NRY SIENK1EW1CZ 
 
 p. T.eNNYsoH . .NEELY
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE 
 
 BY 
 
 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ, 
 
 Author of "Quo Vadis," "Children of the Soil," "Dust and Aahes, 
 "The New Soldier," "Where Worlds Meet," etc. 
 
 TRANSLATED BY 
 
 J. CHRISTIAN BAY. 
 
 F. TENNYSON NEELY, 
 
 PUBLISHER, 
 114 
 
 FIFTH AVENUE, 
 CHICAGO. NEW YORK. LONDON.
 
 Copyright, 1S99, 
 
 by 
 F. TKNNYSON NKELY, 
 
 in 
 United States 
 
 ana 
 Great Britain. 
 
 All Riglts RrYd.
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 
 
 I once read a short story, in which a Slav- 
 author had all the lilies and bells in a forest 
 bending toward each other, whispering and 
 resounding softly the words: "Glory! Glory! 
 Glory!" until the whole forest and then the 
 whole world repeated the song of flowers. 
 
 Such is to-day the fate of the author of the 
 powerful historical trilogy: "With Fire and 
 Sword," "The Deluge" and "Pan Michael," 
 preceded by short stories, "Lillian Morris," 
 "Yanko the Musician," "After Bread," 
 "Hania," "Let Us Follow Him," followed by 
 two problem novels, "Without Dogma," and 
 "Children of the Soil," and crowned by a 
 
 2132899
 
 6 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 
 
 masterpiece of an incomparable artistic beauty, 
 "Quo Vadis." Eleven good books adopted 
 from the Polish language and set into circula- 
 tion are of great importance for the English- 
 reading people just now I am emphasizing 
 only this because these books are written in 
 the most beautiful language ever written by 
 any Polish author! Eleven books of masterly, 
 personal, and simple prose! Eleven good 
 books given to the circulation and received not 
 only with admiration but with gratitude 
 books where there are more or less good or 
 sincere pages, but where there is not one on 
 which original humor, nobleness, charm, some 
 comforting thoughts, some elevated senti- 
 ments do not shine. Some other author would 
 perhaps have stopped after producing "Quo 
 Vadis," without any doubt the best of Sienkie- 
 wicz's books. But Sienkiewicz looks into the 
 future and cares more about works which he is
 
 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 7 
 
 going to write, than about those which we 
 have already in our libraries, and he renews 
 his talents, searching, perhaps unknowingly, 
 for new themes and tendencies. 
 
 When one knows how to read a book, then 
 from its pages the author's face looks out on 
 him, a face not material, but just the same 
 full of life. Sienkiewicz's face, looking on us 
 from his books, is not always the same; it 
 changes, and in his last book ("Quo Vadis") 
 it is quite different, almost new. 
 
 There are some people who throw down a 
 book after having read it, as one leaves a bot- 
 tle after having drank the wine from it. 
 There are others who read books with a pencil 
 in their hands, and they mark the most strik- 
 ing passages. Afterward, in th'e hours of rest, 
 in the moments when one needs a stimulant 
 from within and one searches for harmony, 
 sympathy of a thing apparently so dead and
 
 8 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 
 
 strange as a book is, they come back to the 
 marked passages, to their own thoughts, more 
 comprehensible since an author expressed 
 them; to their own sentiments, stronger and 
 more natural since they found them in some- 
 body else's words. Because ofttimes it seems 
 to us the common readers that there is no 
 difference between our interior world and the 
 horizon of great authors, and we flatter our- 
 selves by believing that we are only less dar- 
 ing, less brave than are thinkers and poets, 
 that some interior lack of courage stopped us 
 from having formulated our impressions. And 
 in this sentiment there is a great deal of truth. 
 But while this expression of our thoughts 
 seems to us to be a daring"; to the others it is 
 a need; they even do not suspect how much 
 they are daring and new. They must, accord- 
 ing to the words of a poet, "Spin out the love, 
 as the silkworm spins its web." That is their
 
 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 
 
 capital distinction from common mortals; \ve 
 recognize them by it at once; and that is the 
 reason we put them above the common level. 
 On the pages of their books we find not the 
 traces of the accidental, deeper penetrating 
 into the life or more refined feelings, but the 
 whole harvest of thoughts, impressions, dispo- 
 sitions, written skilfully, because studied deep- 
 ly. We also leave something on these pages. 
 Some people dry flowers on them, the others 
 preserve reminiscences. In every one of Sien- 
 kiewicz's volumes people will deposit a great 
 many personal impressions, part of their souls; 
 in every one they will find them again after 
 many years. 
 
 There are three periods in Sienkiewicz's lit- 
 erary life. In the first he wrote short stories, 
 which are masterpieces of grace and ingenuity 
 at least some of them. In those stories the 
 reader will meet frequent thoughts about gen-
 
 10 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 
 
 eral problems, deep observations of life and 
 notwithstanding his idealism, very truthful 
 about spiritual moods, expressed with an easy 
 and sincere hand. Speaking about Sienkie- 
 wicz's works, no matter how small it may be, 
 one has always the feeling that one speaks 
 about a known, living in general memory 
 work. Almost every one of his stories is like 
 a stone thrown in the midst of a flock of spar- 
 rows gathering in the winter time around 
 barns: one throw arouses at once a flock of 
 
 winged reminiscences. 
 
 The other characteristics of his stories are 
 uncommonness of his conceptions, masterly 
 compositions, ofttimes artificial. It happens 
 also that a story has no plot ("From the Diary 
 of a Tutor in Pozman," "Bartek the Victor"), 
 no action, almost no matter ("Yamyol"), but 
 the reader is rewarded by simplicity, rural 
 theme, humoristic pictures ("Comedy of Err-
 
 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 11 
 
 ors: A Sketch of American Life"), pity for 
 the little and poor ("Yanko the Musician"), 
 and those qualities make the reader remember 
 his stories well. It is almost impossible to 
 forget under the general impressions about 
 his striking and standing-out figures ("The 
 Lighthouse Keeper of AspimvaH"), about the 
 individual impression they leave on our minds. 
 Apparently they are commonplace, every-day 
 people, but the author's talent puts on them an 
 original individuality, a particular stamp, 
 which makes one remember them forever and 
 afterward apply them to the individuals which 
 one meets in life. No matter how insignifi- 
 cant socially is the figure chosen by Sienkie- 
 wicz for his story, the great talent of the author 
 magnifies its striking features, not seen by 
 common people, and makes of it a master- 
 piece of literary art. 
 
 Although we have a popular saying: ' Com-
 
 12 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 
 
 paraison n'est pas raison, one cannot refrain 
 from stating here that this love for the poor, 
 the little, and the oppressed, brought out so 
 powerfully in Sienkiewicz's short stories, con- 
 stitutes a link between him and Francois Cop- 
 pee, who is so great a friend of the friendless 
 and the oppressed, those who, without noise, 
 bear the heaviest chains, the pariahs of our 
 happy and smiling society. The only differ- 
 ence between the short stories of these two 
 writers is this, that notwithstanding all the 
 mastercraft of Coppee work, one forgets the 
 impressions produced by the reading of his 
 work while it is almost impossible to forget 
 'The Lighthouse Keeper" looking on any 
 lighthouse, or "Yanko the Musician" listen- 
 ing to a poor wandering boy playing on the 
 street, or "Bartek the Victor" seeing soldiers 
 of which military discipline have made ma- 
 chines rather than thinking beings, or "The
 
 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 13 
 
 Diary of a Tutor" contemplating the pale face 
 of children overloaded with studies. Another 
 difference between those two writers the 
 comparison is always between their short stor- 
 ies is this, that while Sienkiewicz's figures 
 and characters are universal, international 
 if one can use this adjective here and can be 
 
 * applied to the students of any country, to the 
 soldiers of any nation, to any wandering mu- 
 sician and to the light-keeper on any sea, the 
 figures of Francois Coppee are mostly Paris- 
 ian and could be hardly displaced from their 
 Parisian surroundings and conditions. 
 
 Sometimes the whole short story is written 
 for the sake of that which the French call 
 
 pointe. When one has finished the reading of 
 "Zeus's Sentence," for a moment the charm- 
 ing description of the evening and Athenian 
 night is lost. And what a beautiful descrip- 
 tion it is ! If the art of reading were cultivated
 
 14 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 
 
 in America as it is in France and Germany, I 
 would not be surprised if some American Le- 
 gouve or Strakosch were to add to his reper- 
 toire such productions of prose as this hu- 
 morously poetic "Zeus's Sentence," or that 
 mystic madrigal, "Be Blessed." 
 
 ''But the dusk did not last long," writes 
 Sienkiewicz. "Soon from the Archipelago 
 appeared the pale Selene and began to sail like 
 a silvery boat in the heavenly space. And the 
 walls of the Acropolis lighted again, but they 
 beamed now with a pale green light, and 
 looked more than ever like the vision of a 
 dream." 
 
 But all these, and other equally charming 
 pictures, disappear for a moment from the 
 memory of the reader. There remains only 
 the final joke only Zeus's sentence. "A vir- 
 tuous woman especially when she loves an- 
 other man can resist Apollo. But surely
 
 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 15 
 
 and always a stupid woman will resist him." 
 Only when one thinks of the story does one 
 see that the ending that ''immoral conclu- 
 sion" I should say if I were not able to under- 
 stand the joke does not constitute the es- 
 sence of the story. Only then we find a de- 
 light in the description of the city for which 
 Othe wagons cater the divine barley, and the 
 water is carried by the girls, "with amphorae 
 poised on their shoulders and lifted hands, go- 
 ing home, light and graceful, like immortal 
 nymphs." 
 
 And then follow such paragraphs as the fol- 
 lowing, which determine the real value of the 
 work : 
 
 "The voice of the God of Poetry sounded so 
 beautiful that it performed a miracle. Be- 
 hold! In the Ambrosian night the gold spear 
 standing on the Acropolis of Athens trembled, 
 and the marble head of the gigantic statue
 
 16 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 
 
 turned toward the Acropolis in order to hear 
 better. . . . Heaven and earth listened to it; 
 the sea stopped roaring and lay peacefully 
 near the shores; even pale Selene stopped her 
 night wandering in the sky and stood motion- 
 less over Athens." 
 
 "And when Apollo had finished, a light 
 wind arose and carried the song through the 
 whole of Greece, and wherever a child in the 
 cradle heard only a tone of it, that child grew 
 into a poet." 
 
 What poet? Famed by what song? Will 
 he not perhaps be a lyric poet? 
 
 The same happens with "Lux in Tenebris." 
 One reads again and again the description of 
 the fall of the mist and the splashing of the 
 rain dropping in the gutter, "the cawing of 
 the crows, migrating to the city for their 
 winter quarters, and, with flapping of wings, 
 roosting in the trees." One feels that the
 
 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 17 
 
 whole misery of the first ten pages was neces- 
 sary in order to form a background for the 
 two pages of heavenly light, to bring out the 
 brightness of that light. "Those who have 
 lost their best beloved," writes Sienkiewicz, 
 "must hang their lives on something; other- 
 
 _wise they could not exist." In such sentences 
 
 . 
 
 and it is not the prettiest, but the shortest 
 that I have quoted resounds, however, the 
 quieting wisdom, the noble love of that art 
 which poor Kamionka "respected deeply and 
 was always sincere toward." During the long 
 years of his profession he never cheated nor 
 wronged it, neither for the sake of fame nor 
 money, nor for praise nor for criticism. He 
 always wrote as he felt. Were I not like Ruth 
 of the Bible, doomed to pick the ears of corn 
 instead of being myself a sower if God had 
 not made me critic and worshipper but artist 
 and creator I could not wish for another ne-
 
 18 IIENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 
 
 crology than those words of Sienkiewicz re- 
 garding the statuary Kamionka. 
 
