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On the Trail of The Immigrant

<h2>XXIV IN THE SECOND CABIN</h2> IF the man who said, “Give me neither poverty nor riches” had been a modern globe trotter he might have added: “And when I cross the ocean let me travel neither in the first cabin nor in the steerage but in the second cabin.” That is if he cared more for the companionship of human beings than for the luxuries of modern life, and if he had not objected to the fact that the second cabin is located directly over the powerful driving gear of the ship. Because of the latter fact one may experience a “continuous performance” of an earthquake without its disastrous results, and yet not without consequences which at the moment seem very serious. The second cabin does not lapse into the silence of the steerage nor into the dignity of the first cabin, but begins its noisy comradery immediately; being interrupted only, when the earthquake plays havoc with good nature, and resumed as soon as the appetite for food and drink returns. The second cabin usually holds only one class; the class which has succeeded. It contains a sprinkling of native Americans, teachers and preachers, whose modest savings are to be spread thinly over Europe; its usual occupants are foreigners, who after a longer or shorter sojourn, return for a visit to the cradle home. The Hoboken saloon-keeper who was escorted by the band to the dock, and in whose honour it played “Lieb Vaterland magst ruhig sein,” is a typical second class passenger on a German ship; and his like in large numbers come from Cincinnati, St. Louis, Milwaukee and other cities made famous by their output of sparkling lager. I discovered on this journey more than thirty dispensers of drink who were at the bar from morning until midnight, and doing exactly as they like their customers to do by them; drinking and getting drunk. The Hoboken saloon-keeper bore the typical name of August, and every one of the ship’s crew down to the smallest scullion, knew this famous August and delighted to bask in the uncertainty of his sunshine and to be the beneficiary of his spasmodic generosity. He was drunk from the moment he came on board the steamer until he left it, and in his melancholy moments confided in me, telling me the story of his life and the magnitude of his fortune. He was born in Bremerhaven, the terminus of that great ferry which begins at Hoboken. He boasted the friendship of the Commodore of the German Lloyd fleet, with whom he had gone to school, and the smoking room steward was called to assert this fact. “Steward, you k-know me?” “Yes, you’re August.” “D-do you know about C-Captain Schmidt?” “Yes, you sailed under him to South Africa.” “N-no, you f-fool; I went to school with him,” and obediently the steward repeated: “Yes, you went to school with him.” He told me the secrets of the liquor business, the misfortunes which had overtaken his boy who is following in his father’s footsteps, and is travelling towards delirium tremens at even a faster rate than this robust, convivial sailor. I tried my arts on August, painting in wonderful colours the glories of the Mecca of his pilgrimage, that I might keep him from drinking himself to death with beer before he saw his Fatherland. And I succeeded; for when I saw August of Hoboken again, he was drinking whiskey. Poles, Bohemians and Slovaks all travelled in the second cabin; but invariably they were saloon-keepers and displayed the demoralizing tendencies of their business to their full extent. The first days of this journey were made memorable by the noisy behaviour of two Polish priests who were constantly mixing whiskey with beer, and who rose to a spiritual ecstasy which was both unpriestly and ungentlemanly. Among the many priests who were on board, but few were priests in the true sense of the word, the others bringing disgrace upon their calling and upon their Church. In spite of the fact that the steerage was full of their kindred and people of their faith, not a priest found his way to that neglected quarter. As a rule they were busier at the bar than at their prayers, a fact which of course must not be charged to priests as a class; but the sooner the Church in America gets rid of most of its foreign born priests, especially those from Italy and the Slavic countries, and replaces them by Irish or Americans, the better for the Church and for our country. Dividing the passengers according to their race, most of them were Jews from Hungary and Russia; and while still unmistakable Jews, they all bore marks of the new birth which had taken place. The Russian Jews in many cases were slovenly, obtrusively dressed and noisy; their Yiddish was tainted by bad English, but they were frugal, sober, and minded their own business. One of the group which I had gathered around me was on his way to Palestine where his parents now live. His home is in a little Illinois town not far from Chicago. He began his career like many of his kind, by peddling. Now he owns a department store and allows himself the luxury of this long and expensive journey. He is leniently orthodox in his faith, has come close enough to his Gentile neighbours to have a glimpse of Christianity at its best, and has been completely permeated by the American spirit. His daughter is a high