  where  no  one  understands  what  the 
waste  means.  Spending  is  always  joyful,  and 
Chicago  is  a  gay  city.  It  is  full  of  a  light-hearted 
people,  pushing,  bantering,  laughing,  blindfolded 
over  their  spiritual  eyes.  In  such  places  as  Chicago 
the  immigrant  finds  a  market  for  things  he  could 
never  sell  at  home — his  body,  his  nerve,  his  vital 
energy ;  a  ready  market,  and  he  sells  them  and  has 
money  in  his  pocket  and  beer  in  plenty.  Listen  to 
the  loud-voiced,  God-invoking  crowd  in  the  saloons ! 
They  have  the  proceeds  that  come  of  selling  the 
savings  of  Europe.  They  have  come  out  of  the 


xvi     CHOIR  DANCE  OF  THE  RACES    273 

quiet  villages  and  forests  where,  from  generation  to 
generation  and  age  to  age,  the  peasantry  live  quiet 
lives,  and  grow  richer  and  richer  in  spirit  and  nerve. 
But  these  in  the  Chicago  streets  and  saloons  have 
found  their  mysterious  destiny,  to  lavish  in  a  life, 
and  for  seemingly  worthless  ends,  what  hundreds  of 
quiet-living  ancestors  have  saved.  The  tree  of  a 
hundred  years  falls  in  a  day  and  becomes  timber, 
supporting  a  part  of  the  fabric  of  civilisation  for  a 
while. 

The  strangest  thing  is  the  clamour  of  the 
Chicago  crowd — it  is  dead-sure  about  everything  in 
the  world,  ignorant,  cocksure,  mocking.  It  does 
not  know  it  is  losing,  does  not  know  that  it  is  blind 
folded,  because  it  is  the  victim  of  destiny. 

Part  of  the  spiritual  blindness  of  the  great  city  is 
the  belief  it  holds  that  there  is  no  other  place  of 
importance  but  itself.  And  many  outsiders  take 
the  city  at  its  own  estimate.  But  Chicago  is  not 
America,  neither  is  New  York  or  any  other  great 
city.  If  going  to  America  meant  going  only  to  the 
great  cities,  then  few  but  the  Jews  would  emigrate 
from  Europe. 

The  ideals  of  America  cannot  be  worked  out 
merely  in  the  great  cities.  The  cities  are  places  of 
death,  of  the  destruction  of  national  tissue,  and  of 
human  combustion,  necessary,  no  doubt,  as  such, 
certainly  not  places  where  one  need  worry  about 
national  health.  The  national  health  is  on  the 
farms  of  Pennsylvania  and  Indiana  and  Minnesota, 

T 


274         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS          xvi 

Michigan,  Iowa,  the  Dakotas,  the  Far  West.  The 
men  range  big  out  there  ;  the  stand-by  of  the  people 
will  always  be  found  in  these  places  and  not  in  the 
cities. 

And  New  York  and  Chicago,  though  necessary, 
are  abnormal.  They  are  not  so  much  America 
as  unassimilated  Europe.  The  population  of  a  city 
should  be  the  natural  sacrifice  of  the  population  of 
the  country.  It  is  often  deplored  that  the  country 
people  are  forsaking  the  land  and  flocking  to  the 
towns  ;  but  the  proper  people  to  replenish  the  failing 
stock  of  the  cities  is  just  those  whom  instinct  and 
destiny  prompt  to  leave  the  country.  It  is  most 
bewildering  to  the  student  of  America  that  her 
city-populations  are  replenished  by  the  foreign  im 
migrants,  by  people  nursing,  it  is  true,  American 
sentiments,  but  not  yet  born  into  the  American 
ideal,  not  made  America's  own.  The  natural  place 
for  the  first  generation  of  immigrants  is  on  the  land. 
If  Chicago  seems  too  large,  too  sudden  a  growth, 
disorderly,  unanticipated,  altogether  out  of  hand,  it 
is  because  of  the  hordes  of  foreigners  who  are  there, 
who  have  not  the  impulse  to  co-operate,  and  who  do 
not  readily  respond  to  the  efforts  of  the  idealist  and 
politician.  And  they  do  not  readily  respond  because 
they  have  not  lived  long  enough  in  the  true  American 
atmosphere,  have  not  served  a  quiet  apprenticeship 
in  the  country,  but  have  been  dumped  into  an  indus 
trial  wilderness  served  with  the  yellow  press  and 
4 'sped  up." 


xvi     CHOIR  DANCE  OF  THE  RACES    275 

America  will  have  to  guide  the  flow  of  the  im 
migrants,  and  learn  to  irrigate  with  it  and  make 
fertile  the  middle  and  the  far  West.  It  is  over-com 
mercialisation  and  near-sightedness  that  clamours 
for  more  labour  in  the  great  cities.  The  size  of  a 
city  is  never  too  small.  In  the  normal  state  of  a 
nation  the  city  functionises  the  country,  and  accord 
ing  to  the  strength  of  the  people  in  the  background 
the  state  of  the  great  town  will  be  busy  or  slack. 
It  is  good  news  that  negotiations  are  being  made 
with  the  trans-Atlantic  shipping  companies  to  ship 
immigrants  to  the  Far  Western  coast  via  the 
Panama  Canal,  at  rates  not  very  much  heavier 
than  at  present  exist  for  shipment  to  Boston  and 
Philadelphia  and  New  York.  A  man  and  his  wife 
planted  on  the  land  in  the  West  are  worth  ten  given 
to  the  greedy  cities  of  the  East. 

In  the  matter  of  the  colonisation  of  her  own 
country  America  might  learn  a  great  deal  from 
Russia,  especially  in  the  matter  of  railway  transit. 
It  is  all  to  the  advantage  of  a  country  that  means  of 
transit  are  cheap,  and  that  there  be  a  brisk  circula 
tion  of  the  blood  of  the  body-politic.  As  a  news 
paper  realises  that  the  cheaper  its  price  the  greater 
its  success,  the  greater  its  circulation,  so  America 
might  realise  that  the  cheaper  were  its  railway  fares 
the  more  facility  would  there  be  for  the  mingling 
of  the  peoples,  the  assimilation  of  foreigners,  and 
the  development  of  the  country. 

In  America  it  costs  39  dollars  60  cents  to  go  as 


276 


WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS 


XVI 


far  as  Denver,  Colorado,  which  is  about  2000  miles, 
and  $76.20  to  go  to  San  Francisco.  A  comparison 
with  the  Russian  rates  will  give  an  idea  how  much 
more  cheaply  it  is  possible  to  carry  people : 


Russian  Rates. 

TV 

A            '             D 

3rd  Class. 

4th  Class. 

Immigrants' 
Rate. 