 Quite another thing is the story "At the 
 Source." None of the stories except "Let Us 
 Follow Him" possess for me so many tran- 
 scendent beauties, although we are right to be 
 angry with the author for having wished, dur- 
 ing the reading of several pages, to make us 
 believe an impossible thing that he was de- 
 ceiving us. It is true that he has done it in a 
 masterly manner it is true that he could not 
 have done otherwise, but at the same time 
 there is a fault in the conception, and although 
 Sienkiewicz has covered the precipice with 
 flowers, nevertheless the precipice exists. 
 
 On the other hand, it is true that one read- 
 ing the novel will forget the trick of the author 
 and will see in it only the picture of an im- 
 mense happiness and a hymn in the worship of 
 love. Perhaps the poor student is right when
 
 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 19 
 
 he says: "Among all the sources of happi- 
 ness, that from which I drank during the fever 
 is the clearest and best." "A life which love 
 has not visited, even in a dream, is still worse." 
 
 Love and faith in woman and art are two 
 constantly recurring themes in "Lux in Tene- 
 bris," "At the Source," "Be Blessed," and 
 "Organist of Ponikila." 
 
 When Sienkiewicz wrote "Let Us Follow 
 Him," some critics cried angrily that he les- 
 sens his talent and moral worth of the litera- 
 ture; they regretted that he turned people 
 into the false road of mysticism, long since 
 left. Having found Christ on his pages, the 
 least religious people have recollected how gi- 
 gantic he is in the writings of Heine, walking 
 over land and sea, carrying a red, burning sun 
 instead of a heart. They all understood that 
 to introduce Christ not only worthily or beau- 
 tifully, but simply and in such a manner that
 
 20 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 
 
 \ve would not be obliged to turn away from 
 the picture, would be a great art almost a 
 triumph. 
 
 In later times we have made many such at- 
 tempts. "The Mysticism" became to-day an 
 article of commerce. The religious tender- 
 ness and simplicity was spread among Pari- 
 sian newspaper men, playwrights and novel- 
 ists. Such as Armand Sylvestre, such as 
 Theodore de Wyzewa, are playing at writing 
 up Christian dogmas and legends. And a 
 strange thing! While the painters try to 
 bring the Christ nearer to the crowd, while 
 Fritz von Uhde or Lhermitte put the Christ in 
 a country school, in a workingman's house, 
 the weakling writers, imitating poets, dress 
 Him in old, faded, traditional clothes and sur- 
 round Him with a theatrical light which they 
 dare to call "mysticism." They are crowding 
 the porticos of the temple, but they are merely
 
 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 21 
 
 merchants. Anatole France alone cannot be 
 placed in the same crowd. 
 
 In "Let Us Follow Him" the situation and 
 characters are known, and are already to be 
 found in literature. But never were they 
 painted so simply, so modestly, without ro- 
 ^ mantic complaints and exclamations. In the 
 first chapters of that story there appears an 
 epic writer with whom we have for a long 
 time been familiar. We are accustomed to 
 that uncommon simplicity. But in order to 
 appreciate the narrative regarding Antea, one 
 must listen attentively to this slow prose and 
 then one will notice the rhythmic sentences 
 following one after the other. Then one feels 
 that the author is building a great foundation 
 for the action. Sometimes there occurs a 
 brief, sharp sentence ending in a strong, short 
 word, and the result is that Sienkiewicz has 
 given us a masterpiece which justifies the en-
 
 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 
 
 thusiasm of a critic, who called him a Prince 
 of Polish Prose. 
 
 In the second period of his literary activity, 
 Sienkiewicz has produced his remarkable his- 
 torical trilogy, "The Deluge," "With Fire and 
 Sword," and "Pan Michael," in which his tal- 
 ent shines forth powerfully, and which possess 
 absolutely distinctive characters from his short 
 stories. The admirers of romanticism cannot 
 find any better books in historical fiction. 
 Some critic has said righteously about Sienkie- 
 wicz, speaking of his "Deluge," that he is 
 "the first of Polish novelists, past or present, 
 and second to none now living in England, 
 France, or Germany." 
 
 Sienkiewicz being himself a nobleman, 
 therefore naturally in his historical novels he 
 describes the glorious deeds of the Polish no- 
 bility, who, being located on the frontier of 
 such barbarous nations as Turks, Kozaks,
 
 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 23 
 
 Tartars, and Wolochs (to-day Roumania), had 
 defended Europe for centuries from the inva- 
 sions of barbarism and gave the time to Ger- 
 many, France, and England to outstrip Po- 
 land in the development of material welfare 
 and general civilization among the masses 
 the nobility being always very refined 
 though in the fifteenth century the literature 
 of Poland and her sister Bohemia (Chechy) 
 was richer than any other European country, 
 except Italy. One should at least always re- 
 member that Xicolaus Kopernicus (Koper- 
 nik) was a Pole and John Huss was a Chech. 
 Historical novels began in England, or 
 rather in Scotland, by the genius of Walter 
 Scott, followed in France by Alexandre Du- 
 mas pere. These two great writers had nu- 
 merous followers and imitators in all countries, 
 and every nation can point out some more or 
 less successful writer in that field, but who
 
 24 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 
 
 never attained the great success of Sienkie- 
 wicz, whose works are translated into many 
 languages, even into Russian, where the an- 
 tipathy for the Polish superior degree of civil- 
 ization is still very eager. 
 
 The superiority of Sienkiewicz's talent is 
 then affirmed by this fact of translation, and I 
 would dare say that he is superior to the father 
 of this kind of novels, on account of his his- 
 torical coloring, so much emphasized in Wal- 
 ter Scott. This important quality in the his- 
 torical novel is truer and more lively in the 
 Polish writer, and then he possesses that psy- 
 chological depth about which Walter Scott 
 never dreamed. Walter Scott never has cre- 
 ated such an original and typical figure as Za- 
 globa is, who is a worthy rival to Shake- 
 speare's Falstaff. As for the description of 
 duelings, fights, battles, Sienkiewicz's fantas- 
 tically heroic pen is without rival.
 
 HENRY K SIEXKIEWICZ. 25 
 
 Alexandre Dumas, notwithstanding the bit- 
 ing criticism of Brunetiere, will always remain 
 a great favorite with the reading masses, who 
 are searching in his books for pleasure, amuse- 
 ment, and distraction. Sienkiewicz's histori- 
 cal novels possess all the interesting qualities 
 of Dumas, and besides that they are full of 
 wholesome food for thinking minds. His col- 
 ors are more shining, his brush is broader, his 
 composition more artful, chiselled, finished, 
 better built, and executed with more vigor. 
 While Dumas amuses, pleases, distracts, Sien- 
 kiewicz astonishes, surprises, be\vitches. All 
 uneasy preoccupations, the dolorous echoes 
 of eternal problems, which philosophical doubt 
 imposes with the everlasting anguish of the 
 human mind, the mystery of the origin, the 
 enigma of destiny, the inexplicable necessity 
 of suffering, the short, tragical, and sublime 
 vision of the future of the soul, and the future
 
 20 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 
 
 not less difficult to be guessed of by the hu- 
 man race in this material world, the torments 
 of human conscience and responsibility for the 
 deeds, is said by Sienkiewicz without any 
 pedanticism, without any dryness. 
 
 If we say that the great Hungarian author 
 Maurice Jokai, who also writes historical nov- 
 els, pales when compared with that fascinating 
 Pole who leaves far behind him the late lions 
 in the field of romanticism, Stanley J. Wey- 
 man and Anthony Hope, we are through with 
 that part of Sienkiewicz's literary achieve- 
 ments. 
 
 In the third period Sienkiewicz is repre- 
 sented by two problem novels, "Without Dog- 
 ma" and "Children of the Soil." 
 
 The charm of Sienkiewicz's psychological 
 novels is the synthesis so seldom realized and 
 as I have already said, the plastic beauty and 
 abstract thoughts. He possesses also an ad-
 
 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 27 
 
 mirable assurance of psychological analysis, a 
 mastery in the painting of customs and char- 
 acters, and the rarest and most precious fac- 
 ulty of animating his heroes with intense, per- 
 sonal life, which, though it is only an illusion- 
 ary life appears less deceitful than the real 
 life. 
 
 In that field of novels Sienkiewicz differs 
 greatly from Balzac, for instance, who forced 
 himself to paint the man in his perversity or in 
 his stupidity. According to his views life is 
 the racing after riches. The whole of Balzac's 
 philosophy can be resumed in the deification 
 of the force. All his heroes are "strong men" 
 who disdain humanity and take advantage of 
 it. Sienkiewicz's psychological novels are not 
 lacking in the ideal in his conception of life; 
 they are active powers, forming human souls. 
 The reader finds there, in a well-balanced pro- 
 portion, good and bad ideas of life, and he rep-
 
 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 
 
 resents this life as a good thing, worthy of liv- 
 ing. 
 
 He differs also from Paul Bourget, who as 
 a German savant counts how many microbes 
 are in a drop of spoiled blood, who is pleased 
 with any ferment, who does not care for 
 healthy souls, as a doctor does not care for 
 healthy people and who is fond of corrup- 
 tion. Sienkiewicz's analysis of life is not ex- 
 clusively pathological, and we find in his nov- 
 els healthy as well as sick people as in the real 
 life. He takes colors from twilight and 
 aurora to paint with, and by doing so he 
 strengthens our energy, he stimulates our abil- 
 ity for thinking about those eternal problems, 
 difficult to be decided, but which existed and 
 will exist as long as humanity will exist. 
 
 He prefers green fields, the perfume of flow- 
 ers, health, virtue, to Zola's liking for crime, 
 sickness, cadaverous putridness, and manure.
 
 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 29 
 
 Tie prefers /' ame humaine to let betf humainr. 
 
 He is never vulgar even when his heroes do 
 not wear any gloves, and he has these common 
 points with Shakespeare and Moliere, that he 
 does not paint only certain types of humanity, 
 taken from one certain part of the country, as 
 it is with the majority of French writers who 
 do not go out of their dear Paris; in Sienkie- 
 wicz's novels one can find every kind 
 of people, beginning with humble peas- 
 ants and modest noblemen created by 
 God, and ending with proud lords made by 
 the kings. 
 
 In the novel "Without Dogma," there are 
 many keen and sharp observations, said mas- 
 terly and briefly; there are many states of the 
 soul, if not always very deep, at least written 
 with art. And his merit in that respect is 
 greater than of any other writers, if we take in 
 consideration that in Poland heroic lyricism
 
 W HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 
 
 and poetical picturesqueness prevail in the lit- 
 erature. 
 
 The one who wishes to find in the modern 
 literature some aphorism to classify the char- 
 acteristics of the people, in order to be able 
 afterward to apply them to their fellow-men, 
 must read "Children of the Soil." 
 
 But the one who is less selfish and wicked, 
 and wishes to collect for his own use such a 
 library as to be able at any moment to take a 
 book from a shelf and find in it something 
 which would make him thoughtful or would 
 make him forget the ordinary life, he must 
 get "Quo Vadis," because there he will find 
 pages which will recomfort him by their beau- 
 ty and dignity; it will enable him to go out 
 from his surroundings and enter into himself, 
 ' *> in that better man whom we sometimes 
 feel in our interior. And while reading this 
 book he ought to leave on its pages the traces
 
 1ILXRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 3l 
 
 of his readings, some marks made with a lead 
 pencil or with his whole memory. 
 
 It seems that in that book a new man was 
 aroused in Sienkiewicz, and any praise said 
 about this unrivaled masterpiece will be as 
 pale as any powerful lamp is pale compara- 
 tively with the glory of the sun. For instance, 
 if I say that Sienkiewicz has made a thorough 
 study of Nero's epoch, and that his great tal- 
 ent and his plastic imagination created the 
 most powerful pictures in the historical back- 
 ground, will it not be a very tame praise, com- 
 pared with his book which, while reading it, 
 one shivers and the blood freezes in one's 
 veins? 
 
