FOOTNOTES:

But, alas! in vain did he press the trigger till he almost pressed it down—no hammer fell—no discharge followed; thestag sprang about twenty yards further, and for some seconds more stood looking at the strange object in the water. Von Schwanthal pulled and pressed, till the perspiration stood in drops upon his forehead. But in vain; the hammers descended, it is true, but the piece did not go off—not so much as a cap even exploded. It was then that he recollected the unlucky "patent safety," which he had pushed forward whilst among the creeping plants and underwood; he quickly pushed it back, but the deer was, by this time, probably tired of waiting—Heaven knows how long!—to be shot at, and fled in rapid bounds into the thicket; and the two cracking shots which were now sent after him—alas, too late—only served to add wings to his already mighty bounds.

Schwanthal stood, and gazed after the stag, as he disappeared in the bush, and then down at his gun. He next seated himself upon the bough of a prostrate oak, which projected out of the water, took a screw-driver from his pocket, and very deliberately removed both of the safety-screws from the lock; wrapped them in a small piece of paper, and then went back to the nearest dry land, or rather, to that which was not covered with water, and trod them—without a syllable, without a single oath, but with such rage and determination—into the soft damp earth, that they had soon penetrated far into it; he then, giving them a last hearty farewell kick, said:—"So now, lie there till you rot—when I want you again, I'll let you know."

So far so good. Now the first thing was to re-load the gun; but what was to be done then? To wade further into the mud, or to turn back, and that without having accomplished his object? No, on no condition could he do that; the attempt, at least, must be made, and, besides, the sun shone so clearly and so cheerfully that, losing one's self was out of the question; so he cautiously stepped further and further through the silent, listening woods—further still, till at last he reached a small flat ridge, which traversed the swamp from east to west, and was itself dry.

If he should follow this he must leave the sun a little on his left, and it was very questionable whether he would afterwards find the right direction on his return. He determined, therefore, to remain on the watch where he was, where, of course, it was just as possible that a head of game might come right towards him, and where he would incur no danger of losing himself.

With a patience that would have done honour to a saint, hour after hour he stood there, immovable, and listened attentively, often breathlessly, when here and there a dry twig fell into the water, to the slightest noise, to the gentlest sound, to the most trifling rustling of the leaves. At last, however, the declining sun warned him of his return, and, although he could not conceal from himself that the best time for the movement of game was just beginning, yet he could not prevail on himself to remain there, and perhaps afterwards lose his way in the dark, for the sun was his only guide in the wilderness.

Chagrined, he slowly turned to quit the post he had hitherto kept; but—fresh horror!—whither? The sun, as he now for the first time considered, had been travelling through the sky during many long hours, and stood in a totally different quarter from that which it occupied in the morning. Should he now find his way back?—might he not turn off too much either to his right or left? The bare idea raised his hair on end. Snatching up the gun, he sprang in great haste over the narrow tongue of dry ground, and over the other side into the swamp again, in order not to lose any more valuable time, and waded, as fast as his feet would carry him, right through it, with such exertion and haste that the water often splashed right over him, and in less than a quarter of an hour's march he was completely wet through.

But his fears seemed to have been verified, for he ought long since, as he firmly believed, to have reached the spot where the trees felled by the settlers were lying, and yet the swamp did not come to an end; for although Von Schwanthalsaw dry land on his left, he would not on any account deviate from what he considered the right course. He now felt the water grow more shallow, and immediately afterwards found himself upon dry ground—ran over it—came to one of the innumerable little muddy brooks, which cross the country in all directions—dashed through it without pausing to consider; found himself up to his arm-pits in water—climbed as well as he could out on the other side—and, being now firmly convinced that he must have lost his way, as he knew nothing of this brook, he began to call out with all his might for help.

"Mercy on us! what's the matter?" asked the little tailor, who stood close beside him without his having noticed it,—"why, you're on dry ground again."

"Oh, Meier, are you here?" exclaimed Von Schwanthal, delighted; "why, there's the shoemaker, too. You haven't—surely, you haven't lost yourselves, have you?"

"Lost ourselves? no, no!" laughed the little fellow; "we are too wide awake for that; I, for instance, never go further away from the rest than I can reach with my hand one of them, at all events. But what did you halloo so for?"

"Oh, I—I—haven't you seen a stag come past here?" asked Von Schwanthal, taking up his cue, for he was ashamed to let the people see that he had been frightened. "I only called 'Look out!' in case any one might have been out here with a gun."

"It sounded exactly like 'Help!'" said the shoemaker, grinning, and giving the tailor a sly push with the crosscut-saw, which rested on a slight oak, felled by Charles's hands, lying between them. "Have you shot nothing?—there was a report."

"I—I wounded a stag," answered the sportsman; "but there was so much water on the spot, that the tracks could not be followed, I couldn't trace the blood; and, as I had no dog, why——"

"Of course!" said the tailor, elevating his eyebrows andnodding his head violently—"of course! I think I shouldn't catch a stag either, without a dog—the critters run so fast."

Schwanthal turned away in vexation, and, in a very bad humour, strode towards the encampment, which was no longer distant; but he suddenly began to limp, and declared, when he arrived at the first fire, where he met Mrs. Hehrmann, that he had sprained his ancle, and most likely must give up wandering about for a few days.

Von Schwanthal was pretty well cured of his apparently insatiable passion for sport, and even began to help the labourers at their work; but that was the wisest thing he could have done, for he thereby escaped ridicule, and he comforted himself meanwhile with the idea that he should soon be sufficiently acquainted with the woods—at all events, in the neighbourhood—as to be exposed to no further danger of losing himself, and to be enabled to hunt in all directions.