2000  miles 

39.60  dollars 

9  dollars 

4.20  dollars 

I  dollar 

3230     » 

76.20       „ 

12.50  „ 

6 

1.  60  dollars 

Of  course  the  cost  of  working  is  more  in  America 
than  in  Russia,  and  the  trains  are  twice  as  fast ;  but 
that  is  not  enough  to  set  off  against  the  enormous 
differences  in  fares.  A  great  profit  is  made  out  of 
the  railway  business,  and  the  profit  is  at  the  expense 
of  America  as  a  whole.  It  is  absurd  to  compare 
the  prices  of  fares  in  America  with  the  prices  of 
fares  in  Great  Britain.  It  is  bad  enough  with  us, 
but  ours  is  a  small  territory  ;  it  does  not  cost  much 
to  go  from  end  to  end.  But  America  is  a  vast 
country.  It  costs  almost  a  year's  wages  to  pay  the 
fare  of  a  family  across  it.  You  think  twice  before 
determining  to  travel  even  a  thousand  miles.  The 
consequence  is  that  the  circulation  of  people  is 
sluggish  in  the  extreme.  The  East  begins  to  get 
congested,  and  the  cities  are  packed  with  people 
who  would  gladly  have  gone  straight  to  the  West 
if  facilities  had  been  granted  them. 


xvi     CHOIR  DANCE  OF  THE  RACES    277 

In  the  development  of  democracy  it  is  circulation 
that  is  important,  the  circulation  of  opinion,  of  senti 
ment,  of  ideals.  The  large  circulation  of  interest 
and  affection  caused  by  the  reduction  of  postage 
rates  down  to  a  penny  in  Britain  and  two  cents  in 
America  has  given  an  immense  impetus  to  demo 
cratic  development ;  the  larger  circulation  of  ideas 
and  opinions  caused  by  the  reduction  of  the  price 
of  newspapers  to  a  cent  has  also  been  advantageous. 
But  how  much  more  important  than  the  circulation 
of  opinions,  ideas,  and  sentiments  is  the  circulation 
of  the  people  themselves,  controlled  by  the  price  of 
fares  on  railways !  How  much  more  swiftly  would 
the  American  democracy  become  homogeneous  if  it 
were  possible  to  travel  a  thousand  miles  for  five 
dollars.  That  would  entail  either  nationalisation  of 
railways  or  subsidisation  by  the  Government.  But 
it  would  be  worth  it  to  the  American  people. 

Because  of  the  heavy  expense  of  railway  travel 
ling  America  is  only  dimly  conscious  of  itself, 
geographically  and  ethnologically.  Americans  even 
boast  of  the  distances  between  their  towns  and 
between  different  points  of  the  country.  Chicago, 
only  one- third  of  the  way  across  the  continent,  is 
called  "  The  West."  Indiana  and  Illinois  and 
Minnesota  are  "  out  West."  It  is  as  if  we  referred  to 
Berkshire  or  Warwickshire  as  the  West  of  England. 

In  due  course,  it  may  be  imagined,  the  United 
States  Government  will  assume  state-control  of  many 
of  the  railways,  and  ten  dollars  will  pay  your  fare 


278         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS         xvi 

from  New  York  right  across.  Immigrants  will  not 
be  allowed  to  settle  in  great  cities  till  they  have 
spent  ten  years  on  the  land.  Such  a  provision 
would  make  it  easier  to  admit  all  sorts  and  condi 
tions  of  Europeans  at  Ellis  Island  ;  and  at  the  corre 
sponding  immigration  stations  at  other  ports  a  great 
deal  of  the  White  Slave  trouble  would  be  averted, 
and  the  shelter  of  immigrants  would  not  absorb  so 
much  of  the  urban  attention  so  urgently  needed 
elsewhere. 

Railways  have  as  much  power  to  make  the  new 
American  as  the  newspaper  has.  Perhaps  they  have 
more  power ;  for  the  railways  can  afford  great 
opportunities  for  social  mingling.  The  railway  can 
take  any  immigrant  to  a  place  where  he  will  be  not 
merely  a  hireling,  but  a  living  organism  grafted  into 
the  vast  body  of  America.  At  present  the  high 
fares  deter  the  immigrant,  and  he  is  cooped  up  in 
districts  which  he  would  like  to  leave,  but  cannot ; 
in  districts  where  he  must  remain  foreign  and  not 
American. 

For  there  is  an  impulse  to  move  and  to  mingle. 
If  railway  facilities  were  granted  there  would  be  a 
great  deal  more  social  and  commercial  intercourse 
over  the  surface  of  America.  Each  new  immigrant 
who  comes  into  the  United  States  is  particularly 
wanted  somewhere  ;  his  landing  is  not  an  accident. 
Some  village  or  country-side  has  called  him,  and  will 
still  call  him,  though  he  be  frustrated  at  first,  doing 


xvi     CHOIR  DANCE  OF  THE  RACES    279 

the  wrong  sort  of  work  among  the  wrong  group  of 
people. 

The  great  heterogeneous  mass  of  peoples  wants 
to  become  one  nation.  There  is  a  power  which 
works  through  the  peoples  for  that  end.  The  people 
are  ready  to  mingle ;  they  are  already  mingling  ; 
they  are  going  to  and  fro  and  in  twos  and  threes, 
and  every  step  and  every  transaction  is  something 
essential  in  the  making  of  the  coming  homogeneous 
nation. 

It  is  a  choir  dance,  a  dance  of  molecules  or  atoms, 
if  you  will,  but  a  dance  of  human  atoms,  and  one 
that  yields  a  mystic  music  that  can  be  heard  by  the 
poet's  ear.  Leading  the  peoples  in  the  involutions 
and  evolutions  of  the  choir  dance  is  a  masked  figure, 
not  itself  one  of  the  people.  What  is  that  figure  ? 
Not  trade,  I  think,  though  it  helps  ;  not  common 
interest,  though  it  is  perhaps  a  rule  of  the  dance ; 
not  even  the  American  idea.  The  masked  figure 
that  leads  is  a  fate ;  it  is  an  instinct  of  Destiny. 

The  dance  is  being  played  out  on  a  vast  stage 
with  much  scenery — the  three-thousand-mile  stretch 
of  America,  East  to  West :  the  Industrial  East,  with 
its  hills ;  the  corn  plains  and  forests  of  the  middle 
West ;  the  wild  West ;  the  luxuriant  and  wonderful 
South. 

There  are  waiting  throngs  cooped  up  in  cities 
and  at  temporary  standing-places. 

The  welter  of  negroes  and  Spaniards  and  half- 
castes  in  the  South,  in  the  black  pale ;  the  Swedes 


280         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS         xvi 

and  Norwegians  and  Finns  in  the  middle  West ;  the 
million  Jews  in  New  York  ;  the  millions  of  them 
elsewhere,  saying,  as  Mary  Antin,  that  America  and 
not  Judea  is  the  Promised  Land,  the  place  where 
the  tribes  will  be  gathered  together  again  and  form 
a  nation  ;  the  great  Anglo-Saxon  stock  of  America, 
who  would  feel  themselves  to  be  the  leaven,  the 
ruling  principle  in  the  choir  dance ;  the  Dutch- 
Americans  of  Pennsylvania;  the  Irish,  of  whom 
there  tend  to  be  more  in  America  than  in  Ireland  ; 
the  Slovaks  and  Ruthenians  on  the  Pennsylvanian 
collieries;  the  Italian  gangs  on  the  road  and  the 
Italian  quarters  of  a  thousand  towns  ;  the  Poles,  of 
whom  in  New  York  alone  there  are  more  than 
in  any  city  in  Poland ;  the  enormous  number  of 
Germans  living  on  the  land ;  the  hundred  thousand 
Russian  working  men  in  Pennsylvania  alone  ;  the 
Molokan  Russians  in  California,  and  the  Russian 
gold- washers ;  the  Red  Indians  on  the  Reserva 
tions  ;  the  composite  gangs  of  all  nations  in  the 
world  going  up  and  down  the  country  doing  jobs. 