 In "Quo Vadis" the whole alt a Roma, be- 
 ginning with slaves carrying mosaics for their 
 refined masters, and ending with patricians, 
 who were so fond of beautiful things that one 
 of them for instance used to kiss at every mo-
 
 32 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 
 
 ment a superb vase, stands before our eyes as 
 if it was reconstructed by a magical power 
 from ruins and death. 
 
 There is no better description of the burn- 
 ing of Rome in any literature. While reading 
 it everything turns red in one's eyes, and im- 
 mense noises fill one's ears. And the moment 
 when Christ appears on the hill to the fright- 
 ened Peter, who is going to leave Rome, not 
 feeling strong enough to fight with mighty 
 Caesar, will remain one of the strongest pass- 
 ages of the literature of the whole world. 
 
 After having read again and again this 
 great shall I say the greatest historical nov- 
 el? and having wondered at its deep concep- 
 tion, masterly execution, beautiful language, 
 powerful painting of the epoch, plastic de- 
 scription of customs and habits, enthusiasm of 
 the first followers of Christ, refinement of Ro- 
 man civilization, corruption of the old world.
 
 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 33 
 
 the question rises: What is the dominating 
 idea of the author, spread out all over the 
 whole book? It is the cry of Christians mur- 
 dered in circuses: Pro Christo! 
 
 Sienkiewicz searching always and continu- 
 ally for a tranquil harbor from the storms of 
 conscience and investigation of the tormented 
 mind, finds such a harbor in the religious sen- 
 timents, in lively Christian faith. This idea is 
 woven as golden thread in a silk brocade, not 
 only in "Quo Vadis," but also in all his novels. 
 In "Fire and Sword" his principal hero is an 
 outlaw; but all his crimes, not pnly against 
 society, but also against nature, are redeemed 
 by faith, and as a consequence of it afterward 
 by good deeds. In the "Children of the 
 Soul," he takes one of his principal characters 
 upon one of seven Roman hills, and having 
 displayed before him in the most eloquent way 
 
 the might of the old Rome, the might as it 
 3
 
 <>4 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 
 
 never existed before and perhaps never will 
 exist again, he says: "And from all that noth- 
 ing is left only crosses! crosses! crosses!" It 
 seems to us that in "Quo Vadis" Sienkiewicz 
 strained all his forces to reproduce from one 
 side all the power, all riches, all refinement, all 
 corruption of the Roman civilization in order 
 to get a better contrast with the great advant- 
 ages of the cry of the living faith: Pro 
 Christo! In that cry the asphyxiated not only 
 in old times but in our days also find refresh- 
 ment: the tormented by doubt, peace. From 
 that cry flows hope, and naturally people pre- 
 fer those from whom the blessing comes to 
 those who curse and doom them. 
 
 Sienkiewicz considers the Christian faith as 
 the principal and even the only help which 
 humanity needs to bear cheerfully the burden 
 and struggle of every-day life. Equally his 
 personal experience as well as his studies made
 
 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 35 
 
 him worship Christ. He is not one of those 
 who say that religion is good for the people 
 at large. He does not admit such a shade of 
 contempt in a question touching so near the 
 human heart. He knows that every one is a 
 man in the presence of sorrow and the conun- 
 drum of fate, contradiction of justice, tearing 
 *"~'of death, and uneasiness of hope. He believes 
 that the only way to cross the precipice is the 
 flight with the wings of faith, the. precipice 
 made between the submission to general and 
 absolute laws and the confidence in the infinite 
 goodness of the Father. 
 
 The time passes and carries with it people 
 and doctrines and systems. Many authors 
 left as the heritage to civilization rows of 
 books, and in those books scepticism, indiffer- 
 ence, doubt, lack of precision and decision. 
 
 But the last symptoms in the literature show 
 us that the Stoicism is not sufficient for our
 
 36 IIENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 
 
 generation, not satisfied with Marcus Aurel- 
 ins's gospel, which was not sufficient even to 
 that brilliant Sienkiewicz's Roman arbiter ele- 
 gantiarum, the over-refined patrician Petron- 
 ius. A nation which desired to live, and does 
 not wish either to perish in the desert or be 
 drowned in the mud, needs such a great help 
 which only religion gives. The history is not 
 only magister ritae, but also it is the master of 
 conscience. 
 
 Literature has in Sienkiewicz a great poet 
 epical as well as lyrical. 
 
 I shall not mourn, although I appreciate the 
 justified complaint about objectivity in belles 
 lettres. But now there is no question what 
 poetry will be;, there is the question whether 
 it will be, and I believe that society, being 
 tired with Zola's realism and its caricature, not 
 with the picturesqueness of Loti, but with 
 catalogues of painter's colors; not with the
 
 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 37 
 
 depth of Ibsen, but the oddness of his imita- 
 tors it seems to me that society will hate the 
 poetry which discusses and philosophizes, 
 wishes to paint but does not feel, makes arche- 
 ology but does not give impressions, and that 
 people will turn to the poetry as it was in the 
 beginning, what is in its deepest essence, to 
 the flight of single words, to the interior mel- 
 ody, to the song the art of sounds being the 
 greatest art. I believe that if in the future 
 the poetry will find listeners, they will repeat 
 to the poets the words of Paul Verlaine, whom 
 by too summary judgment they count among 
 incomprehensible originals: 
 
 "De la musiqite encore et toujours." 
 
 And nobody need be afraid from a social 
 point of view, for Sienkiewicz's objectivity. 
 It is *a manly lyricism as well as epic, made 
 deep by the knowledge of the life, sustained
 
 38 HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ. 
 
 by thinking, until now perhaps unconscious 
 of itself, the poetry of a writer who walked 
 many roads, studied many things, knew much 
 bitterness, ridiculed many triflings, and then 
 he perceived that a man like himself has only 
 one aim: above human affairs "to spin the 
 love, as the silkworm spins its web." 
 
 S. C. DE SOISSONS. 
 "The University," Cambridge, Mass.
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE.
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 "Blucher," the German emigrant steamship 
 running between Hamburg and New York, 
 was rocking across the waters of the Atlantic 
 ocean. 
 
 It was on the fourth 4ay of the voyage. 
 Two days ago it had passed beyond the view 
 of Ireland's green borders,and now found itself 
 on high sea. From the deck nothing was 
 visible, so far as the view extended, save the 
 even desert of green and gray, furrowed and 
 streaked in all directions, moving slowly and 
 incessantly, here and there with patches of 
 foam; farther away becoming darker and 
 more and more shrouded, and finally merging 
 into the cloudy horizon. 
 
 41
 
 42 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 Here and there these bright masses of 
 clouds were reflected in the surface of the 
 water, and from this pearly foundation the 
 ship's dark body rose majestically. This mas- 
 sive-looking hull, facing toward the west, 
 would ascend one wave, climbing swiftly up- 
 ward, whereupon it plunged into the depths 
 beyond, as if rushing away, never again to be 
 seen. Now entirely invisible, now riding high 
 upon the back of the foamy waves now car- 
 ried so far into the air that one might almost 
 see the whole of its bottom, it was speeding 
 onward, safely and steadily. One wave after 
 another rose up against it: the ship cut into 
 them, drove them aside, one by one, and pur- 
 sued its steady course. And in its trail was a 
 long furrow of foam not unlike a gigantic ser- 
 pent. Over and about the stern followed a 
 flock of gulls. 
 
 A favorable wind was blowing; the ship
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 43 
 
 went half speed, and the sails were set. The 
 weather seemed to grow better and better. 
 Here and there the mass of black clouds was 
 shattered, admitting to view a scrap of the 
 blue sky, which continually changed its shape. 
 Since "Blucher" left the harbor at Hamburg 
 there had been a constant wind blowing, yet 
 without any approach of stormy weather. The 
 westerly breeze would occasionally subside; 
 then the sails collapsed with a soaring noise, 
 and soon afterward the wind filled them anew, 
 causing them to expand as before. The sail- 
 ors, in their close-fitting wool garments, 
 pulled a rope somewhere about the main 
 mast, accompanying each strained move- 
 ment with a moaning "Ho ho o," and 
 raising or lowering their bodies in time to 
 the cry, which mingled with the sound 
 of the officers' whistle and the fever- 
 .ish breathing of the smokestack with
 
 44 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 its successive black clouds and light rings of 
 smoke. 
 
 The passengers, taking advantage of the 
 favorable weather, had come out on the deck. 
 At the stern of the steamer the elegant cloaks 
 and overcoats of the first-class passengers 
 were in evidence. Toward the bows there 
 was a motley crowd of emigrants that com- 
 manded only the accommodations of the steer- 
 age. Some had seated themselves on bench- 
 es, smoking their short-stemmed pipes; oth- 
 ers stretched themselves at full length, and 
 still others stood by the gunnel looking down 
 into the water's depths. 
 
 There were several women with children on 
 their arms and divers tin utensils fastened at 
 their waists. Young men walked cautiously 
 and with some difficulty up and down, sing- 
 ing, "Was ist des Deutschen Vaterland?" 
 thinking, probably, that they would never
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 45 
 
 again see this fatherland, which idea added 
 nothing, indeed, to their cheerfulness. 
 
 Among this crowd were two persons who 
 kept themselves somewhat apart from the 
 common jovial intercourse. It was an old 
 man and his daughter. Neither had learned 
 Jo master the German tongue, so they were 
 really quite alone among strangers. At first 
 glance they were seen to be strangers. 
 
 The man's name was Lorenz Toporek; 
 Marys, that of the girl, his daughter. They 
 had ventured out upon the deck the first time 
 a few moments ago, and their faces bore an 
 expression of surprise and awe. They viewed 
 their fellow passengers, the sailors, the steam- 
 er, the powerful, imposing smokestack, and 
 the threatening waves, which threw their 
 foam out over the ship, they viewed all this 
 with apprehension, scarcely daring to speak 
 to each other. Lorenz held the railing with
 
 46 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 one hand and his square cap with the other, in 
 order to prevent the wind from carrying away 
 this necessary garment. The girl kept close 
 to her father; at each movement of the ship 
 she would cling to him, scarcely able to sup- 
 press the ejaculation of terror that rose to her 
 lips. After some time the old man broke the 
 silence: 
 
 "Marys." 
 
 "What is it, father?" 
 
 "Do you see?" 
 
 "I do." 
 
 "Do you wonder?" 
 
 "I do." 
 
 Fear was, however, far stronger than won- 
 der, in the girl's mind. Old Lorenz, himself, 
 was sim%rly affected. Happily for them the 
 violence of the sea had now somewhat sub- 
 sided; the velocity of the wind decreased, and 
 the sunshine broke through the clouds. On
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 47 
 
 seeing the "dear sun" they again were re- 
 lieved; it was the same as had always shone 
 over Lipince. But here everything bore new 
 and strange traits; only the bright, beaming 
 dial of the sun appeared to have remained 
 their friend and protector. 
 
 The sea, in the meantime, became more and 
 ,~rnore even on the surface; the sails hung 
 down loose, and from the high bridge sounded 
 the captain's command, whereat the sailors 
 hastened to take them in. The sight of these 
 men, who seemed almost to float in the air 
 high above the ocean's waters, filled anew the 
 hearts of the two spectators with fear. 
 
 "Our boys would not be able to do that," 
 said the old man. 
 
 "Why," returned Marys, "if the Germans 
 can climb as high as up there, then Jasko he 
 would not remain below." 
 
 "Which Jasko? Sobek?"
 
 48 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 "Sobek! no, I speak of Smolak, the 
 groom." 
 
 "He is an able boy, but you must think no 
 more of him. He is not fitted for you, nor 
 you for him. Over in the new country some- 
 thing else will be in store for you. He is but 
 a groom, and will remain such all his life." 
 
 "But he possesses a " 
 
 "Whatever he possesses, it is located in 
 Lipince." 
 