The men worked away perseveringly, without murmuring, and the women, seeing the energy and spirit with which the men bore the greatest hardships, abstained from complaining about their failed hopes and disappointed expectations; but instead thereof, as it could not be helped, they bore their privations with exemplary patience and fortitude. Hehrmann's family, especially, was foremost in setting a good example, and Bertha and her sister Louisa were the first at every kind of work.

But the men stood in need of such encouragement, for their labours progressed very slowly; the negro, it is true, had arrived, and with his help many a tree lay felled and chopped; but it was not until now, when they had begun the work, that they perceived the full extent of all they had got to do. How they were to clear five acres of land, in as many years, appeared an inexplicable riddle to them all, however they might conceal their thoughts from each other.

The tailor gave vent to his feelings the most candidly of all, for when Wolfgang relieved the negro again, he showedhim the dreadful blisters which he had got on his hands, and confessed to him (in confidence, of course) that he never could think of passing another year in that place.

But where, during all this time, was the Doctor, who, for the sake of a few hundred dollars, had sent the poor settlers, ignorant of the country, in such a shameful manner into the wilderness? As he had now obtained his end, received the money, and left the strangers to their fate, the most natural thing for him to do was to take himself off, and carry away his plunder to a place of security—and such had been his original intention; but something on which he had not reckoned, and which he had not foreseen, forbade the execution of it; for a wild uncontrollable passion took possession of his heart for the lovely daughter of the Pastor. Blinded by love, he determined to follow the colony to its destination, and partly to weather the storm of those who would discover that they had been deceived, partly to turn it off—to remain in Bertha's neighbourhood, perhaps to make her his wife—at all events, to be able to call her his. With this object he had, as a primary step, to ascertain what her feelings were towards him, and it was for this that he had approached her, on the last morning, with a confession of his love.

But her cold behaviour showed him at once what he had to hope from her heart and feelings; moreover, it could not escape him how she blushed and became embarrassed at the allusion to Werner.

At a glance—with the glance of a man of the world—he saw that nothing was to be accomplished there by honest wooing; but he was not the man so readily to give up a plan he had once formed. During eleven years past a sojourner in foreign lands, during the latter portion of that time in America, he had learned to surmount whatever obstacles might come in his way; and as he was not particular whether he resorted to honest or dishonest means, if he could onlyattain the ends he had proposed to himself, he seldom failed in carrying out his plans.

But, to follow to Tennessee those very settlers who had been deceived by him, to play a part in all those unpleasant scenes which he could very well foresee, and yet not advance a step nearer to his aim, did not seem to him expedient. He determined, therefore, on remaining in Cincinnati for the present; for that Bertha must be his he had vowed, and only the more stimulated by the obstacles to the realization of his project, he now considered ways and means to carry off, by force, the girl who would not voluntarily follow him.

How difficult, how impossible, almost, pursuit was on the Mississippi, when that mighty stream, with its wilderness on either shore, once divided the pursued from the pursuers, he knew but too well, and all that he now required was some trusty friend to assist him in his undertaking. Such an one he had already found in Cincinnati, on the previous evening, and while the "Dayton" was puffing and blowing down the beautiful Ohio river, Normann and Turner (the latter a gambler by profession from New Orleans, but who stayed in the North during the warm summer months) stood on the quay, and Turner said, smilingly, when the Doctor had made him acquainted with his wishes—

"Capital, Doctor—capital! And she has got a pretty sister, too, eh?"

"A beautiful girl," he assured him.

"Here's my hand, then; I'm your man! I could not better employ my time, till the healthy season in New Orleans commences again. Perhaps we may get both the girls."

"That is hardly possible!—how are we to bring them away?"

"Well, it's all one," said the profligate, laughing; "we're sure of one. Moreover, I know that part of the country as well as though I had spent all my life there. Five of us once ran all the way from Randolph up to the Halchee onfoot, most of the way at night, and with about twenty stout boatmen after us. I shouldn't forget that chase, were I to live a thousand years."

"And how did you get off?"

"There was a small boat on the Halchee; we jumped into it. The owner would have made some difficulties, but luckily I had a loaded pistol with me,—but that has nothing to do with it. The bargain is made."

"Shall we go alone?"

"No; we must have some one else to row, but I know one that will do; a free nigger in the town here, whom I could lead to Perdition with us for twenty dollars a month, and an extra allowance of whisky."

"Good,—such a fellow will be useful. And when shall we start? To-day?"

"Halloo! not so fast. I have got a young Italian, who has been recommended to me, to pluck first; he seems immensely rich, so we will get all ready for starting; perhaps, a hasty departure may be convenient some of these days."

"Well, then," said the Doctor, "I'll get together everything that is necessary, and this evening we'll meet at the old place in Sycamore-street."

Normann left him, and walked along the quay, and up Main-street; but Turner remained, with his arms folded, and followed Normann's retreating figure with a contemptuous smile, and wheeled round on his heel when the other turned the corner, and disappeared in the street to the right; and with the same malicious expression he whispered to himself—

"We'll steal the girl together, my little Doctor, and if she's as pretty as you've described her, why you shall help me; but if you suppose, my short-sighted Dutchman, that she's for you, why you're confoundedly out in your reckoning, I guess!"