The  Jews  bring  music,  mathematical  instinct,  a 
sense  of  justice,  industry,  commercial  organisation 
and  commercial  tyranny,  national  wealth,  material 
prosperity,  restlessness. 

The  English  bring  ignorance,  pluck,  and  honour  ; 
the  Scottish  bring  their  brains  and  their  morals  ; 
the  Irish  bring  generosity,  cleverness,  laziness, 
hatred  of  Jews  and  of  meanness. 

The    Germans   bring    the    idea    of  growth    and 


xvi     CHOIR  DANCE  OF  THE  RACES    281 

development,  evolution,  and  with  it  their  own 
music.  They  also  bring  an  instinct  for  efficiency 
and  shining  armour. 

The  negro  brings  sensual  music  and  dancing,  a 
taste  for  barbaric  splendour,  the  gentleness  of  little 
children,  and  the  wildness  of  the  beasts  of  the  forest 
at  night ;  and  he  brings  imitativeness,  subserviency, 
a  taste  for  slavery. 

The  Red  Indians  bring  the  remembrance  of  the 
Virgin  Continent — litheness  of  limb,  subtler  ear  and 
nose  and  eyes  for  the  things  of  the  earth. 

The  Italians  bring  their  emotionalism  and  ex 
citability,  their  songs,  their  passion,  their  fighting 
spirit. 

The  Little  Russians,  Slovaks,  Poles,  Great  Rus 
sians  bring  patience  to  endure  suffering,  but  withal 
a  spirit  of  anarchism  which  prompts  them  to  do 
astonishing  things  without  apparent  cause,  mystical 
piety,  charity,  much  sin,  much  intemperance,  much 
love  and  human  tenderness.  They  bring  also  the 
Tartar  commercial  spirit,  and  a  zest  for  haggling 
over  prices  arid  for  making  deals. 

The  French  bring  economy,  vivacity,  journalistic 
genius. 

But  what  do  they  not  bring,  all  these  peoples? 
There  are  marvellous  gifts  closed  in  all  of  them, 
mysterious  potentialities  that  it  were  folly  to  attempt 
to  name. 

Each  race  has  its  special  function,  its  organic 
suitability  and  psychic  value.  There  are  male  races 


282         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS         xvi 

like  the  Jews  ;  female  races  like  the  Germans. 
There  are  races  that  bring  spirit,  races  that  bring 
body. 

German  goes  down  the  middle  with  English ; 
Swedish  with  Irish;  Russian  with  Pole;  Jew  with 
each  and  all.  It  is  not  always  with  the  negro  that 
the  negro  dances,  not  always  with  the  Italian  that 
the  Italian  is  partnered,  nor  Hungarian  with  Hun 
garian,  nor  Lithuanian  with  Lithuanian.  Secret 
ively,  unexpectedly,  on  unanticipated  impulses, 
strangers  obey  the  magic  wand  and  rhythmical 
gestures  of  the  Great  Conductor  of  the  dance, 
and  become  one  with  another  in  the  evolution  of 
America.  The  dance  has  been  open  some  time, 
but  it  is  only  now  becoming  general.  The  waiting 
throngs  on  all  sides  are  just  beginning  to  break  up 
and  go  mingling  up  and  down  and  in  and  out, 
carrying  messages,  making  sacrifices,  performing 
rites.  The  victims  are  blindfolded  ;  the  conquerors 
have  the  light  of  destiny  on  their  brows. 

A  spectacle  for  the  gods !  In  the  Old  World  the 
heavenly  powers  have  looked  down  more  or  less  on 
the  antagonism  of  the  races,  war  and  enmity  and 
all  that  results  from  great  battles,  the  rout  of  armies, 
the  sacking  of  cities,  the  sinking  of  ships- 
Looking  over  wasted  lands. 

Blight  and  famine,  plague  and  earthquake,  roaring  deeps  and 
fiery  sands, 

Clanging  fights,  and  flaming  towns,  and  sinking  ships,  and 
praying  hands. 

But  in  the  New  World  the  peoples  are  joined  in 


xvi     CHOIR  DANCE  OF  THE  RACES    283 

co-operation  and  friendship,  working  out  in  peace 
and  trade  the  synthesis  of  a  new  race.  The  gods 
look  down  on  factory-chimneys  belching  smoke,  on 
kingdoms  covered  with  red-gold  corn  uncoveted  by 
men  of  arms,  on  hurrying  trains  and  the  dancing 
peoples  going  hither  and  thither,  with  smiles  and 
little  enchantments  and  allurements.  They  look 
upon  the  Protestant  pulpits  where  the  Puritans 
preach,  on  the  Roman  Catholic  Church  and  the 
confessionals,  on  the  Orthodox  Church,  on  the  Bap 
tists,  on  the  Mormons ;  and  on  the  way  the  varying 
peoples  flock  around  temples,  and  in  and  out  of 
church  doors,  carrying  messages,  receiving  messages. 
They  look  upon  many  developments  that  we  have  so 
aptly  called  movements — the  mysterious  "  woman's 
movement,"  the  Romanising  movement,  the  Social 
istic  movement.  They  look  upon  a  million  schools 
where  the  children,  the  second  generation  of  the 
dancers,  are  polished  and  tested  and  clothed  before 
they  in  their  turn  join  the  throng  at  the  side  and  go 
down  the  middle  with  their  partners. 

It  is  like  a  kaleidoscope,  and  at  each  successive 
revolution  the  peoples  change  their  aspects  and 
their  pattern ;  but  there  is  no  reverting  to  the 
original  pattern,  as  in  the  kaleidoscope.  The  con 
stituents  of  the  pattern  are  divining  what  the  next 
pattern  will  be,  and  it  is  always  a  new  pattern, 
something  nearer  to  the  great  coming  unity,  the 
new  American  nation.  In  no  one  particular  bosom 
is  the  destiny  of  America ;  one  man  by  himself 


284         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS         xvi 

means  nothing  there.  It  is  a  whole  people  that  is 
living  or  will  live.  Once  the  foreigner  parts  from 
the  waiting  throngs  at  the  side  and  enters  the 
mystic  dance,  his  own  little  consciousness  and  pur 
pose  become  but  a  part  of  the  much  greater  con 
sciousness  and  purpose  of  the  whole.  It  is  not  the 
development  of  one  sort  of  person,  but  the  combina 
tion  of  a  million  sorts  to  make  one.  It  is  not  the 
development  of  a  race,  as  is  our  own  British  pro 
gress  in  Great  Britain,  but  something  which  seems 
rather  novel  in  the  history  of  mankind,  the  making 
of  a  new  democracy.  It  is  not  a  Gladstone  or  a 
Bismarck  or  an  Alexander  the  Liberator,  who  is 
leading  this  development  that  I  have  called  a  Choir 
Dance,  not  a  Lincoln  or  a  Roosevelt  or  a  Wilson. 
Men  have  only  their  parts  to  play  in  the  making  of 
a  democracy ;  if  they  could  make  it  all  by  them 
selves,  or  originate  the  making,  or  achieve  the 
making,  it  would  not  be  a  democracy  that  they 
were  making.  As  I  said,  it  is  a  masked  figure  that 
leads  the  mystic  movement — a  fate.  In  one  sense 
there  are  many  fates  also  among  the  dancers  and 
mingled  with  them, — a  mysterious  and  wonderful 
ballet,  perfect  in  idea  and  in  fulfilment. 