 Marys made no reply, but merely thought 
 that no one evades fate. She sighed with a 
 great longing. By this time all the sail had 
 been taken in, and the propellers commenced 
 pulsating so vigorously that the whole frame 
 of the ship vibrated. The rocking, however, 
 ceased almost entirely, and far away the wa- 
 ter's surface appeared quite even and smooth. 
 One new figure after another appeared on the 
 deck: Workmen, German peasants, vaga-
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 49 
 
 bonds that sought adventure instead of work 
 in the new world. The deck became filled far 
 beyond its capacity with crowds of people 
 from below, so the two, fearful of being in 
 any one's way, retreated to an obscure 
 corner and seated themselves upon a coil 
 of cord. 
 
 "Father," said the young girl, "how long 
 are we yet to remain on the water?" 
 
 "Do I know? No Christian soul can an- 
 swer such a question as that." 
 
 "How shall we make ourselves understood 
 in America?" 
 
 "Have I not told you that we should find 
 very large numbers of our own countrymen 
 there?" 
 
 "Little father!" 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "It is true that here is much to wonder 
 about, but it was far better in Lipince."
 
 50 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 "Do not utter such sinful words," retorted 
 the old man. But in another moment he add- 
 ed, in an undertone: 
 
 "God's will be done!" 
 
 Tears were rising in the girl's eyes, and 
 both she and her father thought of home. 
 Lorenz Toporek considered the reason why 
 he emigrated to America, and how it all had 
 come. How it all had come? Well, half-a- 
 year ago it was in the summer-time some 
 one had discovered his cow browsing about 
 another man's meadow. The owner of this 
 pasture demanded the sum of three ruble for 
 damage sustained, which amount Lorenz de- 
 clined to pay. They took the matter into the 
 courts, and the decision was retarded. Now 
 the man who claimed damage demanded not 
 only the aforesaid sum of money, but also a 
 reimbursement of the expense incurred in the 
 keeping and feeding of the cow, so the total
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 51 
 
 grew continually larger. Lorenz stolidly re- 
 fused to pay; the case was dragged from one 
 court into another, until finally the decision 
 went against Lorenz. The cow had by this 
 time caused him considerable expense, and in- 
 asmuch as he was without means the creditor 
 ,-seized upon his horse, while the debtor him- 
 self must suffer imprisonment for contempt of 
 court. Lorenz objected to this treatment 
 with might and main; harvest drew near; his 
 hands as well as his horse were indispensable 
 to the work required for the maintenance of 
 his farm. In spite of all his efforts his grain 
 could not, however, be stored in due time, but 
 remained in the fields where, owing to the ad- 
 vent of the wet season, it sprouted and was all 
 spoiled. Now he stopped to consider that 
 owing to that paltry affair of the meadow a 
 great deal of money, some of his machinery 
 and all of the year's crop had been lost, conse-
 
 52 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 quently all that was left for the subsistence of 
 himself and his child during the remainder of 
 the year was only such Groschen as might be 
 begged of the neighbors. 
 
 As he had been heretofore a farmer of some 
 means, whose affairs were above reproach, his 
 anger and pain led him to drown his sorrows 
 in strong drink. At the public-house he now 
 became acquainted with some Germans that 
 traveled over the country, ostensibly for the 
 purpose of buying up hemp, but really acting 
 as emigrant agents. One of them told the 
 most wonderful stories of America. He 
 promised to every one more free land than 
 was possessed by the entire town of Lipince, 
 and, in addition, woods and meadow-land, 
 until the peasants' hearts beat with joyful an- 
 ticipation and desire. Our friend had some 
 doubts in his mind, but the Jewish adminis- 
 trator of a neighboring estate corroborated
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 53 
 
 the statements made by the German, asserting 
 that over yonder the government donated to 
 each man as much land as he chose to care for. 
 This the Jew had learned from his son-in-law. 
 The German displayed sundry sums of money, 
 the like of which had not been seen for a con- 
 siderable length of time by either the peasant 
 or the owner of larger estates. And the peas- 
 ant was tempted so often that he at length 
 succumbed. Why, really, should he remain 
 where he was? He had lost, in fact, through 
 the lawsuit so much money that it would 
 have been sufficient for the keeping of a ser- 
 vant. Would it be better to wait until every- 
 thing was lost and he might take his stand by 
 the church-door, a stick in his hand, singing 
 old, popular songs to win a penny from the 
 listeners? No, that would lead to nothing! 
 So he shook hands with the German; toward 
 fall his entire property was sold; he brought
 
 54 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 his daughter away and went with her to 
 America. 
 
 Yet the voyage was by no means such an 
 easy matter as he imagined. In Hamburg he 
 was required to pay a very large sum of mon- 
 ey. On the ship they both shared the cabin 
 assigned to them with a good many others. 
 The rocking of the vessel and the endlessness 
 of the ocean inspired them with horror. They 
 possessed no pow ? er of making themselves un- 
 derstood; they were treated like lifeless 
 things; like stones in every one's way they 
 were pushed from one side to another a 
 source of mockery to their fellow-passengers. 
 At noon, when all gathered about the cook, 
 with plates and buckets in their hands, they 
 were thrust back among the last ones, so that 
 occasionally their hunger was not at all stilled. 
 How miserable, how lonely and strange-like 
 they felt on board this ship. Save God they
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 55 
 
 had no protector. Toward his daughter the 
 old man assumed the role of one that has no 
 fear; he wondered at everything and turned 
 the girl's attention to everything strange and 
 remarkable, yet without trusting to the gen- 
 uineness of anything. He often feared that 
 "the heathens," as he termed the other pas- 
 
 y 
 
 sengers, might throw himself and his child 
 into the water; that they would be forced to 
 accept some new religion, or that somebody 
 would induce them to sign some document or 
 other, perhaps even a bond of some kind. 
 
 And this ship, which sped across the end- 
 less surface of the ocean day and night, it 
 shook and moaned, like a monster breathing, 
 until the waters foamed about its sides and 
 threw out fiery sparks into all directions, 
 even that appeared to the old peasant a sus- 
 picious, indomitable source of power. His 
 heart was full of childish fears, though he
 
 56 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 did his best to conceal them from his 
 daughter. 
 
 Was, however, this Polish peasant, who 
 skipped out of his old nest, was he not like a 
 defenseless child, always dependent upon tlie 
 grace of God? Besides, it seemed impossible 
 that all the new things by which he was sur- 
 rounded could be assigned to their proper 
 place in his head, and so we must not wonder 
 that he, while sitting on the coil of rope, bent 
 his poor head under the burden of care and 
 uncertainty. The cool breeze that waved 
 across the ocean whispered into his ear: 
 "Lipince, Lipince!" The sun seemed to 
 call to him: "How do you do, Lorenz, old 
 friend! I just passed over Lipince;" but the 
 screw hurled away the water incessantly; the 
 smokestack kept on puffing and puffing. Both 
 appeared to him evil spirits that crushed him 
 further and further out into destruction.
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 57 
 
 The girl, whose attention had for a while 
 been arrested by the flock of gulls which fol- 
 lowed in the foamy trail of the ship, was oc- 
 cupied by a different line of thought. She re- 
 called to herself those autumn evenings in 
 Lipince, when, at a late hour, she had gone 
 down to the well with her bucket. The stars 
 twinkled from the sky far above; the air was 
 clear and calm. She let down her bucket and 
 pulled it up again, humming some old tune, 
 she felt as mild and great a longing as that 
 of the swallow which prepares itself for a flight 
 
 into a strange land. Then, suddenly 
 
 from out of the stillness of the forest there 
 came a sound, a long tone the sign which 
 tells her that Jasko had observed the move- 
 ment of the well-sweep. Nor does a long 
 time pass before he comes driving up, jumps 
 from the wagon, shakes his flax-like hair, and 
 and never will she forget the words that
 
 58 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 passed from his lips then and there. She 
 closed her eyes and thought she heard anew 
 the voice that trembled in her ear: 
 
 "If your father persists in his unreasonable 
 determination, well and good; I give up my 
 place, dispose of my hut and what else belongs 
 to me, and follow you. Marys, my own," said 
 he, "then I, too, shall fly away on the wing of 
 the wind, swim through the ocean, seek you 
 in the wilderness, my beloved, and find 
 you! Where you go I must follow; whatever 
 you suffer, I, too, must go through. We are 
 united in life and death. And as I have made 
 you this promise over the water of this well, I 
 ask that God forsake me if I ever leave you, 
 Marys, my own!" 
 
 Recalling to her mind these words the girl 
 saw before her the well, the ruddy-looking 
 dial of the moon, which rose behind the forest, 
 and her Jasko, who stood before her, live and
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 59 
 
 strong. These thoughts were a source of 
 much consolation to her troubled heart. 
 Jasko was a determined young fellow, and she 
 never doubted that he would do as he told her 
 then and there. Ah, how she wished he was 
 already with her, and that he and she could 
 listen together to the roar of the sea. On his 
 account she had no fear whatever; he feared 
 nobody, and was able to take care of himself 
 anywhere. 
 
 She wondered what he might be doing now, 
 when the first snow had likely fallen at Lip- 
 ince. Had he gone to the woods with his axe, 
 felling trees? Was he tending his horses, or 
 had they sent him out with the sleigh on some 
 errand? Where might her lover now be? 
 Before her vision arose a picture of her native 
 town, as it lay there, the snow covering the 
 frozen roads; the ruddy tinge of the sunset 
 covering the dark branches of the leafless
 
 60 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 trees; the flocks of crows and jackdaws 
 that went quacking from the forest down over 
 the village; the bands of smoke which rose 
 from the chimneys toward the sky, as straight 
 as candles; the crust of ice around the edge of 
 the well, and over there, in the back- 
 ground, the woods bathed in the reddish glare 
 of the setting sun. 
 
 Ah, and where w^as she herself? Where had 
 her father's will brought her? As far as one 
 can see there is water, water, nothing but 
 greenish, foamy furrows, and on this immeas- 
 urable ocean nothing was visible save this 
 ship, which seemed like a stray bird. Above 
 her the sky, below, the infinite desert of water, 
 the rush of the waves, about her the wind 
 
 howling, and there, the stem oi the 
 
 ship pointing toward the promised land. 
 
 Poor Jasko, will you be able to find her over 
 there? Will the breeze and the waves carrv
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 61 
 
 you to her? Do you think of her in Li- 
 pince? 
 
 Slowly the sun sinks down in the west and 
 disappears in the ocean. Over the furrowy 
 waves rests a broad, sparkling band, which 
 shines with a golden, glittering light, rising 
 and falling, until at length it disappears far, 
 far away. The ship, continuing its course 
 along a golden stream, now appears to speed 
 directly toward the sinking sun. The mighty 
 bands of smoke assume a ruddy tinge, like- 
 wise the sail and the ropes. Now the seamen 
 begin to sing, whilst the orb in the sky grows 
 larger and larger. Soon there is but one-half 
 of it above the water, then the rays alone are 
 visible, whereupon the whole of the western 
 sky assumes a fiery glow. The sky, the air 
 and the water form one great mass of light, 
 which finally fades out by degrees. The rush 
 of the water is more subdued; milder than be-
 
 62 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 fore, as if the waves now say their evening 
 prayers. 
 
 In such moments the soul of man seems en- 
 dowed with wings; all that it loves is folded 
 more warmly in its embrace; it soars toward 
 everything for which it is longing. Lorenz 
 and Marys both felt that the wind was now 
 carrying them to a foreign place, and that the 
 tree from which they originated had no roots 
 in the soil they now approached. Their own 
 roots still remained in the place from which 
 they had departed. Polish soil, fruitful, with 
 flowery, moist, glistening meadows, where 
 storks would stalk about the white mansions 
 amidst blooming linden-trees; swallows sail- 
 ing about the straw-covered huts; numerous 
 representations of the Crucifixion, where one 
 would pull off his cap, saying: "Praise unto 
 Jesus Christ," eventually receiving the re- 
 joinder, "In eternity, amen;" Poland, our be-
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 63 
 
 loved mother, dear to us above anything else 
 in the world! What the simple minds of the 
 two peasants had not before dreamed of, was 
 now before them. Lorenz pulled off his cap; 
 the fading sunlight touched his grayish hair. 
 His thoughts came and passed, but with great 
 
 ^difficulty, as it was not clear to him how the 
 p- 
 things that weighed upon his mind could be 
 
 made clear to the child. 
 