FOOTNOTES:[9]Mosquitoes always sting an old-countryman during the first year ensuing his arrival more than they ever do afterwards, and more than they do natives.—Tr.[10]There is no dawn in the latitude of the Big Halchee in August, or none worth mentioning.—Tr.[11]This is not a picture of an average log-house, (which is wind and water tight, and warm,) but of a very temporary shanty; it is not consistent with the occupant's skill as a back-woodsman, or his industry, that he should have let his wife live a single week in such a hole—especially when a few shingles, and some moss and clay, would have remedied all—Tr.[12]The watchmen in Germany, twenty years ago, used to (and, for aught I know, still may) carry a horn, like that of our newsmen, which they blew and announced the hours, &c.—Tr.[13]The fires in the back-woods are raked together at bed-time, and covered with thin ashes, and so remain all night, smouldering, so that in the morning they only require to be fanned a little, in order to burn again, so as to ignite fresh fuel; indeed, the back log is usually a thick piece of heavy wood, which lasts a day or two.—Tr.[14]The blowing of a horn is the usual signal to come home to breakfast, dinner, supper, or for any other purpose, on North-American farms.—Tr.[15]This seems to be rather unaccountable; it may be the popular belief.—Tr.[16]Wood is used for fuel throughout Germany, and the numerous forests are under the care of officers, called foresters, who have assistants, called huntsmen, under them; they plant, thin, manage, and cut the timber; also preserve game, kill vermin, &c.—Tr.[17]Rough shanties and small log-houses are sometimes covered with planks, as in the text; but the more usual course in America is to roof houses with shingles, which are rectangular pieces of pine split (with a shingle knife) into the thickness of about a quarter of an inch, or less, and these are nailed on, overlapping each other, like tiles; they are light, weathertight, and durable, and only inferior to tiles, slate or tin, in being more liable to accidents by fire.—Tr.[18]As the old chimney, even assuming it to have been of brick, would not have sufficed, the reader may perhaps ask where the bricks and mortar came from; but it is common in shanties in the woods, when these cannot be had, to form chimneys of slabs of bass-wood, and plaster them with clay. It need hardly be added that they sometimes take fire.—Tr.[19]Persons who once take to chopping—i. e., felling trees—prefer it to all other work, and even feel a kind of passion for it.—Tr.

[9]Mosquitoes always sting an old-countryman during the first year ensuing his arrival more than they ever do afterwards, and more than they do natives.—Tr.

[10]There is no dawn in the latitude of the Big Halchee in August, or none worth mentioning.—Tr.

[11]This is not a picture of an average log-house, (which is wind and water tight, and warm,) but of a very temporary shanty; it is not consistent with the occupant's skill as a back-woodsman, or his industry, that he should have let his wife live a single week in such a hole—especially when a few shingles, and some moss and clay, would have remedied all—Tr.

[12]The watchmen in Germany, twenty years ago, used to (and, for aught I know, still may) carry a horn, like that of our newsmen, which they blew and announced the hours, &c.—Tr.

[13]The fires in the back-woods are raked together at bed-time, and covered with thin ashes, and so remain all night, smouldering, so that in the morning they only require to be fanned a little, in order to burn again, so as to ignite fresh fuel; indeed, the back log is usually a thick piece of heavy wood, which lasts a day or two.—Tr.

[14]The blowing of a horn is the usual signal to come home to breakfast, dinner, supper, or for any other purpose, on North-American farms.—Tr.

[15]This seems to be rather unaccountable; it may be the popular belief.—Tr.

[16]Wood is used for fuel throughout Germany, and the numerous forests are under the care of officers, called foresters, who have assistants, called huntsmen, under them; they plant, thin, manage, and cut the timber; also preserve game, kill vermin, &c.—Tr.

[17]Rough shanties and small log-houses are sometimes covered with planks, as in the text; but the more usual course in America is to roof houses with shingles, which are rectangular pieces of pine split (with a shingle knife) into the thickness of about a quarter of an inch, or less, and these are nailed on, overlapping each other, like tiles; they are light, weathertight, and durable, and only inferior to tiles, slate or tin, in being more liable to accidents by fire.—Tr.

[18]As the old chimney, even assuming it to have been of brick, would not have sufficed, the reader may perhaps ask where the bricks and mortar came from; but it is common in shanties in the woods, when these cannot be had, to form chimneys of slabs of bass-wood, and plaster them with clay. It need hardly be added that they sometimes take fire.—Tr.

[19]Persons who once take to chopping—i. e., felling trees—prefer it to all other work, and even feel a kind of passion for it.—Tr.

We have almost too long neglected a principal person in our narrative, Young Werner; we left him sadly musing on the banks of the beautiful Hudson River, and must now return to him.

"Well," said Helldorf, smiling, "have you nearly done looking? My friend, my friend, it almost seems to me as though the most serious thoughts in the world—thoughts of marriage—were floating in your head. Consider that your chief object in coming to America was to earn something, and that until that is done—— Well, then," he said, interrupting himself with a smile, when he saw that Werner turned his back impatiently upon him, "it's the old story, and all that I may say will not alter it. But come along, Werner, else we shall really miss our boat, and that's the most important thing to us at present."

"And will you indeed accompany me, my dear Helldorf?" asked the young man.

"I suppose I must," said the other, with a shrug of his shoulders; "but it's no such great sacrifice I am making. In the first place, I am heartily sick of my stay in New York, and I have in fact some business to look after in Philadelphia, which, if it does not absolutely require me to go there, yet renders my presence desirable. We will therefore lose no moretime, but take our things with us at once; and, if I can. I'll accompany you on your journey as far as Cincinnati, for I'm much mistaken if you remain more than four weeks in Philadelphia."

"My dear fellow, however much my heart yearns towards Tennessee—as I feel but too well that it does—yet it will be impossible for me, within that period, to conclude that which I ought to conclude in Philadelphia, or rather, to speak more correctly, to commence the formation of connexions which I ought to form there. But we shall see; perhaps you yourself may like to remain longer."

"Well, we shall see, certainly," replied Helldorf. "To speak candidly, I should, in your place, have gone with them to the settlement at once."