And  as  it  is  with  men  so  it  is  with  the  rites  they 
perform.  There  are  myriads  of  rites  in  the  move 
ment  of  the  dance,  but  not  one  of  them  is  charged 
with  absolute  significance.  Thus  in  the  mazes  of 
evolution  there  stands  impregnable,  as  it  would 
seem,  the  historic  open  Bible  of  America.  Around 


xvi     CHOIR  DANCE  OF  THE  RACES    285 

it,  marking  time,  is  a  massed  host  of  Americans, 
now  reinforced  by  newcomers,  now  diminished  by 
secessions,  swayed  to  this  way  and  to  that  by 
streams  of  Catholics,  streams  of  Hebrews,  streams 
of  pleasure-lovers,  but  as  yet  holding  its  own,  and 
claiming  in  sonorous  choruses  that  the  Bible  shall 
be  the  leaven  of  the  New  America. 

At  another  point  of  vantage  on  the  stage  you 
may  see  the  Jews  proclaiming  by  vote  that  America 
is  no  longer  a  Christian  country,  and  calling  the 
intellectuals  and  pleasure-wanters  to  support,  if  not 
Judaism,  at  least  rationalism  and  "  intelligent " 
materialism. 

At  another  point  you  see  the  menace  of  the  half- 
civilised  negro,  the  spectacle  of  the  rapid  multi 
plication  of  a  people  over  whom  there  is  no  control, 
and  in  whose  nature  lies,  apparently,  an  enormous 
physical  power  to  degrade  the  type  of  the  whites. 

There  is  the  phenomenon  of  the  wholesale 
slaughter  and  sacrifice  of  blindfolded  foreigners 
exploited  in  industrial  cities ;  forests  of  men  used 
up  as  the  forests  of  wood  are  worn  away  into  daily 
newspapers  and  rubbish. 

You  see  the  booths  where  dancers  make  volun 
tary  abdication  of  European  nationality  and  take 
the  oaths  of  American  citizenship. 

You  see  the  prizes  for  which,  in  the  dance,  whole 
crowds  seem  to  be  straining  and  yearning  and  even 
struggling,  the  prize  of  wealth,  of  even  a  little 
wealth,  of  a  name  printed  in  a  newspaper,  of  a 


286         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS          xvi 

name  printed  in  all  newspapers,  the  prize  of  fame, 
of  political  position,  of  premiership.  You  see  the 
wild  political  campaigns. 

You  see  the  places  where  the  ambitious  laze  by 
the  way,  the  baseball  races  where  men  are  shouting 
themselves  and  others  mad  for  an  empty  game,  the 
halls  of  rag-time  and  trotting.  You  see  in  thousands 
of  instances  actions  which  seem  to  disgrace  the  name 
of  America  and  to  augur  ill  for  her  future, — women 
sold  into  evil,  negroes  burned  at  the  stake,  heinous 
crimes  committed  against  children.  But  the  destiny 
of  the  great  choric  dance  cannot  be  thwarted  by  any 
of  these  things.  Death  is  useful  to  life,  darkness  to 
brightness,  sin  to  virtue — useful  in  a  way  which  it  is 
not  necessary  for  the  individual  to  penetrate.  Each 
man  fulfils  his  destiny,  guides  others  according  to 
his  light,  acts  according  to  his  inclination,  tempta 
tion,  and  conscience.  The  whole  nation  takes  care 
of  itself. 

Wherever  I  went  in  the  States  I  was  asked  by 
journalists  to  say  what  I  thought  the  resultant  type 
of  American  was  going  to  be.  America  seemed 
feverishly  anxious  to  get  an  answer  to  that  question. 
No  one  can  answer  it,  but  it  is  exciting  to  speculate. 

"  Are  you  aware  that  in  a  few  years  we  shall  come 
to  such  a  pass  that  it  will  be  a  stand-up  fight, 
Americans  versus  Jews  ? "  said  one  man  to  me. 
"  The  influence  of  the  other  races  goes  for  nothing 
beside  the  influence  of  the  Jews.  The  Jews  are 


xvi     CHOIR  DANCE  OF  THE  RACES    287 

buying  up  all  the  real  estate,  they  make  any  sacrifice 
for  education,  they  get  the  better  of  Christians  nine 
times  out  of  ten.  A  Jewish  pedlar  comes  past  this 
door  one  day,  and  I  think,  '  Poor  wretch ! '  Next 
year  he  comes  past  in  a  buggy  ;  next  year  I  find  he 
owns  a  big  general  store  in  the  town  ;  next  year  he 
owns  a  department  store  and  employs  a  thousand 
hands.  He  is  too  much  for  us." 

What  is  to  be  the  emerging  American  ?  At  New 
York  I  was  inclined  to  answer,  "  A  sort  of  English- 
speaking  Russian  Jew  who  believes  in  dollars  and 
sensual  pleasures  before  all  else,  who,  however,  reads 
advanced  literature,  and  whilst  he  is  poor  is  an 
anarchist,  and  when  he  is  rich  is  more  tyrannous 
than  the  Tsar — more  tyrannous,  but  never  illegally 
so."  But  when  I  escaped  into  the  country  I  found 
that  New  York  was  not  America,  but  only  a  great 
hostelry  on  the  threshold  of  that  country.  I  learned 
the  great  control  power  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  and 
Dutch  Americans,  the  subtle  influence  of  the  Russian 
people,  who  after  all  not  only  dominate  the  Jews  in 
Russia,  but  give  them  many  traits  of  the  Russian 
national  character,  making  out  of  a  materialist  some 
thing  which  is  almost  a  sentimentalist.  There  are 
many  Jews  in  Russia  who  have  become  de-judaised 
by  the  Russians,  and  indeed  the  Christian  Jew  has 
become  part  of  the  very  fabric  of  that  bureaucracy 
which  the  poor  persecuted  mob  of  Hebrews  hate 
and  fear.  The  Russians  are  a  strong  influence 
in  the  development  of  the  American.  And  the 


288         WITH   POOR  IMMIGRANTS         xvi 

Germans  and  Norwegians  and  Swedes  and  Danes, 
who  swiftly  change  to  a  species  of  American  hardly 
distinguishable  from  the  old  Anglo-Saxon  and  Dutch 
type  ?  They  cannot  go  for  nothing  ;  they  are  not 
simply  raw  material,  but  are  moulders  and  fashioners 
as  well.  The  coming  American  will  be  a  very 
recognisable  relation  of  the  Teutonic  peoples.  But 
he  will,  nevertheless,  be  clearly  and  decidedly  dif 
ferent  from  any  one  race  on  the  Continent. 

