Imported Americans: The Story of the Experiences of a Disguised American and His Wife Studying the Immigration QuestionBrandenburg, Broughton
History
Imported Americans: The Story of the Experiences of a Disguised American and His Wife Studying the Immigration Question
Brandenburg, Broughton
Italy -- Emigration and immigration; United States -- Emigration and immigration
In the morning the warmth of the Gulf Stream began to stir the chilled
blood of all hands, and the first sail sighted since the Azores caused
the poor emigrants to rejoice, as it was a token that they were nearing
America. In a slow way the Italian provincial songs which had prevailed
changed to American airs, attempted by those who had been in the States.
Everybody seemed happier than they had been for days, and first-cabin
passengers began to appear in numbers on the forward end of the
hurricane deck. Several young women had brought out little bundles of
delicacies, candy, oranges, apples, etc., and were dropping them over
the rail to the emigrant children below. This kindly occupation was
observed by the first officer, who was on the bridge, and he came down
in haste and rebuked the first-cabin young women with severity, and sent
the ship’s interpreter down to hector the emigrant children and their
mothers. I wonder what he would have said had he known the quantities of
first-cabin fare that was being smuggled to emigrants by the stewards
and cooks every day.
That night we saw Nantucket light, and from that on my wife and I
counted the hours. We arrived too late the night of the 13th to go up
the harbor, and so proceeded slowly so as to reach Quarantine by eight
o’clock on the morning of the 14th.
The night before, the joy among the emigrants that they were reaching
the Promised Land was pitiful to see, mingled as it was with the
terrible dread of being debarred.
There was little sleeping all night. About twelve o’clock the women woke
up the sleeping children, opened their packs, and took out finery on top
of finery, and began to array the little ones to meet their fathers. My
wife pleaded with Camela to stay in her bunk and wait for daylight at
least, but Camela could not understand why she should wait, and at three
o’clock little Ina was brought up on deck arrayed in her very best, and
as clean as her mother could make her with a small bottle of water and a
skirt combination wash-rag and towel.
By six o’clock all the baggage in the compartments had been hauled out
and up on deck, and the hundreds of emigrants were gathered there, many
trying to shave, others struggling for water in which to wash, and
mothers who had been unable to dress their children to their
satisfaction in the cramped quarters below were doing the job all over
again, despite the chill air.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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