In the evening of that strange day the doctor came to tell me of the birth of a child among the immigrants, in whom I was deeply interested. I went at once to the mother and did all I could for the poor little creature who had just come into the world. Oh, the dismal moans in that dismal night in the midst of all that misery! Oh, that first strident cry of the child affirming its will to live in the midst of all these sufferings, of all these hardships, and of all these hopes! Everything was there mingled together in that human medley—men, women, children, rags and preserves, oranges and basins, heads of hair and bald pates, half-open lips of young girls and tightly closed mouths of shrewish women, white caps and red handkerchiefs, hands stretched out in hope and fists clenched against adversity. I saw revolvers half concealed under the rags, knives in the men’s belts. A sudden roll of the boat showed us the contents of a parcel that had fallen from the hands of a rascally looking fellow with a very decided expression on his face, and a hatchet and a tomahawk fell to the ground. One of the sailors immediately seized the two weapons to take them to the purser. I shall never forget the scrutinizing glance of the man. He had evidently made a mental note of the features of the sailor, and I breathed a fervent prayer that the two might never meet in a solitary place. I remember now with remorse the horrible disgust that took possession of me when the doctor handed the child over to me to wash. That dirty little red, moving, sticky object was a human being. It had a soul and would have thoughts. I felt quite sick and I could never again look at that child—although I was afterwards its godmother—without living over again that first impression. When the young mother had fallen asleep I wanted to go back to my cabin. The doctor helped me, but the sea was so rough that we could scarcely walk at all among the packages and immigrants. Some of them who were crouching on the floor watched us silently as we tottered and stumbled along like drunkards. I was annoyed at being watched by those malevolent, mocking eyes. “I say, doctor,” one of the men called out, “the sea water gets in the head like wine. You and your lady look as though you were coming back from a spree!” An old woman clung to me as we passed. “Oh, madame!” she said, “shall we be shipwrecked with the boats rolling like this? Oh, God! oh, God!” A tall fellow with red hair and beard came forward and laid the poor old woman down again gently. “You can sleep in peace, mother,” he said; “if we are shipwrecked I swear there shall be more, saved down here than up on the top.” He then came closer to me and continued in a defiant tone: “The rich folks ... first class, into the sea! ... the immigrants—seconds, in the boats!” As he uttered these words I heard a sly, stifled laugh from everywhere, in front of me, behind, at the side, and even from under my feet.