 At length he began : 
 
 "Marys, it seems to me that something has 
 been left behind over beyond the sea." 
 
 "Happiness has remained behind, and so 
 has love," returned the girl, in a subdued tone, 
 raising her eyes like in prayer. 
 
 In the meantime darkness set in, and the 
 travelers gradually retired from the deck. 
 There was an uncommon stir all about 
 the ship, however. A beautiful sunset is 
 scarcely ever followed by a peaceful, quiet
 
 G4 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 night, so the officers' whistles sounded every- 
 where, and the sailors manoeuvred about, 
 pulling the ropes. The last purple-colored 
 rays had scarcely been drowned in the sea, 
 when a dense fog arose, as it seemed, out of 
 the water, and the stars, hitherto scarcely visi- 
 ble, disappeared from view. The fog, grow- 
 ing denser and denser, shrouded the entire 
 structure of the ship. Only ^Jie main mast 
 and the smokestack were yet protruding, but 
 the figures of the sailors appeared like dark 
 shades. In the course of one hour everything 
 was wrapped in a cloak of misty white, even 
 the lighted lantern that had been fastened to 
 the end of the main mast, and the sparks 
 which came soaring out of the smokestack. 
 
 All rocking on the part of the ship had 
 ceased, and one felt as if the weight of the 
 fog had even paralyzed the force of the waves. 
 
 Night came, a dark, dull night. Suddenly
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 65 
 
 there sounded through the deep quiet of the 
 darkness a singular roar, emanating, as it 
 seemed, from the remotest line of the horizon. 
 It made the impression of a giant's breath, 
 approaching nearer and nearer. Sometime one 
 thought he heard voices calling from out of 
 the darkness; then there was a tempest of sad, 
 moaning cries, a powerful rush of voices 
 soaring toward the ship from out of infinitude 
 beyond. 
 
 Some sailors, on hearing these sounds, ex- 
 pressed themselves to the effect that now tHe 
 storm fetched the winds out of hell. 
 
 The signs of perturbances became more and 
 more plain. The captain, wrapped in a rubber 
 cloak and cap, mounted the steps of the high- 
 est bridge, while one of the officers took up 
 his position next to the compass, which was 
 illumined with a strong light. There were 
 no more travelers on deck; Lorenz and his
 
 66 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 daughter had retired to their places down in 
 the steerage. The lamps, fastened to the ceil- 
 ing of the low arch which overhung the space, 
 lighted but faintly the group of emigrants. 
 Quiet reigned among these people, who had 
 seated themselves on their berches along the 
 walls. The space was large and somber, as is 
 always the case with the portions of the lower 
 decks allotted to travelers of scant means. The 
 berths, which ran along the side of the ship, 
 seemed like dark caves rather than sleeping 
 places, and the whole bore a disagreeable re- 
 semblance to a vaulted cellar. The air was 
 saturated with a smell of tarred canvas, hemp 
 ropes and perpetual moisture. How far apart 
 from here the gorgeous salons of the First 
 Cabin seemed. Even a brief sojourn in these 
 miserable steerage-cabins poisons the lungs 
 with impure air, blanches the cheeks and gives 
 frequently rise to scurvy. Lorenz and his
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 67 
 
 daughter were but four days on the water, but 
 anyone that had previously known the rosy- 
 cheeked, blooming village child would scarce- 
 ly have recognized her in this dejected-look- 
 ing maiden. 
 
 Even old Lorenz had become yellow and 
 shrivelled-looking, as they had not until this 
 day ventured out upon the deck. They 
 thought it was forbidden ! Scarcely daring to 
 stir, they also hesitated about leaving alone 
 their hand-baggage. And not only they, but 
 most of the other passengers kept close to 
 their belongings. The steerage was fairly 
 blocked with all kinds of emigrants' bundles, 
 and the general disorder prevailing did much 
 to intensify the dismal aspect of the place. 
 Bedclothes, garments, articles of food and kit- 
 chen utensils lay scattered all over the floor. 
 Among the packages and bundles the emi- 
 grants rested in different attitudes, the ma-
 
 68 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 jority being Germans. Some chewed tobacco, 
 others smoked; dense clouds of smoke 
 clogged the narrow space and dimmed the 
 faint glare of the lamps. There were some 
 children sitting in different corners, but their 
 merry romps had ceased, as the fog had filled 
 everyone with evil forebodings, fear and un- 
 rest. The more experienced persons among 
 the emigrants knew that a storm was coming, 
 yet every one felt that danger, perhaps even 
 death, was ahead. Only Lorenz and Marys 
 realized nothing save the ominous noise that 
 was heard from overhead, whenever anybody 
 pushed his way into the cabin-room. 
 
 Both were sitting in the narrowest nook, 
 nearest to the keel, where the rocking w r as felt 
 more intensely than in other parts of the ship. 
 They had been pushed down here by their fel- 
 low-passengers. The old man had just begun 
 to refresh himself with a piece of home-made
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 69 
 
 bread, while Marys, tired of being idle, plaited 
 her hair for the night. 
 
 Little by little the general silence roused 
 their attention and wonder. 
 
 "Why are the Germans so quiet to-day?" 
 asked she. 
 
 "How can I know!" replied Lorenz, as us- 
 ual. "Probably they celebrate some holiday, 
 or maybe something else " 
 
 Suddenly a powerful shock passed through 
 the whole structure of the ship. It almost 
 seemed to collapse and sink; the tin utensils 
 clashed together; the lamps flickered up as if 
 trying to catch breath, and several voices 
 cried out: 
 
 "What does this mean? what has hap- 
 pened?" 
 
 Nobody answered. Another shock, more 
 powerful than the first, now passed from one 
 part of the steamer to another. The fore
 
 70 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 part rose high into the air and in the next 
 moment fell back into its former position, 
 while a wave came rolling up against the bull's 
 eye. 
 
 "A storm is coming!" whispered Marys, 
 quite frightened. 
 
 In the meantime the wind soared about the 
 ship, like the storm sweeping down among 
 the trees in the forest. There was a sound 
 which seemed like the sighing and moaning of 
 thousands. The gale occasionally swept 
 against the ship, forced it down to one side, 
 turned it around and lifted it high up, as if 
 preparing to precipitate it among the depths 
 beyond. It creaked in every corner; all loose 
 articles were thrown down upon the deck. 
 Several persons tumbled down from their 
 berths, tearing with them the beddings and 
 clothes, and the glassware rattled dismally. 
 
 Again a deep soaring; the rush and wash of
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 71 
 
 the waves, as they overflowed the upper deck, 
 the quivering of the vessel; shrieking women, 
 yelling children; people hunting together 
 their property; and amidst this chaotic condi- 
 tion of things the penetrating shrill of the offi- 
 cers' whistles, or the heavy footsteps of the 
 sailors upon the upper and lower decks. 
 
 "Holy Virgin of Czestochau!" whispered 
 Marys. 
 
 Now the fore part of the ship, where father 
 and daughter were sitting, rose and fell with 
 appalling swiftness. Although they clung in 
 agony to their berths, the movement was for- 
 cible enough to throw them with some force 
 against the wall. From moment to moment 
 the noise of the waves increased, and the decks 
 creaked so intensely that those underneath ex- 
 pected a collapse of the ceiling any minute. 
 
 "Hold on, Marys!" cried Lorenz, hoping to 
 be heard above the noise of the wind, but very
 
 72 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 soon fear lamed his tongue as well as that of 
 the others. Within the cabin everything was 
 oppressively quiet; everyone clung to this or 
 that thing, caught in the frenzy of the mo- 
 ment, holding his breath. 
 
 The fury of the storm constantly increased; 
 all Nature's elements appeared to be set free. 
 Darkness deepened the fog all about. Sky 
 and water plunged into each other; the wind 
 carried the foam in everywhere. The waves, 
 like heavy artillery, beat upon the steamer, 
 turned it right and left, up and down. Now 
 and then a foaming mountain of water would 
 rush past and across the ship, inundating 
 everything in its course. 
 
 Little by little the oil in the steerage lamps 
 was consumed, and at length the light dwin- 
 dled down, whereupon darkness prevailed all 
 around. Marys and Lorenz felt as if the eter- 
 nal night of death had descended upon them.
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 73 
 
 "Marys," commenced the peasant, catching 
 his breath, "Marys, forgive me that I brought 
 you away into destruction. Our last hour has * 
 come. Our sinful eyes shall no more look 
 out upon the world. Without a last confes- 
 sion, without the extreme unction, we, mis- 
 erable as we are, must face eternity. We are 
 deprived even of a resting place in the earth's 
 soil, and must be content with a grave in the 
 sea." 
 
 Marys, hearing him speak thus, knew there 
 was no hope for them. Through her mind 
 many thoughts were passing now, but amidst 
 it all her soul cried out in agony: 
 
 "Jasko, Jasko, my beloved, can you hear me 
 in far-away Lipince?" 
 
 A terrible pain pressed her heart together 
 within her, and it commenced beating hard. 
 Amidst the occasional lull, when the quiet of 
 the cabin was left, one might hear the girl's
 
 U HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 loud sobbing. From one of the corners a 
 voice broke out: "Be still!" but was mute 
 again, as though the person was scared at his 
 own outcry. One of the lamp glasses fell 
 down and was shattered. The passengers 
 now crowded together in a corner, in order 
 that they might at least be nearer to one an- 
 other. A hush, full of anxiety, prevailed in 
 the crowd, when amidst deep silence the voice 
 of the peasant rang out: 
 
 "Kyrie Eleison!" 
 
 "Christus Eleison!'' returned Marys. 
 
 "May Christ hear us!" 
 
 "Almighty, heavenly Father, have mercy 
 upon us!" 
 
 Both repeated the conventional prayers. 
 The old man's voice, filling the silent space, 
 and the maiden's supplications, often stifled 
 by sobs, lent a singular solemnity to the scene. 
 Some of the emigrants uncovered their heads.
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 75 
 
 Little by little the girl regained her compos- 
 ure ; the voices became more and more steady, 
 and from without the wind continued to ren- 
 der its dull, monotonous accompaniment. 
 
 Suddenly those nearest to the entrance 
 raised their voices to a loud cry. A wave of 
 unusual size had forced its way through the 
 upper door and rolled down over the staircase 
 through the steerage. There was a splashing 
 of water in all corners; the women cried out in 
 agony and retreated hastily to their berths. 
 Everyone thought his last hour had arrived. 
 
 A moment afterward one of the officers, ex- 
 cited and wet from head to foot, opened the 
 door and entered, carrying in his hand a lan- 
 tern. In a few words he reassured the women 
 and stated that the water had come in only 
 by accident. As the ship sailed in the open 
 sea, there was no great danger. 
 
 Nearly two hours had passed. The storm
 
 76 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 \vas yet increasing in violence; the ship broke 
 away at a fearful speed, creaking throughout 
 its structure, tumbled from side to side, but 
 without sinking. By and by the people were 
 appeased; many of them even sought their 
 berths. In the course of the next few hours 
 one ray of light after another forced its way 
 through the bull's eyes, shattering darkness 
 within and filling the cabin with the gray haze 
 of the dawning day. Light fell upon the 
 waters all about, the pale, dazed light of a 
 stormy day, yet it brought to the exhausted 
 passengers fresh courage and hope. Lorenz 
 and Marys, having said all the prayers they 
 knew by heart, slipped into their berths and 
 fell asleep in an instant. 
 