"To become a farmer?"

"For no other purpose; but you are just like all the rest—you will only learn by experience. But we must really be off. Do you see the smoke yonder; that's from the Philadelphia packet-boat, and we have little enough time left to get all our things on board."

The young men returned to the town arm in arm, and in another hour they stood upon the splendidly fitted-up steamer which was to conduct them to the proud Quaker city.

Their journey was a short one; they went by water to the southern shore of Staaten Island Bay, removed the little baggage which they had to the railway there, and, in six hours more, they found themselves in the most beautiful, but assuredly, also, the most tedious, of North American cities.

"Well, and what do you think of setting about next?" inquired Helldorf of Werner, when, towards evening, they had deposited their luggage, and were walking about Chestnut-street, the principal street of Philadelphia, which was then crowded with well-dressed people.

"Why, to deliver my letters of recommendation, of course," answered the other, smiling. "I have been so urgently recommended to certain houses of business here, that I maybe permitted to hope that I may receive some assistance from them in furthering my plans. Yes, Helldorf, I may confide in you—I know that I can confide in you"—continued the young man, seizing his friend's hand, and becoming more animated; "you have behaved so heartily towards me, even from the very first, that I must unreservedly unfold all my plans to you."

Helldorf smiled, but pressed the right hand which was extended to him, and replied, "And may I not guess them?"

"Partly, perhaps," said Werner, and his countenance coloured more deeply—"partly, no doubt—my love for Bertha—but that is not all; that is only the sunny point of my existence—the aim towards which my whole exertions, my whole soul is directed; but you shall know the means also by which I hope to attain my object, and you shall tell me whether you approve them or not."

Helldorf slightly bowed, and Werner began:—

"In stating my endeavours and plans, I probably shall be merely describing those of thousands besides, who, like myself, are thrown upon these shores without means, and who wish to make their fortunes, as the phrase is.

"When I embarked at Bremen almost, my only wish and intention was to travel through the States in all directions; my plans are now altered. Taking all things into consideration, I don't think that Pastor Hehrmann will agree long with the Committee whom they have chosen."

Helldorf nodded his head, significantly.

"He himself is poor," Werner continued, "and the time may arrive when he may stand in need of a friend; so I will set to work with zeal and earnestness,—get some situation here, which I must soon be able to do—work, speculate, devote my whole life to this one object, and then present myself, cheerfully, to the parents of my beloved, and ask them for their daughter's hand,—then I shall have deserved her."

"Well said, my worthy young friend," said the Kentuckian,laying his hand upon Werner's shoulder; "but I don't see why you should make such preparation here in the East; your prospectshereare very uncertain."

"My recommendations——"

"I beg of you, for Heaven's sake, say no more about your recommendations: those——. However, I will not make your heart heavy; but, Werner, if you will follow my advice, you will go to the West as quickly as you can, and become a farmer; every month that you pass here is so much time lost, for farmer you will become, after all. You are no merchant, have never been one, and—in short, are not at all fitted for an American trader."

"But I don't see why not! I understand book-keeping thoroughly."

"Oh, I don't mean on account of want of knowledge; that, if necessary, could be acquired by you, and soon, too—you are too honest!"

"Why, my dear Helldorf; you surely don't mean to affirm that the American merchants are dishonest?"

"No, certainly not," exclaimed Helldorf; "and I should be very sorry if you should so misunderstand me; but more is required in order to be a merchant here in America than merely book-keeping and speculating on the Exchange; for this last branch of business we have a special class of men, the money-brokers as they are called, who, I may say, in passing, don't stand in very good odour. But the German is no match for the American in business, because he is too considerate. The Jews get on about the best of any here; they soon adapt themselves to the manners and customs of the country, begin in a small way, and do not let either painstaking or shame discourage them—and become rich. But in America the standard of honesty is different from that of Germany. In your country, for example, a bankrupt who should become rich by his bankruptcy would be stamped with infamy. It is quite different here; I know people who have been bankrupt three times, who possess more than a million of dollars, and a reaccounted among the most respectable menof the city wherein they live. In Little Rock, one of the richest merchants made a declaration of insolvency, and yet, at the same time, was building a couple of large brick houses."

"But how was that possible?"

"Oh, in that way anything is possible, and the Americans call it 'smart.'"

"That's the word which Dr. Normann mentioned to me. But about the merchant?"

"The doctor is acquainted with it, no doubt," said Helldorf, with a smile. "Well, the merchant in question had settled all his property upon his wife—no one could take any part of it from him; the creditors came, but had to draw off again without getting anything."

"But the houses?"

"Oh, his wife was having them built;hehad nothing, of course—he was a poor ruined man; however, everybody gave him credit again, and as soon as he had obtained his certificate, he began business afresh with more spirit than ever. I could relate hundreds of such instances of people whom I have known personally."

"That certainly does not say much for their honesty, if such a proceeding is reckoned an ordinary mercantile transaction," said Werner; "but, be that as it may, trade certainly is the quickest way to acquire a little property; and, I should think, that if one were honest and upright, buyers must soon find it out, and it would carry weight."

"Oh, my dear Werner, that's of little use here; the modest man remains behind, and without puffing and quackery, a poor devil can seldom get along in America, unless, as I have already observed, he turns farmer. Those are my views, but I don't wish to palm them upon you as the views of all the world; I shall even be glad, on your account, if you should not find them confirmed."

"But I have no capital to begin with—at least——"

"If that makes any difference at all, it's rather in your favour than otherwise," said Helldorf, smiling; "don't supposethat the people who bring over capital with them pluck roses here. 'Where there is nothing, the Emperor himself can't levy tribute,' and 'he who has no money pays no premium.' But these sort of sayings are thrown away upon emigrants; they must try it all themselves; afterwards, they get along better in every way."