Even  to-day  an  American  is  distinctly  recognis 
able  as  such  on  the  pavements  of  London,  Berlin, 
or  Paris.  You  know  him  by  his  face ;  he  does  not 
need  to  speak  to  reveal  his  nationality.  You  can 
even  tell  a  man  who  has  spent  five  years  in  the 
country  ;  something  new  has  been  moulded  into  his 
face  and  has  crept  into  his  eyes.  I  have  even  noticed 
it  in  the  face  of  Russian  peasants  returning  from 
America  after  two  years  away  from  Russia,  travelling 
in  a  Russian  train  to  their  little  village  home. 

4 'You  are  American?"  I  asked  of  them. 

"Yes,  boss,  you  are  rait,"  they  replied,  and 
smiled  knowingly. 

They  then  began  to  enlarge  on  what  a  wonderful 
place  America  was — just  like  American  tourists  in 
Switzerland. 

But  the  American  of  to-day  is  not  the  American 
of  to-morrow.  The  Tsar's  subjects  coming  into 
America  at  the  rate  of  a  quarter  of  a  million  a  year 
ensure  that,  the  flocking  of  almost  whole  nations 
from  South-Eastern  Europe  ensure  it.  As  I  said, 


xvi     CHOIR  DANCE  OF  THE  RACES    289 

none  can  tell  what  the  new  American  nation  will  be. 
We  can  only  watch  the  wonderful  patterns  and 
colours  that  form  in  the  great  ballet  and  choir  dance, 
the  mingling  in  the  labyrinths  of  destiny,  the  dis 
appearances  and  the  emergencies,  the  involution  and 
the  evolution.  It  is  something  enacted  within  the 
mystery  of  the  human  race  itself. 


XVII 
FAREWELL,  AMERICA! 

I  OBSERVED  many  interesting  things  in  Chicago,  the 
following  circular  for  instance  : 

Balsok  aut  John  J.  Casey. 
Hlasujte  na  John  J.  Casey. 
Glosujgie  na  John  J.  Casey. 
Votate  per  John  J.  Casey. 
Vote  for  John  J.  Casey, 
Labour  candidate  for  Congress. 

Ten  years  hence  that  farrago  will  have  changed  to 
simply  "  Vote  for  Casey." 

My  neighbours  in  the  hotel  spelt  their  name  in 
two  ways,  one  way  for  Polish  friends  and  the  other 
for  American  understanding : 

Nawrozke. 

Navrozky 

It  is  the  latter  name  that  will  endure ;  or  perhaps 
that  also  will  be  shed  for  some  cognomen  that 
sounds  more  familiar  and  reliable, — to  Harris  or 
Jones  or  Brown. 

I  had  a  talk  in  a  slum  with  a  family  of  Roumanian 

Jews  who  had  come  to  Chicago  twenty  years  ago. 

290 


xvii  FAREWELL,  AMERICA!  291 

Chicago  was  a  good  place,  they  intended  never  to 
leave  it,  the  family  had  come  there  for  ever. 

I  met  an  Alsatian  who  told  me  how  he  had  fled 
from  home  when  he  was  twelve  years  old.  He 
crossed  the  Swiss  frontier,  and  got  into  Basle  at 
midnight,  and  had  travelled  to  America  via  Paris 
and  Havre,  and  had  never  gone  back.  He  did  not 
want  to  serve  in  the  German  Army.  His  father 
had  been  a  great  French  soldier  in  the  Franco- 
German  war. 

"  If  you  went  back  now  would  the  German 
authorities  bring  you  to  trial  ?  "  I  asked. 

"No.  I  have  the  Emperor's  pardon  hi  black 
and  white." 

"  Do  many  of  those  who  run  away  get  pardon  ?  " 

"  Only  when  there  is  good  cause.  I  used  to  send 
money  home  regularly  to  keep  my  sister.  The 
mayor  of  the  town  heard  of  my  generosity,  reported 
it  to  Berlin,  and  a  pardon  was  written  out  for  me." 

"  They  thought  it  a  pity  to  keep  a  good  citizen 
out  of  his  own  country,  even  though  he  had  cheated 
the  army.  A  wise  action,  eh  ?  "  said  I. 

"  The  Germans  are  'cute,"  he  replied. 

I  met  a  Russian  revolutionary  who  complained 
that  his  compatriots  in  the  towns  spent  all  their 
spare  time  getting  drunk,  fighting,  and  praying. 
The  Russian  who  made  his  pile  went  and  opened  a 
beer-shop.  He  thought  the  priests  of  the  Orthodox 
Church  kept  the  immigrants  down  ;  they  got  more 
money  from  drunkards  than  from  the  virtuous,  and 


292         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS         xvn 

therefore  they  made  no  efforts  to  encourage  sobriety. 
He  would  like  to  see  the  Orthodox  Greek  and 
Russian  Churches  demolished,  and  the  priests  and 
deacons  packed  back  to  Europe.  America  was  a 
new  country,  and  needed  a  new  church. 

At  Chicago  also  I  received  a  letter  from  Andray 
Dubovoy,  a  young  Russian  farmer,  whose  acquaint 
ance  I  made  by  chance  in  the  Russian  quarter  of 
New  York.  He  was  rich  enough  to  come  travelling 
from  North  Dakota  to  New  York  to  see  the  sights 
of  America,  a  wonderfully  keen  and  happy  Russian, 
full  of  ideas  about  the  future  and  stories  of  the 
settlement  where  he  lived.  He  gave  me  a  most 
interesting  account  of  the  Russian  pioneers  in  North 
Dakota.  In  the  towns  where  he  lived  every  one 
spoke  Russian,  and  few  spoke  English.  If  you  went 
into  a  shop  and  asked  for  something  in  English  the 
shopkeeper  would  shrug  her  shoulders  and  send  for 
a  little  child  to  interpret.  The  children  went  to 
school  and  knew  English,  but  the  old  folks  could  not 
master  it,  and  had  long  given  up  attempts  to  learn 
the  language.  The  town  was  called  Kief,  and  was 
named  after  the  province  of  Russia  from  which  they 
originally  came. 

He  told  me  the  history  of  two  villages  in  Kiefsky 
Government  in  Russia.  They  had  heard  of 
America,  but  thought  it  was  a  place  in  a  fairy-tale— 
not  a  real  place  at  all.  They  were  even  incredulous 
when  the  Jews  began  to  depart  for  America  in 
numbers.  But  they  were  destined  to  understand. 


xvn  FAREWELL,  AMERICA!  293 

The  villagers  were  people  who  asked  themselves 
serious  questions  and  searched  their  hearts.  They 
ceased  going  to  monasteries  and  making  pilgrimages 
and  kissing  relics,  and  instead  gathered  together  and 
read  the  Gospel. 

