the day of the emigrants' arrival in new york was the nearest earthly likeness to the final day of judgment, when we have to prove our fitness to enter heaven. our trial might well have been prefaced by a few edifying reminders from a priest.
it was the hardest day since leaving europe and home. from 5 a.m., when we had breakfast, to three in the afternoon, when we landed at the battery, we were driven in herds from one place to another, ranged into single files, passed in review before doctors, poked in the eyes by the eye-inspectors, cross-questioned by the pocket-inspectors, vice detectives, and blue-book compilers.
nobody had slept the night before. those who approached america for the first time stood on the open deck and stared at the lights of long island. others packed their trunks. lovers took long adieus and promised to write one another letters. there was a hum of talking in the cabins, a continual pattering of feet in the gangways, a splashing of water in the lavatories where cleanly emigrants were trying to[pg 42] wash their whole bodies at hand-basins. at last the bell rang for breakfast: we made that meal before dawn. when it was finished we all went up on the forward deck to see what america looked like by morning light. a little after six we were all chased to the after-deck and made to file past two detectives and an officer. the detectives eyed us; the officer counted to see that no one was hiding.
at seven o'clock our boat lifted anchor and we glided up the still waters of the harbour. the whole prow was a black mass of passengers staring at the ferry-boats, the distant factories, and sky-scrapers. every point of vantage was seized, and some scores of emigrants were clinging to the rigging. at length we came into sight of the green-grey statue of liberty, far away and diminutive at first, but later on, a celestial figure in a blaze of sunlight. an american waved a starry flag in greeting, and some emigrants were disposed to cheer, some shed silent tears. many, however, did not know what the statue was. i heard one russian telling another that it was the tombstone of columbus.
we carried our luggage out at eight, and in a pushing crowd prepared to disembark. at 8.30 we were quick-marched out of the ship to the customs wharf and there ranged in six or seven long lines. all the officials were running and hustling, shouting out, "come on!" "hurry!" "move along!" and [pg 43]clapping their hands. our trunks were examined and chalk-marked on the run—no delving for diamonds—and then we were quick-marched further to a waiting ferry-boat. here for the time being hustle ended. we waited three-quarters of an hour in the seatless ferry, and every one was anxiously speculating on the coming ordeal of medical and pocket examination. at a quarter to ten we steamed for ellis island. we were then marched to another ferry-boat, and expected to be transported somewhere else, but this second vessel was simply a floating waiting-room. we were crushed and almost suffocated upon it. a hot sun beat upon its wooden roof; the windows in the sides were fixed; we could not move an inch from the places where we were awkwardly standing, for the boxes and baskets were so thick about our feet; babies kept crying sadly, and irritated emigrants swore at the sound of them. all were thinking—"shall i get through?" "have i enough money?" "shall i pass the doctor?" and for a whole hour, in the heat and noise and discomfort, we were kept thinking thus. at a quarter-past eleven we were released in detachments. every twenty minutes each and every passenger picked up his luggage and tried to stampede through with the party, a lucky few would bolt past the officer in charge, and the rest would flood back with heart-broken desperate looks on their faces. every time they failed to get included in the[pg 44] outgoing party the emigrants seemed to feel that they had lost their chance of a job, or that america was a failure, or their coming there a great mistake. at last, at a quarter-past twelve, it was my turn to rush out and find what fate and america had in store for me.
once more it was "quick march!" and hurrying about with bags and baskets in our hands, we were put into lines. then we slowly filed up to a doctor who turned our eyelids inside out with a metal instrument. another doctor scanned faces and hands for skin diseases, and then we carried our ship-inspection cards to an official who stamped them. we passed into the vast hall of judgment, and were classified and put into lines again, this time according to our nationality. it was interesting to observe at the very threshold of the united states the mechanical obsession of the american people. this ranging and guiding and hurrying and sifting was like nothing so much as the screening of coal in a great breaker tower.
it is not good to be like a hurrying, bumping, wandering piece of coal being mechanically guided to the sacks of its type and size, but such is the lot of the immigrant at ellis island.
dainty swedish girls
dainty swedish girls and their partners looking over the sea.