 The bell, calling out for breakfast, roused 
 them, but they could eat nothing. Their heads 
 were as heavy as if they carried therein a bur- 
 den of lead. The old man felt considerably
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 77 
 
 more exhausted than the girl; his dull senses 
 were scarcely able to comprehend anything 
 that passed about him. The German who 
 had persuaded him to emigrate to America 
 had told him it was necessary to cross the 
 water, but never had he supposed this sheet 
 of water to be so large ; never had he thought 
 that the voyage would extend over so many 
 days and nights. It \vas true enough, as he 
 had surmised, that a ship of some kind must 
 carry him across, he had crossed rivers and 
 lakes a good many times in his lifetime, yet 
 in case it would have been explained to him 
 how great the ocean really was, he would cer- 
 tainly have remained in Lipince. And besides, 
 another thought troubled him. Had he not 
 really reduced his own soul and that of his 
 child to destruction and doom? Did he, a 
 good Christian, did he not, in taking leave of 
 Lipince, commit a great sin and plunge into
 
 ~8 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 a labyrinth through which he and his child 
 must move for five days and more, ere they 
 could reach the opposite shore, if such a shore 
 there really was? 
 
 His fears and doubts were destined, how- 
 ever, to last more than seven days. The storm 
 continued for about two days, then the 
 weather once more became quiet. So they 
 once more took courage enough to walk out 
 upon the deck, but the sight of the immense 
 force of the restless ocean, these gigantic 
 mountains of water, which rolled past the 
 ship, across, made them reflect once more 
 upon the question if anyone except God, 
 if anything short of Divine power, if any 
 plan of human origin could 'carry them over to 
 the safe coast beyond. 
 
 At length the sky grew perfectly clear and 
 serene. One day passed like another, and 
 from the steamer one saw as before nothing
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 79 
 
 but the endless sheet of water, now shining 
 with a silvery splendor, now wrapped in a 
 greenish hue, and far, far away the union of 
 sea and sky. Bright clouds rose here and 
 there against the blue above; toward evening 
 they would assume a rosy tone, which faded 
 out when the sun went down far away in the 
 
 The ship rapidly pursued its way in the 
 same direction as before. Lorenz thought the 
 ocean would never end. At length he gathered 
 up courage enough to inquire of someone. So 
 one day he pulled off his square-cut cap, 
 bowed obediently to one of the sailors who 
 passed by, and asked the following question: 
 
 "Gnadiger Herr, will this voyage last 
 long?" 
 
 And to his great wonder the sailor not only 
 refrained from laughing outright*, but even 
 condescended to stand still and listen. The
 
 80 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 muscles in his rough, weather-beaten face 
 twitched like in a great effort, or as if he 
 labored with remembrances that refused to 
 take shape at once. After a while he opened 
 his mouth and spoke: 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Will it take us long time to reach firm 
 soil, gnadiger Herr?" 
 
 "Two days, two days," returned the sail- 
 or in a weary tone, but using the 
 peasant's mother tongue. To make it per- 
 fectly intelligible he stretched out two fin- 
 gers. 
 
 "I thank you humbly." 
 
 "Where did you come from?" 
 
 "From Lipince." 
 
 "And what is Lipince?" 
 
 Marys, who had come forward during this 
 discourse, flushed over and over, but, lifting 
 her eyes to the sailor's stoical face, answered
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 8i 
 
 in that high-pitched tone usually found among 
 peasant girls: 
 
 "We came from the province of Posen, 
 gnadiger Herr." 
 
 The man stared thoughtfully at the brass 
 clamps by which the boards of the deck were 
 ^ held together, whereupon he allowed his 
 glance to pass over the girl's flaxy hair. A 
 slight shadow of something like an emotion 
 passed over his hardened features. Then he 
 continued, by way of explanation: 
 
 "I once lived in Danzig, therefore I under- 
 stand the Polish language. My name is Kas- 
 zuba, and some time long ago I was your 
 countryman. Now I am a German." 
 
 Having said this he once more took hold of 
 the rope at which he had been pulling, turned 
 away and pulled the line, calling out his 
 "ho o o," after the fashion of seamen. 
 
 Whenever Lorenz and Marys afterward
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 appeared on deck, he would give the girl a 
 kind glance and a smile as soon as he caught 
 sight of her. So the two forsaken ones had at 
 least one living soul on the large emigrant 
 steamer who wished them well. Still, the 
 voyage would soon be ended. When, in the 
 morning of the second day following, they 
 came out on the deck, a singular object ar- 
 rested their attention. They saw at a distance 
 a dark object which floated on the water and 
 was moved back and forth by its movements. 
 Approaching they observed that it was a large, 
 red tun, with which the waves played continu- 
 ously. Far away there appeared another and 
 yet another. Both air and water seemed 
 shrouded in a fog, fine and mild. The ocean's 
 surface scarcely stirred, and the farther the 
 view extended the more tuns were visible, 
 rocking on the sea. Great flocks of white 
 birds with black wings circled around the ship
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 83 
 
 and followed it like dense clouds, screaming 
 and piping. An unusual bustle reigned on the 
 deck. The sailors had donned new clothes; 
 some polished the brass ornaments here and 
 there, others were busy in the rigging. A flag 
 was hoisted in one of the masts, and another 
 larger one paraded in the stern. 
 
 All the travelers looked glad and fresh. 
 Some emigrants were busy among their hand- 
 baggage, gathering together their belongings 
 and lacing them into bundles in the most con- 
 venient manner. 
 
 Marys, noticing this, said to her father: 
 
 "It seems, in spite of everything, that we are 
 approaching land." 
 
 A new, invigorating feeling came over both 
 persons. On the eastern sky rose the island of 
 Sandy Hook, and soon afterward came into 
 view another island, crowned with a huge 
 building. Far away the misty atmosphere
 
 84 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 seemed to become concentrated in a dense 
 haze, which assumed the shape of distant, 
 indistinct stripes extending across the water's 
 surface. The passengers grew more and more 
 interested; all hands pointed toward these 
 objects; the steamer sounded its powerful 
 whistle with a penetrating, shrill cry, as if it, 
 too, was anxious to give vent to its joy. 
 
 "What is that?" inquired Lorenz. 
 
 "New York," replied Kaszuba, who was 
 standing at his side. 
 
 The foggy outlines now successively re- 
 treated and became effaced, and the steamer, 
 as it progressed farther and farther, brought 
 into view the contours of houses, roofs and 
 chimneys. Pointed spires rose more and more 
 plainly and the outlines of towers and high 
 factory smokestacks, surrounded by dense 
 clouds of smoke, became visible everywhere. 
 About the feet of the city clustered a forest of
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 85 
 
 ships' masts with flags in different patterns 
 and shades, which fluttered in the breeze. 
 Closer and closer the steamer approached; 
 more and more plainly did the beautiful city 
 shoot tip, as it were, from the bottom of the 
 sea. Now old Lorenz was conscious of a 
 great joy and a great surprise. He put off 
 his cap, opened his mouth and stared at the 
 revelation in speechless amazement. Then he 
 turned toward the girl, saying: 
 
 "Marys!" 
 
 "Father, for heaven's sake, what may this 
 be?" 
 
 "Do you see it all?" 
 
 "I do." 
 
 "And do you wonder?" 
 
 "I do wonder." 
 
 Lorenz, however, did not only wonder; he 
 was full of avidity. As he recognized the firm 
 lines of the shore along the city's edge, the
 
 86 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 parks and open squares, he poured out his 
 heart: 
 
 "Now then, God be praised if they will give 
 me some land and a homestead near the city, 
 the right place would be close to the mead- 
 ows yonder. At fair-time there would be 
 splendid opportunities for bringing in your 
 cow and your hog and selling them at good 
 figures. Here are people, it seems, as numer- 
 ous as the sands on the ocean's shore. I, 
 from being a mere peasant in Poland, shall 
 become a real gentleman here." 
 
 As they passed by a park, Lorenz, looking 
 at the select groups of trees, continued, en- 
 thusiastically: 
 
 "I shall go before the most gracious, the 
 commissioner, and address him in the very 
 choicest language I know, and ask him give 
 me two acres of this beautiful forest. If we 
 shall build a homestead it must be one worth
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 87 
 
 looking at. We'll clear out some of the trees 
 and let our hired man go to town with the 
 wood. It will be sold easily enough. The 
 Lord Almighty be praised, I see that the Ger- 
 man has not taken advantage of me." 
 
 Even to the girl the view of a life in wealth 
 now became quite pleasant, yet she did not 
 know why at that moment she found herself 
 thinking of the little song with which a bride 
 always receives her husband, at Lipince: 
 
 Who mayest thou be, 
 
 What sort of man? 
 All thou possesseth is 
 
 A cap and a caftan. 
 
 Was she to sing that hymn to her Jasko, 
 when he would come and find her the heiress 
 of a large estate? 
 
 In the meantime a boat from the quaran- 
 tine office came up to the steamer. Several 
 men came aboard, and there was much talk- 
 ing and considerable bustle. In a little while
 
 88 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 another boat hove to, carrying with it a swarm 
 of hotel agents, money-changers, guides and 
 railroad agents. All these persons yelled on 
 top of their voices, ran about the deck, pushed 
 aside one another and went over the ship, 
 from one cabin to another, in a mad career. 
 Lorenz and Marys felt as if they had sudden- 
 ly been transferred into a bee-hive and knew 
 not where to stir. 
 
 Kaszuba advised the old peasant to have his 
 money exchanged for American coin: He 
 would see that no one took advantage. So 
 he did it. For what he possessed Lorenz re- 
 ceived forty-seven dollars in silver. By this 
 time the steamer had, however, approached 
 quite close to the city, and both houses and 
 men became plainly visible on shore. A num- 
 ber of larger and smaller vessels passed the 
 ship, which finally touched its wharf and 
 glided into its narrow dock.
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 89 
 
 The voyage was ended. 
 
 Men, women and children went down the 
 gang-board, like bees crowding out of a hive. 
 Over the narrow bridge which connected the 
 ship with the dock, came down the motley 
 swarm of passengers. First those from the 
 first cabin, then those from the second, and at 
 last came the steerage passengers with their 
 bundles. Lorenz and Marys, having been 
 pushed hither and thither for a while, finally 
 succeeded in finding the sailor, Kaszuba. He 
 pressed the old man's hand warmly, and 
 said: 
 
 "Brother, I wish you success, and the girl 
 there too. God help and guide you." 
 
 "May God reward you," said both, but 
 there was no time for a prolonged leave-tak- 
 ing. People were yet crowding down over the 
 gangway, and soon the custom house officials 
 claimed their entire attention.
 
 90 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 An officer with a shining star on his coat 
 directed the movements of our friends; their 
 bundles were examined, an "all right" was 
 pronounced, and they were directed toward 
 the gate. Passing through this, they found 
 themselves in a street. 
 
 "Father, dear, what are we now to do?" 
 inquired Marys. 
 
 "We must wait. The German said that as 
 soon as we landed the government commis- 
 sioners would come and inquire for us." 
 
 So they kept standing against a wall close 
 to the gate, waiting for the commissioners to 
 put in an appearance, surrounded by the 
 bustle and noise of the immense city. Never 
 had they seen anything like this. Straight and 
 endless the street extended before them, and 
 everywhere surged a crowd of busy persons. 
 Carriages, vans and 'street cars chased up and 
 down in endless course. Everywhere sounded
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 91 
 
 the singular strains of a foreign language; 
 workmen, salesmen and by-passers cried out 
 in different tones. Once in a while a person 
 with curly hair and a face as black as pitch 
 strolled past. At the sight of them the peas- 
 ant and his child would cross themselves de- 
 voutly. How singular appeared to them this 
 noisy city, where locomotives whistled, wag- 
 ons rattled and people yelled all at once. All 
 walked so fast, and seemed to chase one an- 
 other, or to be chased by some one; and 
 then, what a diversity of men! What singu- 
 lar faces, some black, some olive, some red. 
 Around them, too, the bustle was general. 
 Vessels were loaded and unloaded; wagons 
 drove up, while others departed; trundle-cars 
 rolled up and down. Everywhere a surge and 
 a noise, as if everything, and everyone, aimed 
 to turn upside down, or stand on the head. 
 One hour passed after another, and they
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 were yet standing there, waiting for the com- 
 missioners. 
 