Many  were  arrested  for  going  to  illegal  meetings. 
Those  who  were  sent  to  prison  or  to  Siberia  went 
gladly,  as  on  the  Lord's  business,  to  be  missionaries 
to  those  who  sat  in  darkness. 

But  there  was  so  much  persecution  that  a  great 
number  of  the  villagers  thought  of  following  the 
example  of  the  Jews  and  emigrating  to  America. 
It  was  in  1894  that  they  resolved  to  go  ;  but  at  that 
time  a  large  party  of  Stundists,  who  had  gone  out  to 
Virginia  the  year  before,  came  back  with  tidings  of 
bad  life  and  poor  wages,  and  damped  the  enthusiasm. 
Ten  families,  however,  were  tempted  by  what  the 
Stundists  said,  and  they  took  tickets  to  go  to  the 
very  district  of  Virginia  that  the  Stundists  had 
abandoned. 

On  their  way  out  they  fell  in  with  a  party  of 
German  colonists  going  back,  after  a  holiday,  to 
North  Dakota.  Such  tales  they  told  that  five  of 
the  families  changed  their  minds  and  determined 
to  throw  in  their  lot  with  the  Germans. 

The  five  families  received  land  free,  homesteads, 
they  were  given  credit  to  purchase  horses  and  cattle 
and  carts  and  agricultural  implements,  and  they 
liked  the  new  country  and  wrote  glowingly  to  the 
others  in  Virginia  and  in  the  two  villages  of  Kiefsky 


294         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS        xvn 

Government.  As  a  result,  twenty-five  new  families 
came  at  once,  and  in  a  few  years  there  were  200 
families  installed. 

Each  man  brought  20  to  30  dollars  but  no  more, 
and  each  became  indebted  to  companies  for  1000 
to  1 500  dollars,  a  debt  which  they  hoped  to  pay,  but 
which  hung  on  their  necks  like  the  instalments  their 
ancestors  had  to  pay  to  the  Land  Banks  of  Russia 
for  the  land  they  had  been  granted. 

However,  they  ploughed  and  sowed  and  hoped 
for  harvests,  built  log  cabins  and  even  American 
houses.  They  had  hard  times,  and  were  on  the 
verge  of  starvation — famine  and  death  staring  at 
them  from  the  barren  fields.  They  were  forced  to 
make  an  appeal  through  the  newspapers  of  Eastern 
America,  and  as  a  result  truck-loads  of  provisions 
were  sent  to  them,  and  "  clothes  to  last  five  years." 

Succeeding  years  made  up  for  their  sufferings. 
There  was  a  plentiful  flax  harvest ;  and  though  in 
1909  hail  destroyed  the  wheat  and  in  1910  and  1911 
there  was  drought,  the  Russians  bore  up.  And 
1912  was  a  most  fruitful  year,  some  farmers  garner 
ing  as  many  as  25,000  bushels  of  wheat. 

Each  year  they  were  able  to  add  to  their  stock, 
to  build  a  little  more,  and  to  do  various  things.  As 
a  result  of  good  harvests  Andray  Dubovoy  himself 
was  able  to  go  a-travelling,  and  to  meet  me  and  tell 
me  his  story.  He  had  himself  come  to  America 
when  a  little  child,  and  did  not  know  of  his  native 
land  except  by  repute.  He  had  not,  however,  had 


xvn  FAREWELL,  AMERICA!  295 

the  advantage  of  education  in  an  American  school 
as  a  child,  and  so  was  as  yet  more  Russian  than 
American  ;  but  he  was  unlike  the  Russian  type,  he 
was  clean  of  limb,  clear  of  eye  and  of  skin,  calm- 
almost  a  Quaker  in  faith  and  morals.  No  one  drank 
spirits  or  smoked  tobacco  in  Kief,  North  Dakota, 
he  told  me  with  pride.  The  Russians  there  were 
living  in  a  new  way. 

"  Are  the  people  as  religious  now  as  they  were  in 
Russia  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Not  quite,"  said  he,  "  they  feel  they  don't  need 
religion  so  much  in  America.  At  first  the  struggle 
for  life  was  so  hard,  we  had  little  thought  for  religion. 
It  was  only  as  we  gained  a  footing  on  the  land  that 
we  began  to  think  of  our  religion  seriously,  and  we 
built  a  chapel.  We  have  a  chapel  of  our  own  now." 

"  I  suppose  when  you  were  no  longer  persecuted 
you  did  not  need  to  affirm  your  way  of  religion  so 
emphatically,"  I  hazarded. 

Andray  did  not  know. 

"  Have  you  any  bosses  in  Kief?  "  I  asked. 

Andray  smiled. 

"  Our  sheriff  is  a  cabman." 

"  You  feel  no  tyranny  at  all  now  ?  " 

He  was  glad  to  say  they  never  had  need  of  a 
policeman  ;  there  were  no  robberies,  every  one  lived 
in  mutual  love  and  kindness.  Only,  of  course,  they 
were  heavily  in  debt  to  the  companies,  and  felt  they 
were  never  solvent. 

"  Perhaps,  when  you  have  improved  your  land 


296         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS        xvn 

and  made  it  really  valuable  you  will  be  sold  up  by 
the  companies  and  you  will  lose  your  property," 
said  I. 

He  did  not  think  that  possible. 

"  And  what  is  the  cost  of  living  with  you  ?  " 

"  Cheap,"  said  my  friend;  "beef  is  2\  cents  a 
pound,  eggs  10  cents  the  dozen,  butter  12  cents  the 
pound,  potatoes  35  cents  the  bushel ;  but  the  things 
we  import,  such  as  boots,  clothes,  fruits,  are  very 
dear,  much  too  dear  for  our  pockets." 

"  Food  is  cheaper  than  in  the  country  in  Russia, 
then  ?  " 

"  Meat  and  butter  and  milk  are  cheaper,  but  other 
things  are  more  than  twice  as  dear.  Still  we  do  not 
complain.  It  is  a  good  life  out  there  ;  our  children 
are  growing  up  stalwart,  happy,  earnest.  God's 
own  blessing  is  upon  our  enterprise." 

"  Are  you  ever  going  back  to  Russia  with  its 
persecutions,  its  sins,  its  crimes,  its  pilgrimages,  the 
secret  police,  the  hermits  who  live  in  forest  huts,  its 
moujiks  and  babas,  who  think  that  America  is  a  place 
in  a  fairy-tale,  at  the  other  side  of  endless  forests  ?  " 

The  farmer  smiled  in  a  peculiar  way.  He  would 
like  to  go  to  see  it. 

Was  he  quite  sure  he  was  going  to  be  an 
American  and  not  a  Russian  ? 

"  We  have  Russian  classes  in  the  summer,"  said 
he.  "We  must  never  forget  Russia,  evil  as  she  is." 