but we had now reached a point in the examination when we could rest. in our new lines we were marched into stalls, and were allowed to sit and look about us, and in comparative ease await the pleasure of officials.[pg 45] the hall of judgment was crowned by two immense american flags. the centre, and indeed the great body of the hall, was filled with immigrants in their stalls, a long series of classified third-class men and women. the walls of the hall were booking-offices, bank counters, inspectors' tables, stools of statisticians. up above was a visitors' gallery where journalists and the curious might promenade and talk about the melting-pot, and america, "the refuge of the oppressed." down below, among the clerks' offices, were exits; one gate led to freedom and new york, another to quarantine, a third to the railway ferry, a fourth to the hospital and dining-room, to the place where unsuitable emigrants are imprisoned until there is a ship to take them back to their native land.
somewhere also there was a place where marriages were solemnised. engaged couples were there made man and wife before landing in new york. i was helping a girl who struggled with a huge basket, and a detective asked me if she were my sweetheart. if i could have said "yes," as like as not we'd have been married off before we landed. america is extremely solicitous about the welfare of women, especially of poor unmarried women who come to her shores. so many women fall into the clutches of evil directly they land in the new world. the authorities generally refuse to admit a poor friendless girl, though there is a great demand for female labour all over the[pg 46] united states, and it is easy to get a place and earn an honest living.
it was a pathetic sight to see the doubtful men and women pass into the chamber where examination is prolonged, pathetic also to see the russians and poles empty their purses, exhibiting to men with good clothes and lasting "jobs" all the money they had in the world.
at half-past two i gave particulars of myself and showed the coin i had, and was passed.
"have you ever been arrested?" asked the inspector.
well, yes, i had. i was not disposed to lie. i had been arrested four or five times. in russia you can't escape that.
"for a crime involving moral turpitude?" he went on.
"no, no."
"have you got a job in america?" (this is a dangerous question; if you say 'yes' you probably get sent back home; it is against american law to contract for foreign labour.)
i explained that i was a tramp.
this did not at all please the inspector. he would not accept that definition of my occupation, so he put me down as author.
"are you an anarchist?"
"no."
"are you willing to live in subordination to the laws of the united states?"
[pg 47]
"yes."
"are you a polygamist?"
"what does that mean?" i asked.
"do you believe a man may possess more than one wife at a time?"
"certainly not."
"have you any friends in new york?"
"acquaintances, yes."
"give me the address."
i gave him an address.
"how much money have you got?" ... "show me, please!" ... and so on. i was let go.
at three in the afternoon i stood in another ferry-boat, and with a crowd of approved immigrants passed the city of new york. success had melted most of us, and though we were terribly hungry, we had words and confidences for one another on that ferry-boat. we were ready to help one another to any extent in our power. that is what it feels like to have passed the last day and still believe in heaven, to pass ellis island and still believe in america.
two or three of us hastened to a restaurant. i sat down at a little table, and waited. so did the others, but we were making a mistake, for there were no waiters. we had as yet to learn the mechanism of a "quick lunch" shop; there was a certain procedure to be observed and followed, we must learn it if we wanted a dinner. i watched the first american [pg 48]citizen who came in, and did as he did. first i went to the cashier and got a paper slip on which were printed many numbers 5, 10, 15, 25, and so on in intervals of fives. these represented cents, and were so arranged for convenience in adding and for solid profit. at this restaurant nothing cost less than five cents (twopence halfpenny), and there were no intermediaries between five and ten, ten and fifteen, and so forth. the unit then was five cents, and not as in england two cents (one penny). obviously this means enormous increase of takings in the long run. that five-cent unit is part of the foundation of american prosperity. i obtained my slip so numbered. then i took a tray from a stack of trays and a glass from an array of glasses, a fork and a knife from the fork basket, and i went to the roast chicken counter and asked for roast chicken. a plate of hot roast chicken was put on my tray, and the white-hatted cook punched off twenty-five cents on my slip. i went to another counter and received a plate of bread and butter, and to yet another and sprinkled pepper and salt from the general sprinklers. i went and drew iced water. then, like the slave of the lamp working for himself, i put the whole on my little table. when i had finished my first course i put my plate aside and took my tray to the cook and received a second, and when i had finished that i fetched my coffee.
"well," thought i, looking round, "no waiters,[pg 49] that means no tips; there is not even a superfluous mendicant boy in charge of the swinging doors." so i began to learn that in america the working man pays no tips.
my companions at the other tables were getting through with their dinners and looking across at one another with congratulatory smiles. we would have sat together, but in this shop one table accommodated one customer only—an unsociable arrangement. i waited for them to finish, so that we could go out together.
whilst doing so a man came up to me from another table and said very quietly:
"just come over?"
"this morning," i replied.
he brightened up and asked:
"looking for a job?"
