The wanderings and fortunes of some German emigrantsGerstäcker, Friedrich
General
The wanderings and fortunes of some German emigrants
Gerstäcker, Friedrich
Germany -- Emigration and immigration -- Fiction; Immigrants -- Fiction
The sailors and stokers followed, and seized everything that came to
hand, and put it ashore; but not above, at the top of the bank, but
close to the river's edge, where about fifteen cords of wood were
already piled up. These meanwhile were carried aboard by another portion
of the workpeople, and the whole scene was a dreadfully confused and
disordered one. Women complained, children cried, men swore; the rain
meanwhile actually _flooded_ from the sky, and the women, as well the
Hehrmanns as the other families, could only be got up the steep bank of
the shore with considerable trouble, where they perceived, by the glare
of a pine-torch, a solitary small and low house, the door of which was
open, while in the chimney there burned a slightly glimmering fire.
The owner of the house and of the cordwood accompanied them as far as
the entrance, and made signs for them to enter. But Siebert, who had
previously exchanged a few words with him, whispered, as the latter
turned away, "Don't crowd too near the bed; the wife of our host lies
there; she died about an hour since!"
There was something so awfully quiet in the words, that Pastor Hehrmann
looked round terrified after the American; but he went quietly down to
the steamer to receive the price for his wood. There the captain, out of
particular civility, had caused an old tarpaulin to be spread over the
goods which had been tumbled ashore, and which covering he intended to
fetch away on his upward journey: Siebert, however, quickly bought it of
him for five dollars, for he now saw how necessary it would be for their
use, and then followed the rest into the shanty. All could not have
found space in this, even had the dread of the corpse not driven the
greater part of them into the most distant part of the room;
fortunately, however, there was also a so-called kitchen, or
smoking-house, behind the dwelling, and here a great number of the
settlers were billetted, at least for the night. Oh, how anxiously all
waited the morrow.
It was a fearful night; the storm roared round the house, so that the
weak boarding which formed the roof clappered and tumbled, and here and
there the rain poured through in streams. The mosquitoes appeared
insatiable, and swarmed round the poor tortured ones in an almost
unbearable manner. The little children, in particular, alarmed by the
novelty of all that surrounded them, would not be quieted, and by their
cries increased the strangeness, the unearthliness of their situation;
and before them all, still and motionless, careless of mosquitoes, or of
any other disturbance, the young woodsman sat beside the bed of his dead
wife, which was hung over with a thin mosquito curtain.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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