"But I feel a real desire within me to set to work at a business life here."

"Very well, my dear Werner, then I wont dissuade you," replied Helldorf, good humouredly; "deliver your introductions to-morrow, and we'll see what may turn up. It's getting late, so let us make haste back to our inn, else we may arrive after time, or miss our supper, which is about the same thing."

The two friends returned to their boarding-house, and as Werner went out rather early on the following morning, the afternoon was advanced before they met again.

Werner came home very tired; he had delivered a number of letters of introduction, and had found a good many of the people, whom he had subsequently to call upon, from home, which altogether was no trifle in that immense city. However, he had been asked byallto call again next day, a sure sign that the people intended not to accept the introduction merely, and then drop the matter, but that they would exert themselves a little for him.

He had received an invitation to dinner for the next day from a merchant named Harvey, whom he had found a very agreeable man, and he promised himself much satisfaction from it.

"Well then, our paper is going up," said Helldorf, with a smile; "well, I wish that I may prove a false prophet. We will remain together a little longer this evening, for to-morrow I must go to German-town on some business, which will detain me for three days at the most, and I hope afterwards to see you finish with Philadelphia and your future prospects."

"Hardly so soon," said Werner, incredulously; "but time will show; from all that I have seen to-day, however, I think that I may fairly be sanguine."

At the public dinner table, they met several other Germans, among the rest a M. Von Buchenberg, who was seated next to Werner. He had been some weeks in Philadelphia, and purposed to visit the West, in order to survey several districts of land in the interest of some company or other, which already had a high-sounding name.

Von Buchenberg was not calculated, however, to give much encouragement to young Werner, for he abused the town soundly:

"The devil take thispiousPhiladelphia!" he exclaimed, indignantly; "they keep Sundays here so strictly, that one daren't so much as peel an apple, and yet all the while there they sit in their rocking-chairs, and calculate and plan, how they shall cheat each other next day. Heaven alone knows all the sects that crawl about here; there are Quakers and methodists, baptists, presbyterians, Millerites, Schulzerites, and Meierites, and Heaven knows what other names the fellows have! A shudder comes over me when I see the gang of thieves, cutting about in snuff-coloured suits."

"But the quakers are very plainly dressed," said Werner, taking up their cause; "indeed, 'tis a part of their religion to attire themselves in as quiet a manner as possible."

"Certainly," exclaimed Buchenberg; "but is it not strange that they should dress themselves up in a costume which everybody else has long since ceased to wear? The women, too, don't they just coquette in an alarming manner from under their black sun-bonnets of such a very pious cut! Well, then, the town itself!" continued the little man, who had just got into train, "this regularity at last becomes quite unbearable, and one dare not go abroad without a compass. If you inquire of any one in the streets which way you are to get to so-and-so, they don't answer you asreasonable people in other reasonable places would answer: 'You go down yonder, then take the first turning on the right or left as the case may be, go through that street, and then through such another street to the place you wish for;' oh lord, no!—if you ask a Philadelphian your way to ever so near a place, he says directly: 'Oh, you can't miss it; you go from here three streets south, then you turn westward till you come to the fourth, then again two streets south, and it's to the east the third house on the north side.' Now I'll appeal to anybody, isn't it enough to drive one wild?"

"Why, the points of the compass are easily remembered," said Helldorf, with a smile.

"It happened just the same with me," Werner declared.

"Easily remembered!—how so?" said Von Buchenberg, who now got rather warm on the subject. "Suppose that it's cloudy; and besides, since when, I should like to know, have all men learned astronomy? I know that the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, but therewith, Basta, the rest does not concern me. If I want to know about it, I look into the almanack. But that isn't all: the other day I was sitting at this very table, and yonder, where that gentleman now sits, there sat a Quaker; in the middle of dinner he stretches out his arm, and points down the table, saying to me, 'Friend, may I trouble thee to reach me that north-west dish.' I sat, regularly nonplussed, and stared at him, whereupon he added, by way of explanation, that one to the south of the soup.' Why, it beats all; what, am I to go outside the door, and look after the quarters of the heavens, or else have a pocket compass always ready beside my plate?"

Helldorf and Werner laughed heartily, and the worthy Von Buchenberg was quite right, for the regular plan of the town in which all the streets run at right angles from north to south, and from east to west, has familiarized the inhabitants with this mode of expression. And it must be allowed that when the ear has once got accustomed to it, the most distant places may be thus admirably and accurately designated;but to the emigrant, unless indeed he happen to be a seaman, the thing sounds oddly.

Next morning, Helldorf started on his little journey, and Werner ran about from one merchant to another, made calls upon calls, and was met everywhere by mere civilities, or at most by a dinner. He became heartily sick of this kind of life, and longed for the return of his absent friend, although he almost dreaded his ridicule, for everything had happened pretty much as he had foretold him. Still he was at least conscious that he had not neglected anything which he had to do, and had done everything in his power.

Helldorf returned at the time appointed; but, contrary to expectation, he did not ridicule his friend, but merely excused the men (merchants for the most part) to whom the introductions had been addressed, for not having paid more attention and regard to them.