"you don't mean to say i am being offered one already?" said i.
"that's about it, two dollars."
"two dollars a day?"
"that's the idea."
"what's the work?"
"brick-making."
it was brick-making up country for some trust company. i said i was staying in new york, couldn't go just yet. he might try my acquaintances. i pointed them out.
[pg 50]
one of them, a pole, said he would go. the contractor went out with us, and we accompanied him to his office. we took a street car. the fare was five cents, a "nickel," and it was necessary to put the coin in the slot of the conductor's money-box before entering. the conductor stood stiff, like an intelligent bit of machinery, and we were to him fares not humans. the five cents would take me to the other end of the city if i wished it, but there was no two-cent fare in case i wished to go a mile. that five-cent unit again!
we sat in the car and looked out of the windows, interested in every sight and sound. first we had glimpses of the east side streets, all push-carts and barrows, like sukhareva at moscow. then we saw the dark overhead railway and heard the first thunder of the elevated train. we went up the bowery, unlike any other street in the world; we noted that it was possible to get a room there for twenty cents a night. we stared curiously at the life-sized carved and painted indians outside the cigar stores, and at the gay red-and-white stripe of the barbers' revolving poles.
we alighted just by a barber's shop. the agent showed us his office and told us to come in if we changed our minds and would like the job. there we left the pole, and indeed saw him no more.
there were two others beside myself—a russian[pg 51] and a russian jew. as the jew and i both wanted a shave we all went into the barber's shop. we were still carrying our bags, and were rather a strange party to enter a shop together. but the barbers, a pleasant array of close-shaven smiling italians, were not put out in the least. they were ready to shave any living thing. their job was to shave and take the cash, and not to be amused at the appearance of the customers.
in america the barber's shop has a notice outside stating the number of barbers. if the number is high it is considerable recommendation. then the briskly revolving pole suggests that it's your turn next and no waiting.
i was put into an immense, velvet-bottomed adjustable chair, my legs were steadied on a three-foot stand, and the barber turning a handle caused the back of the chair to collapse gently so that my head and body pointed towards the doorway like the cannon mouth. then the shave commenced, and the barber twirled my head about and around as if it were on a revolving hinge. and how laborious he was! in america, quick lunch and slow shave; in england quick shave and slow lunch. and fifteen cents for a shave, and thirty-five for a hair-cut.
"that's a high price," said i.
"union rate," said he. "we are now protected against the public."
[pg 52]
the jew, however, paid five cents less; he had bargained beforehand. he said it was the last cent he'd pay for a shave in that country; he'd buy a safety razor. the russian smiled; he hadn't shaved yet, and didn't intend to, ever.
at this point the jew parted company with us. he was going to find a friend of his in stanton street. the russian and i made for a lodging-house in third avenue. at a place ticketed "rooms by the day or month," we rang the bell, rang the bell and waited, rang again. we were to be initiated into another mystery of new york, the mechanical door, the door which has almost an intelligence of its own. down came a german woman at last, and gave us a rare scolding. why hadn't we turned the handle and come in? why had we brought her down so many flights of stairs?
it appeared that by turning a handle in her room on the second floor she liberated the catch in the lock, and all the visitor had to do was to turn the handle and walk in.
"i heard a rattle in the lock," said i. "i wondered what it meant."
"how long've you been in america?" she asked.
"a few hours. we want rooms for a few days while we look about."
"days? my lodgers take rooms for years. i haven't any one staying less than six months."
[pg 53]
this was just "boosting" her rooms, but i didn't know. i took it for a good sign. if her tenants stayed long terms the place must be very clean. but it was only "boosting." still the rooms looked decent, and we took them. they were the same price as similar rooms in the centre of london, ten shillings a week, but dearer than in moscow where one would pay fifteen roubles (seven and a half dollars or thirty shillings) a month for such accommodation. the floors were carpeted, the sheets were white, there was a good bathroom for each four lodgers, no children, and all was quiet. laundry was collected, there was no charge for the use of electric light, you received a latch-key on the deposit of twenty-five cents, and could come in any hour of the day or night. in signing the registration book i saw i was the only person of anglo-saxon name, all were germans, swedes, italians, russians. with british caution i hid a twenty-five dollar bill in the binding of one of the most insignificant of my books, so that if i were robbed of the contents of my pocket-book i should still have a stand-by. but my suspicions were begotten only of ignorance. my fellow-lodgers were all hard working, self-absorbed new yorkers, who took no thought of their neighbours, either for good or evil.