 A queer sight it \vas, these two Polish emi- 
 grants, in their national garb, amidst these 
 surroundings. Yet the by-passers scarcely 
 looked at them, but seemed to view their 
 presence as well as their appearance as a mat- 
 ter of fact. 
 
 Another hour passed; the sky was cloudy; 
 it rained at intervals, then snowed, and across 
 the water blew a cool, moist, penetrating 
 breeze. 
 
 But they remained where they were, waiting 
 for the commissioners. The peasant is natur- 
 ally of a patient disposition, yet as time passed 
 the hearts of the two grew heavy. 
 
 On the ship they had been lonely; here, 
 among strangers, their loneliness was intensi- 
 fied by fear. Like children who have lost 
 their way, they prayed that God would guide
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 93 
 
 them happily across the vast sea. They were 
 certain that if they had once reached the other 
 shore, fate would favor their every step. Now 
 they had reached their destination, this im- 
 mense city; they once more felt the firm soil 
 beneath them; but amidst this noisy crowd of 
 entire strangers they were more lonely and 
 more helpless than on the steamer. 
 
 Yet the commissioners had not arrived. 
 What should they do if they did not come at 
 all, if the German had deceived them? 
 
 Their poor peasants' hearts shuddered at 
 this thought. What could they do; would 
 they not die miserably? 
 
 "Are you cold, Marys?" asked Lorenz. 
 
 "Very cold, father," answered the girl. 
 
 Their clothes were drained by the moisture, 
 and the icy wind penetrated into their very 
 nerve and bone. 
 
 Another hour had passed; twilight began to
 
 94 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 set in: there was less life and stir displayed 
 about the harbor. Lanterns were lighted. 
 Soon the whole city lay bathed in a sea of 
 light. The workmen from the docks came out 
 on the street and walked toward the city, 
 one by one or in groups, some humming a 
 popular song. By degrees everything as- 
 sumed a quiet, subdued tone; the docks were 
 closed, and so was the custom house. 
 
 But they held their place yet, waiting for 
 the government commissioners. 
 
 At length night came. A hush fell over 
 everything far and near. Only from time to 
 time the smokestack of the steamers would 
 sputter forth a fiery spark, which flew about, 
 its glare becoming gradually fainter and 
 fainter, until it extinguished. Or a single wave 
 would fling itself against one of the quays. 
 Here and there sounded a tune sung by some 
 sailor who returned to his ship in a pleasant
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 95 
 
 frame of mind. The street lanterns grew dim 
 in the dark, dense fog 1 : but the two remained 
 where they were, waiting patiently. 
 
 But even if they had not determined to 
 wait, where should they go; to which direction 
 should they turn, and where should they lay 
 their weary heads to rest? The cold grew 
 more and more intense, and they were hungry. 
 Even if they had some shelter, however, theit 
 clothes were soaked through. 
 . Ah, the commissioners have not arrived, 
 nor will they arrive, for they do not exist. The 
 German was an agent for one of the steamship 
 companies and counted his percentage by 
 heads. He had no further interest in their 
 welfare. 
 
 Lorenz felt the earth totter beneath his 
 feet; it seemed as if a fearful burden weighed 
 upon him, pressing him down; as if God's 
 judgment hung over his head. He waited
 
 96 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 and listened, as only peasants can wait and lis- 
 ten. The voice of the girl, whose teeth were 
 chattering with cold, finally roused him from 
 his stupor. 
 "Father!" 
 
 "Quiet. Nobody pities us." 
 "Father, let us return to Lipince!" 
 "Can we go through the water, girl?" 
 "Lord, our heavenly Father!" whispered the 
 girl. 
 
 "My unfortunate child!" cried he. "If God 
 would at least take pity on you." 
 
 But she listened no more to him. She 
 leaned her head against the wall and closed 
 her eyes. A heavy sleep, interrupted by spells 
 of fever, overpowered her, and amidst the 
 desolate surroundings she dreamed of her old 
 home and heard the voice of the one she 
 loved. 
 
 Dawn came, and looked through -a gray fog
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 97 
 
 down upon the two figures which lay close to 
 the wall, pale, their limbs drawn together by 
 the cold, in a death-like stupor. Yet their 
 cup of suffering was not yet full.
 
 98 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Passing through the city of New York 
 from Broadway to Chatham Square one is 
 obliged to walk through a number of narrow 
 streets, which form a sad-looking, poverty- 
 stricken quarter of the city. The streets seem 
 to grow narrower and narrower. The houses, 
 which may yet belong to those originally 
 built by the Dutch colonists, are badly broken 
 and half collapsed, with damaged roofs and 
 marred walls. The windows in the first stories 
 are scarcely above the paving. Instead of the 
 straight-lined thoroughfares, which otherwise 
 are a constant feature of every American city, 
 everything here is curved and angular, and 
 the imperfect roofs almost appear ready to fall 
 down over one another.
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 99 
 
 The low level on which this part of the city 
 it situated is responsible for the failure of the 
 pools to dry, and the densely crowded struc- 
 tures seem to lie in the midst of a pond which 
 never dries out, but in the muddy mirror of 
 which the dilapidated houses look down upon 
 their own ruin. These pools, as well as the 
 streets in general, are filled with any kind of 
 refuse, which heightens the impression of 
 abuse and misery everywhere prevailing. 
 
 In this part of the city are to be found cer- 
 tain institutions called "boarding houses," 
 which offer all kinds of accommodations for 
 a consideration of two dollars per week. Here 
 we find the drinking houses barrooms 
 where the whalers hire their crews of bandits 
 for their ships. Fraudulent agents from Bra- 
 zil, Venezuela and Ecuador seek these places 
 to catch hold of colonists that afterward fall 
 victims to deadly fevers in strange countries;
 
 100 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 here may be found the cheap restaurants, 
 which feed people on salt meat, half-spoiled 
 fish. Here is an abundance of Chinese laun- 
 dries, gambling dens, sailors' "homes," and, 
 finally, robbers' dens and meeting places, re- 
 sorts of vice, misery, and where hunger is as 
 frequent as tears are scarce. 
 
 Yet this part of the city teems with life, for 
 the large numbers of emigrants who cannot 
 even afford the commodities of the resorts 
 always surrounding the landing places, and 
 whom employment agencies neither can nor 
 will assist, these are conspicuous here; here 
 they assemble, find shelter, live and die. It 
 may be truly said that if the emigrants repre- 
 sent the refuse of the nations, the refuse of the 
 emigrants may be found in this quarter of the 
 city of New York. These persons idle away 
 their time partly because they find no occupa- 
 tion, partly for the reason that they have no
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 101 
 
 desire of work. In the dead of the night cries 
 of help and hoarse yells of rage are often heard 
 about these places, with songs from drunken 
 Irishmen and yells from colored people, who 
 knock one another over the head. At break 
 of day one may see crowds upon crowds of 
 vagabonds, in ragged clothes, pipe in mouth, 
 watching with interest and satisfaction a fight 
 between two of their like, setting bets on each 
 smashed eye. White and black children, in- 
 stead of being sent away to school, wade 
 through the dirt all day and look among the 
 litter for scraps of vegetables, oranges and 
 bananas. Irish women who venture outside 
 stretch out their hands when by chance a man 
 in decent clothes happens to pass along these 
 streets. 
 
 In such a place of human misery we again 
 meet our friends Lorenz and Marys. Their 
 hopes of coming into possession of landed
 
 102 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 property had passed like a dream, and the 
 terrible reality discloses them to us in a nar- 
 row room, with sunken walls and windows de- 
 void of panes. Dirt and decay stare out of 
 the moist walls, the entire furnishment of 
 which consists in a cracked, rusty stove, a 
 chair with three legs and a bundle of straw 
 heaped up in a corner. This was all. Old Lor- 
 enz Toporek kneels down by the stove and 
 searches in vain underneath and behind it for 
 some eatable thing a potato or the like. He 
 has been searching the room for two days with 
 the same result. Marys is sitting on the 
 straw, both hands folded over her knees, look- 
 ing hopelessly at the floor. The girl is sick, 
 pale and thin. Her cheeks, formerly red and 
 full, are now gray and emaciated; the whole 
 countenance, as it were, had grown smaller. 
 Her large, blue eyes had in them a look of 
 preoccupation. How plainly was reflected in
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 103 
 
 this face the traces of insufficient nourishment, 
 the moist dwelling, their whole deplorable 
 condition. They ate nothing but potatoes, 
 but even this food had been wanting for two 
 days, so they scarcely knew what to do in or- 
 der to uphold their lives. For over three 
 months had they been dwelling in this miser- 
 able place; now their small store of money 
 was gone. Lorenz had tried to find work, but 
 no one was able to comprehend the meaning 
 of his words. He tried to obtain a place as 
 porter in the docks, but in the first place he 
 had no wheelbarrow, and then the Irish 
 "bosses" would strike him in his face. He 
 went to dig in the docks, and once more the 
 overseers struck him. What importance could 
 otherwise be attached to a \vorkman that did 
 not even comprehend what was said to him? 
 Wherever he reached out his hand, wherever 
 he turned, he was met by ridicule, abused and
 
 104 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 beaten. Thus it was impossible for him to do 
 anything, to embrace such opportunities as 
 there might be. Through sorrow and shame 
 his hair became gray; there was no hope; his 
 means were exhausted, and hunger stared 
 them in the face. 
 
 In his native country he would have picked 
 up a living, even if everything were lost, if 
 sickness had exhausted his means, or he had 
 been turned out of his own house. He could 
 have stationed himself, as others had done, a 
 stick in hand, by the crucifix at the 
 public road or on the church steps, 
 and prayed: "Heavenly Father, have mer- 
 cy on my bloody tears." The magnate, 
 passing by the road, would always open 
 his hand, and his tender little wife 
 would place her gift in the pink hand of her 
 little son, who fixed his large, blue eyes on the 
 beggar and gladly handed him all. Nor did
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 105 
 
 the farmer withhold his bread, and his wife 
 would rather give a bacon-rind to one in need, 
 than throw it away. Yes, in his native land he 
 might have lived after the fashion of the 
 birds that neither sow nor reap. And again, 
 when he stood under the cross in the public 
 road, Christ would guard him, he would re- 
 main beneath the sun of his old home and 
 walk over the soil he knew best of all; surely, 
 amidst these quiet, reposeful surroundings, 
 God would hear his prayers. 
 
 Here, however, in this large city, there was 
 a roaring in the air, like that of a powerful 
 machinery. Everybody pushed on, without 
 regard of the welfare of his brethren. One 
 would grow faint at all this; one's arms would 
 lose all their strength. The eyes could receive 
 no clear impression of what was going on; 
 one thought dispelled another. Everything 
 presented itself in a strange, repulsive, foreign
 
 106 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 and vain light. It seemed to Lorenz that 
 everyone that was drawn into this bewilder- 
 ing tumult must surrender and be crushed. 
 
 Oh, what a difference between here and 
 there. In quiet Lipince Lorenz had been a 
 farmer, a possessor of landed property; he 
 had his little circle of acquaintances and 
 friends, enjoyed the respect of his fellow-citi- 
 zens, was one of the assessors to the court, 
 and had had enough to eat from day to day. 
 Every Sunday he stepped out before the altar 
 with his lighted candle; here he was the 
 least of all, less respected than a dog which 
 runs into a stranger's yard, obedient, fearful, 
 shaking with terror, half-starved. During the 
 first days of their affliction remembrance often 
 whispered to him: "You were happier in Li- 
 pince!" And conscience cried into his ear: 
 "Lorenz, why did you leave your old home?" 
 Why? Because God had forsaken him.
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 107 
 
 Still, he must carry his cross and wait to see 
 the end of his sufferings, realizing that every 
 day that passed brought new suffering, and 
 that each new sunset witnessed the nameless 
 misery of himself and his child. 
 