"You see, my dear Werner, every year many thousand persons arrive in the United States, the majority of whom entertain the settled conviction that they cannot get along at all unless they bring their pockets full of introductions which certify on the face of them to the good people—'Hark ye, I am so and so, a respectable, decent person, and it would much oblige Mr. So and so, in Europe, if his esteemed friend in Philadelphia or New York, or whatever the place may be, would receive me in a friendly manner and aid me with word and deed; the friend in Europe would also, in return, be most happy to render any similar service.' Yes, that's all very well, but how seldom does it happen that any one requires an introduction for Germany? for America it is a matter of daily occurrence. No, the merchants in the great commercial towns are regularly inundated with such recommendations, and we must not by any means blame them, if they are not beside themselves with joy and gladness so soon as they see a stranger enter their house, poking such a letter of introduction, as a snail does his horns, before him.'Help, thyself,' is the motto here, and whoever is thoroughly impressed with that need not fear. But, Werner, I have a proposal to make to you. I have accepted a commission in German-town, which will oblige me to go to New Orleans, will you go with me?"

"How far is it to New Orleans?" asked Werner.

"One can tell that you haven't been long from Germany," said Helldorf, with a smile. "Herenobody asks howfarit is to a place, but the question is, 'Howdo you get there?' I intend to go by water. If you like, make up your mind quickly, and we'll go back to-morrow to New York, whence the packet boat 'Mobile' starts for New Orleans, and, if we have a favourable passage, we may get there in a fortnight. In New Orleans you can look about you a little; who knows what may offer itself there, and after a stay of about a week, I promise to accompany you to any little river in Tennessee which you may propose. From New Orleans we can get up there in three days."

"Oh, my dear Helldorf, Philadelphia has discouraged me very much! What am I to do in Tennessee? How can I hope—how dare I ask, for Bertha's hand? How am I to support her?"

"Oh, means will be devised," exclaimed Helldorf; "only you must set the right way to work, and an industrious man need not fear to strive in vain. Trust in me, my dear Werner, and I'll put you on the right track, and if you don't follow it, why it's your own fault. Do you go to New Orleans with me?"

"Agreed!—here's my hand. It's true that I have a couple of introductions for that place, too; but they shan't determine me, for I'll not use them;" and, in the first impulse of vexation, he pulled the letters out of his pocket, and would have thrown them into the stream which flowed past.

"Hold!" said Helldorf, seizing his hand; "we must not condemn all without distinction; such letters are like wet percussion caps, they generally miss fire; sometimes,however, one does explode, and the gun goes off. Such a bit of paper is not heavy, and, at any rate, can do no harm."

Werner put back the letters into his pocket, but opined that something unforeseen must happen to induce him to make use of them.

Their preparations for the journey did not occupy much time, and as a favourable wind filled their sails from New York, they passed Sandyhook on the second evening, and, steering due south, entered the open sea.

With the exception of some storms, which they had to encounter in crossing the Gulf Stream, their voyage was as quick and as pleasant a one as could be expected at the season; only the heat became very oppressive as they sailed along the Gulf of Florida, past the Havannah, for the wind, which had hitherto brought some cool breezes with it, now almost ceased.

It was on the sixteenth day from their departure from New York, that Werner, stretched out on the bowsprit of the ship, looked forward at the steamer which was approaching them, for the purpose of towing the ship through the labyrinth of the Mississippi Delta, about eighty miles up the broad stream, to New Orleans. She soon laid herself alongside the ship, the ropes were made fast, and, leaving the flat, reedy, and swampy shores of the outer mouth behind them, the "Porpoise" steamed away against the current. Now they glided past between mighty forests intergrown with reeds,—now these became more open—plantations became visible,—and now, as they approached nearer and nearer to the gigantic commercial city of the south, the constantly increasing civilization and culture had driven the old, venerable, primeval forest far into the background, so that its distant tops could only be discerned as a green stripe on the horizon, and, instead thereof, a boundless sea of waving sugar-canes, and tall, stiff, cotton-plants surrounded them.

Night closed in too soon for the astonished spectator, and by day-break he was already awake again and on deck, toadmire the panorama of New Orleans, now spread out before him in all its grandeur.

If, even on his landing at New York, he had found himself surrounded by a peculiar foreign-looking kind of life, how much more was this the case here, where the tropical countries were wafting their warm luxurious breath towards him! The innumerable ships and vessels of all descriptions which bounded the shores with a forest of masts, the multitude of steamers arriving and departing, the sailing-boats shooting backwards and forwards across the river, the little fruit-boats, the crowding of wagons with goods on the shore, the movements of the cheerful, well-dressed crowd, which seemed to be thrown together there from all quarters of the globe,—all these so occupied his senses, that he scarcely noticed that the ship was landed and moored to the quay, and his attention was first called to the fact by the idlers and business-people who pressed on board.

Helldorf, who had been several times before in this capital of the South, and to whom the bustling and picturesque scene was no longer a novelty, had, meanwhile, handed over the luggage belonging to them both to a drayman or carter, whose number he took, and the friends lounged slowly across the Levee,[20]up into the town.

"What do you think of New Orleans?" asked Helldorf, at last, as they turned into one of the principal streets which ran parallel with the river, and Werner stopped, really astonished at all the magnificence and splendour which met his wondering eye on every side.

"There certainly is something grand about such a city," said Werner; "but it's too much for me, it oppresses more than it pleases. It is beautiful to see once, but I don't think that it would please me for a continuance."

"Exactly my idea," said Helldorf; "however, my friend, in a week or two it will present a different spectacle. As soon as the yellow fever comes in here, the most of the occupants (those who possess the means, that is to say,) go out, and of those who remain a large number die off like flies. I was once in New Orleans in September, and all these streets, now so crowded with people, were deserted and empty, and as silent as the grave; many were even boarded up, and on innumerable doors black crape fluttered, or boards were hung out, containing cautions from approaching too near, as the pestilence was raging within."

"I suppose Germans don't remain here much, for the climate must be especially pernicious to them."