school graduate, plays the piano, gives receptions, dabbles in art, takes part in the Methodist Church fairs and on occasions sings in the church choir. Such a close touch with American life was not vouchsafed to another Russian Jew in that group. He had lived in New York and had also gone through the long tutelage of hard bargaining and hard times. He too was going to Europe; but he went to buy diamonds, not to visit his relatives, and neither his past experience nor his vision was tinged by any idealism. He was money from the toes up, and in each pocket he carried some trinket, from fountain pens to diamond pins, which could be bought at a bargain. The Hungarian Jews from “Little Hungary” had progressed most rapidly in becoming Americanized. They played poker from morning until night, could bluff with the true American “sang froid,” and swear at their ill luck; but that they had kept their Jewish shrewdness was shown by their leaving the game when the tide of luck was at its height. When they did not play poker they talked about the game of politics as played in New York, and they knew its ins and outs thoroughly. The higher and better note struck by Roosevelt and Jerome they had grasped in but a vague way; and that a man could be honest in politics was strange news to them, nor did they believe that President Roosevelt’s activities were without regard to his own profit in the game. “Little Hungary” has been a bad political school and one need not be over apprehensive if he regards this poor political tutelage as one of the greatest problems connected with the influx of foreigners into our large cities. In speech and names these Hungarian Jews were almost completely metamorphosed, and their patriotism knew no bounds. On a certain day one of them dug out of the depths of his trunk a dozen or more American flags, with which he wanted us to parade up and down the ship to the notes of a patriotic air. Upon our refusal to do so he grew angry, saying: “Nice Americans you fas.” In contrast to the steerage, the women in the second cabin appeared to have changed most, and among the younger women, the transformation seemed complete. I doubt that their clothing lacked the latest fashionable wrinkle; their physique had lost its robustness and they had gained in self-possession. I have noticed a very important difference in the behaviour of the second class coming from America and going there. The young women who go to America are more or less molested by the men, their language and behaviour one to the other is not always correct, and even the American girls have lost something of their dignity and reserve; but going to Europe the greatest propriety is observed, and although the young people have a good time together, the young women know how to take care of themselves, the men know better than to be obtrusively attentive, and if they try, they receive a rebuff from which they do not lightly recover. The second cabin goes back richer not only in worldly goods but in conscious manhood and womanhood, in loftiness of ideals and above all else, pathetically grateful to the country which gave these gifts. “I owe everything to America,” “I would give everything I own to America,” “It is God’s country,” are phrases from which I could not disentangle myself, so fervent and frequent were they. Some of these people have still a richer inheritance in the consciousness of having had a share in building up the country in which they have lived. Among these was a Jewish gentleman, Mr. K., who had in his possession letters from Christian people in his county, commending him to their friends abroad, praising his public spirit, his generosity towards the people of all faiths, and his uprightness in business. He was proud of the fact that he had voted for William McKinley when he ran for prosecuting attorney of his county, and that he had voted for him every time he ran for office. It is true that Mr. K. belonged to that class of Jews which came from Southern Germany and which is the best Jewish product that Europe has sent us; but his is not an isolated case, and nearly every county in America has produced such specimens coming from widely different portions of Europe. But few Italians travel in the cabin; there were half a dozen who had reached that degree of prosperity, and they came from the South, had been engaged in the cotton business and were indulging in an European trip, while the product of their plantations was daily increasing in price. They were genteel, and quiet, and so well dressed and well groomed, that it came as a surprise to most of the passengers to find that they were Italians, and that they had risen from the “Dago” class. On them America has performed the miracle of transformation, in spite of its sordid instincts and its materialistic atmosphere; a miracle which art-filled Italy could not perform, a task before which both sculptor and painter are powerless. The Slavs of the first generation who were in the second cabin, were nearly all saloon-keepers with their families; and although the change wrought upon them was great, their business obtruded, and they were not pleasant companions. They had retained the reticence of their race, spoke only when spoken to, were suspicious of one’s approach, but warmed to one after a while Their horizon had remained