It  must  not  be  forgotten  that  this  little  settle- 


xvn  FAREWELL,  AMERICA!  297 

ment  of  which  I  write  here  is  only  one  of  many  in 
North  Dakota.  There  are  already  thirty  thousand 
Russians  living  in  that  state,  and  there  are  many 
people  of  other  nationalities  living  in  the  same 
way — Swedes,  Germans,  Danes.  The  story  of  the 
young  colonies  is  marvellously  touching ;  when  you 
read  one  of  the  excellent  novels  of  to-day,  such  as 
Miss  Gather's  O  Pioneers,  which  tells  of  the  growth 
of  a  Swedish  colony  in  the  middle-west,  you  are 
obliged  to  admit  that  it  is  no  wonder  the  Americans 
find  their  own  such  an  exclusively  interesting 
country. 

I  returned  to  New  York  by  train,  and  on  the 
way  saw  the  Niagara  Falls,  one  morning  at  dawn  ; 
the  procession  of  white-headed  rapids,  the  vapour 
and  mist  rising  in  volumes  veiling  the  sun,  darken 
ing  it.  A  sight  of  holiness  and  wonder  that  left  me 
breathless.  I  was  glad  to  be  alone,  and  just  close 
the  picture  into  the  heart,  in  silence ! 

Late  one  Saturday  night  I  arrived  in  New  York 
and  stepped  out  of  the  Great  Central  Station,  pack 
on  back,  and  searched  for  a  hotel.  The  grand 
"  Knickerbocker,"  with  sky-sign  the  length  of  the 
Great  Bear,  was  not  for  me.  I  wandered  into  a 
queer-looking  little  palace,  all  mirrors,  deep  carpets, 
white  paint,  and  niggers.  My  room  faced  the  street, 
and  opposite  me  was  a  pleasure-resort,  a  cabaret,  a 
dance-hall,  a  pool-house,  with  three  stories  of  billiard- 
rooms,  through  whose  open  windows  I  saw  many 


298        WITH   POOR  IMMIGRANTS         xvn 

white-sleeved    billiard-players   leaning  over   green 
tables. 

The  weather  was  so  hot  that  all  the  windows  in 
the  city  were  wide  open.  I  heard  the  throbbing  of 
music  and  dancing,  even  in  my  dreams. 

Some  days  later  I  booked  my  passage  back  to 
England.  But  I  was  in  America  till  the  last 
moment.  The  American  who  was  so  kind  to 
me,  and  who  was  in  herself  a  little  America,  "fed 
to  me"  daily  the  facts  of  American  life,  and  the 
hope  of  all  those  who  were  working  with  her.  We 
visited  Patterson,  where  half  a  dozen  "Jim  Larkins" 
had  been  fighting  for  fighting's  sake,  and  leading 
the  well-paid  silk-workers  to  strike  for  the  sun  and 
moon,  and  accept  no  compromise.  We  visited  the 
President  of  the  City  College  and  saw  the  wonderful 
modern  equipment  of  that  institution.  We  called 
on  J.  Cotton  Dana,  the  librarian  of  Newark.  I 
was  enabled  to  visit  a  maternity  hospital,  heavily 
endowed  by  Pierpont  Morgan,  and  to  see  all  the 
provision  made  for  the  happy  birth  of  the  emerging 
Americans.  One  vision  remains  in  my  memory  of 
a  dozen  babies  on  a  tray,  each  baby  having  its 
mother's  name  written  on  a  piece  of  paper  pinned 
to  its  swaddling-bands. 

We  visited  five  or  six  settlements,  and  invitations 
were  given  me  to  visit  several  thousand  establish 
ments  in  the  United  States,  and  miss  nothing.  I 
would  have  liked  to  go  farther  afield  and  have  a 
thousand  more  conversations,  but  perhaps,  since 


xvn  FAREWELL,  AMERICA!  299 

brevity  is  the  soul  of  wit,  I  have  done  enough.  As 
it  is,  I  have  only  made  a  small  selection  of  instances 
and  adventures  and  thoughts  from  the  immense 
amount  of  material  which  I  carried  back  to  England 
and  to  Russia.  I  think  America  has  been  brought 
to  the  touch-stone  of  my  own  intelligence,  experience, 
and  personality. 

My  friend  took  me  to  the  charming  play,  Peg-d- 
my-Heart. 

"  Isn't  it  delicious  ?  " 

"  The  thrilling  thing  is  that  the  fifth  act  is  not 
played  out  here,  but  on  the  Campania,  and  I  have 
to  play  that  part  myself,"  said  I. 

We  got  out  of  the  theatre  at  eleven.  I  saw  her 
home.  As  midnight  was  striking  I  claimed  my 
luggage  at  the  cloak-room  at  Christopher  Street 
Ferry.  At  12.15  I  entered  the  Cunard  Dock  and 
saw  the  great,  washed-over,  shadowy,  twenty-year- 
old  Atlantic  Liner.  Crowds  of  drunkards  were 
gesticulating  and  waving  flags — Stars  and  Stripes 
and  Union  Jacks — singing  songs,  embracing  one 
another.  Heavily  laden  dock-porters,  carrying  sacks, 
moved  in  procession  along  the  gangways.  Portly 
Chief  Steward  Macrady,  with  mutton-chop  whiskers, 
weather-beaten  face,  and  wordless  lips,  sat  in  his 
little  kiosk  and  motioned  to  me  to  pass  on  when  I 
showed  my  ticket.  I  got  aboard. 

I  returned  with  the  home-going  tide  of  immi 
grants  ;  with  flocks  of  Irish  who  were  going  boister- 


300         WITH  POOR  IMMIGRANTS         xvn 

ously  back  to  the  Green  Isle  to  spend  small  fortunes; 
with  Russians  returning  to  Russia  because  their 
time  was  up  and  they  were  due  to  serve  in  the 
army ;  with  British  rolling-stones,  grumbling  at  all 
countries ;  with  people  going  home  because  they 
were  ill ;  with  men  and  women  returning  to  see 
aged  fathers  or  mothers ;  with  a  whole  American 
family  going  from  Bute,  Montana,  to  settle  in  New 
castle,  England. 

It  was  a  placid  six -day  voyage ;  six  days  of 
merriment,  relaxation,  and  happiness.  The  atmo 
sphere  was  entirely  a  holiday  one — not  one  of  hope 
and  anxiety  and  faith,  as  that  of  going  out  had  been. 
Every  one  had  money,  almost  every  one  was  a 
person  who  had  succeeded,  who  had  tall  tales  to  tell 
when  he  got  home  to  his  native  village  in  his  native 
hollow. 

Thousands  of  opinions  were  expressed  about 
America.  I  heard  few  of  disillusion.  Most  people 
who  go  to  America  are  disillusioned  sooner  or 
later,  but  they  re-catch  their  dreams  and  illusions, 
and  gild  their  memories  when  they  set  sail  upon 
the  Atlantic  once  more.  They  have  become 
Americans,  and  have  a  stake  in  America,  and  are 
ready  to  back  the  New  World  against  anything  in 
the  Old. 

"  Do  you  like  the  Yankees  ? " 

"  They're  all  right — on  the  level,"  answers  an 
Irish  boy. 

"  Do   you  like   America  ?     Would  you    like   to 


xvii  FAREWELL,  AMERICA!  301 

live  there  and  settle  down  there  ?  "  asks  a  friend  of 
me,  the  wanderer. 