"Germans usually form one half of the entire number of victims," said Helldorf; "they come here, live intemperately and dissolutely, and expect to be able to endure and to keep in health, where thousands of their countrymen perish miserably, and are buried like dogs. Oh, my friend, 'tis a melancholy chapter that, and we'll talk more about it some other time. For the present, while 'tis yet cool, we'll stroll about a little; by-and-by, it will be insufferably hot in the streets. Will you deliver your letters of recommendation here?"

"No, I'll not vex myself any more," replied Werner.

"But one of them is sealed," said Helldorf; "perhaps it contains private matter, and may be of much interest to the party to whom it is addressed."

"I think not; the writer of it, an old uncle of mine, read the contents to me, and then sealed it in my presence; it is just an introduction like the rest, and for a quondam Doctor of Medicine too, who is said now to have turned farmer,somewhere in the southern part of Missouri; he wont be able to help me much."

"Well, don't say that," replied Helldorf, with a dissentient shake of the head; "perhaps, more than all these traders and merchant gentry here, who look upon an emigrant as a piece of goods, as perishable goods merely, if they can get any benefit out of him, but entertain a holy horror of him if such be not the case, or they even fear that he may become burthensome to them. But come, we will look up an old friend of mine, who keeps school here in Poydras-street—a college friend."

"And he has turned schoolmaster?"

"Lord! what does one not turn to in America, if an opportunity occurs or a good prospect offers. As he writes to me, he is doing very well. This is the number of the house. I think we may as well go in at once."

"But shall we not disturb him?"

"Oh, they're not so particular about that here; besides, the school will probably be thinly attended in summer, and I shouldn't wonder if the holidays had already commenced. But we can soon convince ourselves."

They mounted a narrow, steep staircase to the second floor, and, when arrived there, found themselves without any necessity for tapping at the door, in the middle of the school as it were. The door of the room, which was not a large one, stood open, on account of the heat; the windows likewise; and scholars and teacher sat, mostly in their shirt sleeves, in the cool draught which streamed through the house.

"Helldorf!" exclaimed the schoolmaster, a handsome young man, with dark curly hair, jumping up, surprised, from the two chairs on which, half extended, he had made himself up a very comfortable seat. "Helldorf! where the deuce do you drop from?"

"Do we disturb you?" asked the other.

"How can you think of such a thing!" was the laughinganswer. "Well, the holidays commence next Friday, and to-day is Monday, and then the vexed soul will rest!"

"And where shall you go to?"

"Up the river, of course!"

"Why, that's just the thing—we shall travel together, at all events, a part of the journey. But stay, I must first of all introduce my friend Werner to you—a German, just arrived, who thinks of settling in the West. I trust that you'll be good friends."

The two young men shook hands; and the scholars—a mixed company of French, Creole, German, and English—nudged each other, and tittered at the German, or "Dutch" as they termed it, that was spoken.

There were boys and girls of all ages, and of the strangest appearance, thrown together. But one of the queerest specimens stood right before the little reading-desk, and in front of a large black board, which was hanging on the wall, and half covered with the alphabet in Roman and German characters.

"Look ye, Helldorf," said young Schwarz, smiling, as he laid his hand on the shoulder of the hopeful young citizen of the world, who, with his knees somewhat turned inwards, and his hands in his pockets, stood in by no means a picturesque attitude before them, and exhibited his projecting profile staring from beneath a matted head of hair. "Here I have a prize specimen of my scholars—a juvenile Benjamin Franklin, only undeveloped; a diamond, only rather rough! He is one of those rare individuals for whose genius this low sphere is too narrow, and who may be found by dozens, armed with spoons and bits of stick, at the sugar and syrup casks on the Levee! Come, Benjamin, now mind what you're about!"—turning towards the youth, who was about twelve years of age—"don't disgrace me, but show what you have learnt. Do you know any of the letters that are written on here—eh?"

Benjamin distorted his mouth into a broad grin, till itreached from ear to ear, balanced himself from the left foot to the right, began to poke, not his hands alone, but his arms also, into his pockets, and nodded his head in token of intelligence.

"So, you know some of them! But, come, take your hands out of your pockets—that is not becoming!"

Benjamin obeyed the command, as far as the right side was concerned, and produced five fingers which certainly appeared to confirm the master's former speech, and not only bore antediluvian traces of syrup, but also of Levee dust.

"The other, too, Benjamin," said Mr. Schwarz.

The left followed—rather slowly, it is true—but still it followed. However, it seemed to feel an irresistible disposition to occupy itself with something, and meanwhile, laid hold of the left foot, which was raised towards it.

Helldorf smiled, and the foot fell back into its old position.

"Now, tell me which of these letters you know?" asked Mr. Schwarz.

Benjamin, thus driven to extremity, first drew his right sleeve carefully across under his nose, and made divers efforts, which severally miscarried, by reason of the grave look of the master, to slip the left hand into his pocket again. At last, he made a step forward, rubbed the palms of his hands once or twice violently together, not so much to their damage as of the dried syrup, grinned yet broader than before, advanced a second step, and pointed, half abashed, to the capital "H."

"So, you know that letter?"

Benjamin nodded his head, significantly.

"You don't know any other?"

A violent shaking of his head confirmed his negative answer.

"And what do you call that one?"

The catechumen peeped from one stranger to the other, with an embarrassed smile, rubbed the palms of his hands with unmistakable zeal on both his hips, looked first at the board,then at his toes, and then up to the master—and at last whispered—

"I do—a—n't know!"

But Helldorf and Werner could stand it no longer; and the whole class joined their loud laughter in a full pealing chorus, and a weight seemed to be removed from their hearts.

"Go home!" exclaimed Schwarz, who had great difficulty in keeping his countenance. "You need not come back this afternoon; but mind, let me have your lessons well learnt by to-morrow!"