bounded by the mining camps in which their saloons were located; even those from Pittsburg, and they were not a few, had not looked deep into our American life. That the Pole and Slovak will be hard to change, and that they present somewhat tough material, not easily assimilated, often forces itself upon me; yet when I see their children, that second generation, born in America, I can see no difference between the Slav and the German. One of the most beautiful girls on board of ship, one of the most refined in her attire and behaviour, was a Bohemian girl born in Chicago. Although she spoke the language of her people, she spoke English better, associated with the American girls on board of ship, and it would have taken a keen student of racial stock to discover her Bohemian origin. She is not an isolated figure nor an exception. On nearly every journey I have taken I have found her type, and I recall with especial pleasure and satisfaction the companionship of two Bohemian school teachers from Cleveland, Ohio, both of them born in Bohemia, but having grown to womanhood on the shores of Lake Erie. While they showed in their faces the Slavic strain, they were thoroughly Americanized and must have been a blessing to the children whom they taught. So one’s apprehension is quieted by such facts, which are by no means rare. Certain crude elements may survive, even in the second generation, and may perhaps enter into our racial existence, but other such elements have come to us from other races, and have not spoiled us nor yet undone us. If we were to pick out on board of ship the most disagreeable people, we would not seek them among the Slavs nor among the Italians, but among a certain class of German and Jewish Americans, who are all flesh; blasphemous in language, intemperate in habits and who are intensely disliked on the other side of the Atlantic among their own kinsmen. This is not intended to reflect upon that large class of sober and intelligent naturalized Americans one meets; but to emphasize the fact, that the classes of immigrants most desired by us, compare very well with the best element in our polyglot population. Looking back over all my experiences, I am justified in saying that the Slav, the Italian and the Russian Jew, will finally compare well with the earlier output of foreign born Americans. The last night before the landing, an enterprising and pleasure loving Jew arranged a concert; and although the participants were Jews, Bohemians, Poles, Germans and Russians, it was a typical American affair, was as decorous as a church social, and nearly as dull. These children of the foreigners sang American parlour songs, recited “Over the hills to the poorhouse,” and other poems which are intended to make one happy by making one sad, and they concluded by singing together “My Country ’tis of Thee,” but could not remember the words beyond the second verse, which is so typical of our own young people. The day we were to land there were more American flags in evidence in the second cabin than in any other quarter of the ship. The over-patriotic Jew had his dozen flags out, swinging them all in the face of the German policemen who lined the dock at Bremerhaven. Every button-hole bore the Stars and Stripes. When one of the thriftier Jews suggested that the wearing of the flag would cost them money, because the hotel keepers would charge them American rates, another replied: “It is worth all they will make me pay,” while another still more emphatically said: “They will see it in mine face that I am from America; let it cost me money.” Swinging the Stars and Stripes they descended the gang plank; Slavs, Italians and Jews, all of them vociferous, patriotic Americans. Wherever they went they proclaimed their love for this country, and the superiority of America over the whole world. “I will talk nothing but American; let them learn American, the best language in the world,” said one; and much to the chagrin of the sensitive Europeans, these second class passengers went blatantly and noisily through the streets of the cities of Europe, criticising everything they saw, from barber shops to statuary. One of them who had travelled far, who had seen on that journey the galleries of Paris, Munich and Dresden, and who had some little art sense, said: “I tell you the finest piece of statuary in the whole world is the Goddess of Liberty in New York Harbour;” and all those who heard said: “Amen.” How deep the American ideals have taken root among them, one cannot yet discern; how completely the second generation will come under their sway, how much of the old world spirit will disappear or remain, is difficult to determine. This is no time to be blindly optimistic nor hopelessly pessimistic; it is a time for facing the dangers and not fearing them; for this is the noontide of our day of grace. This is the time to bring into action the best there is in American ideals; for as we present ourselves to this mass of men, so it will become. At present the mass is still a lump of clay in the hands of the potter; a huge lump it is true, but America is gigantic and this is not the least of the gigantic tasks left for her mighty sons and daughters to perform. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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