A  smile  answers  that  question. 

We  stood,  my  friend  and  I,  looking  over  the 
placid  ocean  as  the  moon  just  pierced  the  clouds 
and  glimmered  on  the  waters. 

Evening  splendours  were  upon  the  surface  of  the 
sea,  the  delicate  light  of  the  moon  just  showing  the 
waves,  most  beautiful  and  alluring. 

"  It  is  like  first  acquaintance  with  one's  beloved," 
said  I  ;  "  like  the  first  smile  that  life  gives  you, 
bidding  you  follow  her  and  woo  her.  Later  on,  in 
the  rich  splendour,  when  the  golden  road  is  clear 
and  certain  and  ours,  we  do  not  care  for  the  quest. 
We  look  back  to  those  first  enchanting  glances, 
those  promising  reconnaisances.  The  promise  of 
love  is  more  precious  than  love  itself,  for  it  promises 
more  than  itself;  it  promises  the  unearthly;  it 
touches  a  note  of  a  song  that  we  heard  once,  and 
have  been  all  our  lives  aching  to  remember  and 
sing  again." 

America  is  too  happy  and  certain  and  prosperous 
a  place  for  some.  It  is  a  place  where  the  soul  falls 
into  a  happy  sleep.  The  more  America  improves, 
the  more  will  it  prove  a  place  of  success,  of  material 
well-being,  of  physical  health,  and  sound,  eugenically 
established  men  and  women.  But  to  me,  personally, 
success  is  a  reproach ;  and  failure,  danger,  calamity, 
incertitude  is  a  glory.  For  this  world  is  not  a 
satisfying  home,  and  there  are  those  who  con- 


302         WITH   POOR  IMMIGRANTS         xvn 

fess   themselves   strangers  and    pilgrims  upon  the 
earth. 

•  •  •  •  •  • 

Back  to  Russia !  From  the  most  forward 
country  to  the  most  backward  country  in  the 
world  ;  from  the  place  where  "  time  is  money "  to 
where  the  trains  run  at  eighteen  miles  an  hour ; 
from  the  land  of  Edison  to  the  land  of  Tolstoy  ; 
from  the  religion  of  philanthropy  to  the  religion  of 
suffering — home  once  more. 


INDEX 


Addams,  Jane,  referred  to,  69 
Advertising  methods  in  America,  74> 

96 
Aims  and  characteristics  of  Americans, 

54-71,  205-220 

Alleghanies,  crossing  the,  158-173 
Angola,  259 

Benton,  105 
"  Boosting,"  112 
Brookville,  195 
Brushy  Prairie,  262 
Bute,  300 

Caldwell,  84 

Calumet  City,  270 

Campania,  return  voyage  on  the,  299 

Carbondale,  122 

Cato,  165 

Chicago,  270-274,  290 

Civil  War  in  America,  effect  of,  etc., 

181 

Clarion,  195 

Clarkville  breakfast  party,  92 
Ciearfield  and  Decoration  Day,  175- 

184 

Cleveland,  209,  221 
Clifton,  223 
Cochranton,  197 
Crystal  Beach,  225 
Curwenville,  189 

Dakota,  North,  292,  293,  297 
Dana,  J.  Cotton,  referred  to,  68,  21 1, 

298 

Danbury,  234 
Decoration  Day,  174-184 
Deemeff,  Peter,  189-194 
Dubovoy,  Andray,  292,  294 


Egg-bank  and  travelling  store,  etc., 

254-257 
Elkhart,  264 
Ellis  Island,  43-47,  62 
Elliston,  239 
Erie  Shore,  221-240 

Fabians,  the,  visit  to,  218 
Federovitch,  Satiron,  35,  36 
Fireflies,  192 
Flint,  261 
Forest  City,  121 
Frenchville,  198 
Friedrichs,  Otto,  87 

Grizier,  252 
Gypsum,  235 

Hammond,  269,  270 
Helvetia,  194 
Hiagg,  Nicola,  199 
Holost,  Maxim,  34,  35 
Howe,  Fred,  referred  to,  68 
Huron,  229 

Judie,  Samuel,  265 

Jungle,  The,  referred  to,  58,  271 

Kief,  North  Dakota,  292,  295-297 
Kishman,  Johnny,  229 
Kuzma,  123-130 

Labour,  scarcity  of,  236,  250 

Language  in  America,  241-247 

Lockhaven,  159 

Lorain,  223,  225 

"  Love  and  Life,"  painting  by  G.  F. 

Watts,  removal  from  White  House, 

etc.,  217 


303 


304         WITH   POOR  IMMIGRANTS 


Luthersberg,  189,  193 

M'Gurer,  Fred,  251 

Machinery  and  mechanical  contriv 
ances,  effect  of,  on  labour,  etc., 
115-117,  250 

Macrady,  chief  steward  of  the  Cam 
pania,  299 

Mapes,  159,  1 60 

Meadville,  196,  199 

Michigan  City,  268 

Milking  cows  by  machinery,  250 

Mishewaka,  267 

Mitrophanovitch,     Alexy,      20,     24, 

35 

Monument,  160,  169 
Motors  and  motoring  in  the  country, 

97 

New  Carlisle,  267 

New  Haven,  209 

New  York  —  Arrival  of  the  immi 
grants,  41  ;  Ellis  Island,  43-47, 
62  ;  sky-scrapers,  54  ;  Woolworth 
and  other  buildings,  54,  73-75  ; 
East  side,  75-78  ;  Russian  Easter 
in,  78-80;  Night  Court,  81 

Newark,  209 

Newspaper  reading,  211-213 

Niagara  Falls,  297 

Oil  City,  195 
Olson,  G.  B.,  187 
Orviston,  163 

Padan-Aram,  202 

Parks  in  American  cities,  209 

Patterson,  298 

Perry  Camp,  237 

Poledor,  Mr.,  200 

Port  Clinton,  237 


Princetown     College, 
student  life,  217 


statistics     of 


"  Quick  Lunch  "  shop  procedure,  47 

Races,  mingling  of,  in  America, 
qualities  supplied  by  members  of 
different  nations,  etc.,  279-289 

Railway  transit  charges  in  America, 
275-279 

Reynoldsville,  195 

Sandusky,  218,  233 
Scranton,  122,  123-138 
Shippenville,  195 
Shop-girls'  wages  in  America,  72 
Sky-scrapers  in  New  York,  54 
Snow  Shoe,  163,  171 
South  Bend,  200,  266 
Sykesville,  194 

Tarbell,  Ida,  referred  to,  106 
Through  the  heart  of  the   country, 

248-269 
Toledo,  239 
Tramps   and    American    hospitality, 

138-157 

Vermilion,  225 

Voyage  to  America,  1-47 

Washington,  209 

Wayfarers   of  all   nationalities,    185- 

204 

Wie,  Charles  Van,  93 
Williamsport,  158 
Wilson,  President,  69 
Woolworth  Building  in  New  York, 

54>  75 

Yellow  Press  readers,  21 1 
Yoosha,  21,  24 


THE    END 


Printed  by  R.  &  R.  CLARK,  LIMITED,  Edinlmrgk. 


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