He had no occasion to say this twice; the command was obeyed so promptly that none of the boys stayed to put on their jackets, but each of them seized his few books under his arm, and struggled towards the stairs, in order, if possible, to be the first, but at all events, not the last, who should forsake the school-room. Even Benjamin seemed in a moment quite transformed; he squeezed a small and very much crumpled straw hat on his head, and dived, with apparent contempt of life, right into the midst of the throng that was hurrying out.

In a few more seconds, the three young men were the only occupants of the room; and Helldorf, still laughing, inquired of his friend how, in the name of wonder, he had got into such a situation?

"The matter is very simple," said Schwarz; "I had nothing else to do—could obtain no employment—and became schoolmaster! Thousands do the same, in America; and out of the forty-seven thousand elementary schools which the United States possess, I am quite convinced that there is not one thousand which can show masters regularly educated from youth upwards to their profession! Nothing is more easy than to pass a schoolmaster's examination; and as neither party is bound to the other, nothing is more easy than to put an end to the relation!"

"But such a constant change of masters must operate very prejudicially upon the children themselves," said Werner.

"Certainly it does. But the masters must have a betterprovision made for them, if they are to be expected not to throw up their employment as soon as anything better may offer! We are not in Germany, where a poor schoolmaster must put up with his lot, because he cannot hope to earn his bread in any other way, and where, if the attempt should fail, his return would remain closed from him for an endless time. If I were to accept a situation as dancing-master to-morrow, or were to go upon the stage, or take to performing conjuring tricks, it would be a very trifling obstacle, if, indeed, it would be one at all, to my becoming a schoolmaster again!"

"Are the schools all established on the same system as this one?" asked Werner.

Schwarz laughed. "Speak out what you meant to say!—established without any system at all, like this! Why we certainly cannot require better things, in summer, in New Orleans. In winter, my class is—or rather, was—three times as well attended; the lessons are regularly heard, and order prevails. But during the summer, everything slumbers—and in four weeks from this time the city, whose commercial activity now seems boundless and inexhaustible, will look like a protestant church on a week day! But we are wasting time here! We will pass the heat of the day at my house, and towards evening stroll through the town. Then it is that it shows itself in its splendour, and that one can understand the possibility of there being people who, notwithstanding the annual return of the plague-like yellow fever, yet bid defiance to the infection and to their fears, in order to live in New Orleans."

Helldorf got through a good deal of his business on this day, and Werner, in the meantime, remained in Schwarz's company, where he soon discovered that he too was intending to bid adieu to town life, and—to become a farmer in the woods of the West.

"As soon as I once forsake New Orleans," said he, "I shall never return to it. I have got throughoneyear safely—to remain a second would be to tempt Providence; the twohundred dollars that I have been able to save will found myself a home."

"Two hundred dollars! How is it possible; why, with that you cannot buy even the most needful things."

"Oh, yes," answered Schwarz, with a smile; "you don't want much in the woods; if you like to come along with me, I will give you some practical instructions in the matter. You may still profit from a schoolmaster."

"And do you really believe that with two hundred dollars——"

"Not you," interrupted Schwarz; "not a newly arrived emigrant; unless, indeed, he follow reasonable counsel and instruction; but with those it is possible even for him; but, in that case, he does not succeed upon the strength of his two hundred dollars alone, but makes use of the premium, also, which his advisers have paid; in my own case, that amounted to seven hundred dollars—quite a decent little fund."

"And you, yourself, will settle?"

"Yes; I will build my shanty, and clear a little land this fall and winter; then I can begin at once next spring."

"And cattle?"

"I will rear also, of course—'tis the chief source of profit."

"And do you really think that, in a few years, one may earn enough to—to——"

"To keep a wife," said Schwarz, with a laugh.—"Eh! that was what you were going to say?"

Werner coloured up to the eyes.

"Why, of course," continued Schwarz, who noticed it, with a smile. "It is only as a farmer that you have a prospect of soon being enabled to marry; it is even, to a certain extent, a necessary consequence, for a bachelor's household in the bush is rather too dull an affair. Have you got a little wife already!"

"I? No, Heaven forbid!"

"Halloa! don't rear on your hind legs directly!" said Schwarz; "I didn't want to inquire too minutely. But, bethat as it may, we can try it, at all events—if you don't like it, why, Lord bless you, you can give it up again. One takes to something else—better luck next time."

Thus the matter was disposed of for the present, and five days passed away in a constant whirl of excitement, for everything that the young German saw and heard possessed the charm of novelty, and was invested with the magic of a southern climate, so that he several times hinted to Helldorf, that he felt an almost irresistible impulse to jump on board of the first ship that started, and visit the tropics.

But every one dissuaded him from undertaking such a voyage, especially at that time of the year; Helldorf especially exhorted him to abandon these ideas.

"For," said he, "we are destined for a temperate climate, and although we may force ourselves into the torrid zone, still, either we perish there, or become a sort of half-and-half, nondescript being, who, any one may see, is not in his right place."

At last, Helldorf and Schwarz had terminated their respective businesses, and the latter allowed himself to be persuaded first of all to land in Tennessee, and visit the German settlers there. Selecting, therefore, the fastest of the nine steamers which, on that day, started up stream, viz:—the Diana—they got their things on board, and were soon flying up the river between the really garden-like banks of the Mississippi, where plantation succeeded plantation, and wide boundless fields alternated picturesquely with buildings concealed by groves of oranges and pomegranates, until now and then the dark, morassy, and primeval forest interrupted the blooming landscape once more, and stretched its waving boughs even to the strand, to which it clung with its winding creepers, as though it would not be parted from its cradle, the old Mississippi.

Back to Index Next