 And what would happen next? Should he 
 procure some rope, say his prayers and hang 
 himself and his child? He would not flinch, 
 if it were to be. He was not afraid of death, 
 but how would the girl take it? When pon- 
 dering over these things he felt that God had 
 indeed left him, and that His help and guid- 
 ance could no longer be counted upon. 
 Amidst the dark surrounding them on all 
 sides there was not a single ray of light, and 
 he was unable to name even the greatest pain 
 he felt. 
 
 His greatest sorrow was, however, really 
 his longing for home. It pained him day and 
 night, pained him all the more, because he
 
 108 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 could not explain to himself what it was. His 
 simple mind was unable to fathom this feel- 
 ing. He longed for the pine woods, the 
 thatched huts, the green fields, the masters, 
 peasants and priests, all that was beneath the 
 roof of the sky at home, to which his heart 
 clung in love and sympathy. From these 
 things he could emancipate himself only at the 
 risk of bleeding to death. The peasant rea- 
 lized that something weighed heavily upon 
 him; from time to time he was seized with 
 an impulse to tear his hair out, to knock his 
 head against the wall, to throw himself on 
 the ground and yell like a dog in his chain; to 
 cry out his misery before someone. Before 
 whom? He did not know. He bent and stag- 
 gered beneath this awful burden of unknown 
 suffering. Around him the gigantic city 
 keeps on roaring and boiling with nervous ex- 
 citement; he throws himself panting and
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 109 
 
 weeping before the feet of Jesus Christ, yet 
 without even once seeing His "cross. No voice 
 answers his call; the surrounding city remains 
 unaffected, and there, on the straw, sits the 
 girl, her eyes stolidly fixed on the floor, al- 
 ways hungry, but ever patient. How queer! 
 He and she often sat for days in this room, 
 without stirring, without uttering a word to 
 each other. They lived like two persons that 
 secretly hate each other. The hearts of both 
 were heavy, almost too heavy for speaking. 
 When one feels the misery of want he would 
 rather not speak. And again, what would be 
 a fitting subject of discussion? Better not 
 touch those bloody wounds. Should one cry 
 to the other that they had neither money nor 
 food, and that there were no prospects in view 
 for them? 
 
 No one would come to assist them. There 
 were enough of their countrymen in New
 
 110 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 York, but no one in good, or even in moderate 
 circumstances, lives in the neighborhood of 
 Chatham Square. A week after their arrival 
 they became acquainted with two Polish fami- 
 lies, one from Silesia, the other from Posen, 
 but these, too, were facing starvation. The 
 Silesians had lost two children, and the third 
 one was sick, yet it slept every night with its 
 parents under a bridge. They all fed upon 
 such scraps as they might find in the streets. 
 Later someone found them and had them 
 brought to a hospital, where all trace of them 
 was lost. The other family was in a much 
 worse situation, for the man had fallen sick. 
 Marys assisted his wife as long as she could 
 endure the strain; now she, herself, needed 
 some care. 
 
 They might have sought and obtained relief 
 from the Polish congregation in Hoboken. 
 The priest would have appealed to their
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. Ill 
 
 countrymen on their behalf, but what did they 
 know, poor people, of the Polish congrega- 
 tion, unable, as they were, to explain to any- 
 one what they wanted? Thus every cent they 
 paid out of their scant fund was equivalent to 
 a fresh step down into the abyss that threat- 
 ened to swallow them up. 
 
 So he was now crouching before the stove, 
 and she sat immovably on the straw. One 
 hour passed after another; it grew darker and 
 darker, although it was scarcely past noon 
 time, but a misty fog pervaded the atmosphere 
 among the dingy dwellings. Although the air 
 was quite warm outside, both shuddered with 
 cold. 
 
 Finally the old man abandoned his 
 search. 
 
 "Marys," said he, "I cannot endure this 
 longer, nor can you. I shall go down to the 
 harbor and try to find some wood. Then, at
 
 112 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 least, we shall not be cold. Perhaps I may 
 also find something to eat." 
 
 She made no reply, so he left the room. He 
 had already succeeded in finding the way to 
 the harbor and in hunting forth such old 
 scraps of timber and empty boxes as the water 
 would carry up to the shore. This was done 
 by all that could afford no coal. In picking up 
 these things Lorenz was often hurt, yet from 
 time to time he succeeded in finding some 
 eatable things, waste matter that had been 
 thrown overboard from the ships. When 
 walking about in this manner, seeking what 
 he had not lost, there were certain moments 
 when he forgot his need as well as the name- 
 less pain and longing, which otherwise loomed 
 up behind everything else. 
 
 He reached the water's edge, and as the 
 afternoon had not progressed very far there 
 were a number of people around the yards and
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 113 
 
 landing- places. Some boys began calling, and 
 even threw stones, sea shells and the like after 
 him, yet he remained. There were many 
 pieces of wood floating at the water's edge; 
 one wave might wash them ashore, another 
 would suck them back, but he picked up as 
 much as he could carry. 
 
 A number of green fragments were tossed 
 about by the water's movements. Lorenz 
 wondered what they were, and if they might 
 be suitable for eating. None were so near 
 that he could reach them, but the boys fished 
 for them with hooks and strings and pulled 
 up one after another. He himself had no 
 string, so he could do nothing but peer eag- 
 erly in the direction where they were. When 
 finally the boys left the place, he fell upon the 
 fragments they had left and devoured them 
 eagerly, without thinking of the girl who 
 waited for his return in the cold, bare room.
 
 114 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 This time, however, fate rewarded his pa- 
 tient search. On returning home he saw a 
 wagon heavily loaded with potatoes. It was 
 evidently bound for the harbor. One of the 
 hind wheels had rolled down into a hole and 
 could not be lifted out. So Lorenz seized ar 
 pole and helped the driver in lifting the wag- 
 on. It was very heavy, and the old man's 
 force became strained almost beyond endur- 
 ance, but finally the horses made a powerful 
 effort, and the wheels began to turn. On ac- 
 count of the height of the load a large number 
 of potatoes dropped down in the dirt. The 
 driver, however, paid no heed to this, but ut- 
 tered a few words in appreciation of the help 
 he had received, whereupon he lifted his whip 
 over the horses and advised them to "get 
 up." 
 
 Lorenz at once fell upon the potatoes. With 
 shaking hands did he pick them up and stuff
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. H- r > 
 
 them into his pockets, until the latter were 
 fairly bursting. His heart at once became 
 lighter than before. The bit of bread which a 
 hungry man finds calls forth a world of joy. 
 Hastening homeward the peasant said to him- 
 self: 
 
 "Our heavenly Father be praised that He 
 has mercy upon his unhappy children. Here 
 is enough of wood, now the girl will fry these 
 potatoes, and there will be more than enough 
 for two. God is merciful. Now the room 
 will be much more pleasant. Why, Marys, 
 too, had nothing to eat since the day before 
 yesterday! Now she will be glad. Oh, God 
 is merciful." 
 
 Thus speaking to himself he carried the 
 wood in one arm and fumbled with his one 
 free hand at the potatoes in his pockets, fear- 
 ful of losing even a single one. His feelings 
 were those of a man who carries home a great
 
 110 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 treasure. Presently he raised his glance to- 
 ward the sky, murmuring: 
 
 "I almost thought I should have to steal 
 them. Now they have fallen down to me, as 
 it were, from the sky, and I have not been 
 forced to steal. Hitherto we have hungered, 
 now we shall eat and be satisfied. God is 
 merciful. Marys will rise from the straw as 
 soon as she hears that I have secured these po- 
 tatoes." 
 
 Marys had not moved from her straw bed 
 when her father left her. Usually her father 
 went out early in the morning and brought 
 home wood, whereupon he lighted a fire, 
 brought in water and ate in her company 
 whatever might happen to be in the house. 
 Then, every day for a long time she had gone 
 out to seek some work for herself. She had 
 even succeeded in securing a place in a board- 
 ing house, where she washed dishes. But as
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 117 
 
 the work was new to her and the people could 
 make her understand nothing, they had sent 
 her away in two days. Upon this she sought 
 no further, and, consequently, found nothing. 
 For many days she did not even leave her 
 room, being afraid to move about the streets, 
 where drunken sailors and Irishmen would 
 pursue her. This enforced idleness added to 
 her unhappiness. 
 
 The longing for home, like rust in iron, ate 
 into her heart. She was more unhappy than 
 her father, for added to all her physical suffer- 
 ing was a firm conviction of their miserable 
 fate, and to her burning homesickness clung 
 the thought of her Jasko. True, he had prom- 
 ised that wherever she went he would follow, 
 but the dismal presence could not spurn hope 
 sufficiently to convince her of his faithfulness. 
 
 He was a servant at the castle, and pos- 
 sessed, besides, a parental heritage by no
 
 118 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 means insignificant. She, however, possessed 
 nothing; no church rat in Lipince could be 
 more hungry than she was. 
 
 Will he come, and if he comes will he 
 press her to his heart and say "My poor, un- 
 happy little girl?" Or will he thrust her aside 
 with the slighting remark that she is, after all, 
 but a beggar? In any case, what did she pos- 
 sess, save rags. Even in Lipince they would 
 now, such as they were, be barked at by dogs, 
 and yet some powerful feeling draws her 
 back there; her soul might soar aloof with the 
 birds, across the wayless ocean, homeward, 
 even if death were all that awaited her there. 
 He, her Jasko, was there, and whether or not 
 he thought of her, he was dearer to her than 
 anyone else in the wide world. Only with 
 him was there joy and peace; among all per- 
 sons on earth he was the only one to whom 
 her whole heart belonged.
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 119 
 
 While there had yet been a fire m the little 
 stove, and she did not suffer with such intense 
 hunger as she now felt, the flickering glare 
 would yet remind her of the evenings at home, 
 when she sat among her girl friends, spinning, 
 until Jasko thrust his head in through the win- 
 dow and called to her: "Marys, you and I will 
 some day go before the priest, for I love you 
 better than anyone else." Then she might 
 have answered, in jest: "Off with you, you 
 don't say the truth." And her heart had been 
 so light and glad, like that night, when he 
 brought her out of one of the corners in the 
 room, and they joined in the dance, while she 
 hid her eyes and whispered: "Let me go, I am 
 so ashamed!" When she sat in the glare, 
 thinking of all this, the tears would come roll- 
 ing down her cheeks. Now the fire was out, 
 however, and even the flow of her tears had 
 ceased, for she had drained them all out. Of-
 
 120 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 ten she felt as if all the tears had. flowed down 
 into her heart and now weighed upon it, like 
 a heavy burden. She was terribly tired and 
 her resistance threatened to become ex- 
 hausted; in fact, she had scarcely power 
 enough to control the course of her thoughts. 
 Otherwise she bore her suffering quietly and 
 patiently, and sat staring with her big eyes at 
 nothing definite, like a bird that is tortured. 
 
 So she sat now, resting on the straw, when 
 steps were heard outside and someone ap- 
 proached the door. Thinking it might be her 
 father she did not even raise her head, when 
 suddenly a strange voice sounded in her ear: 
 
 "Look here!" 
 
 It was the owner of the dingy dwelling, a 
 mulatto of unprepossessing appearance, with 
 torn clothes and both cheeks expanded by 
 chewing tobacco. 
 
 At the sight of him the girl was terribly
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 121 
 
 frightened. She must pay him the room-rent 
 for the coming week, and there was not a cent 
 in her possession. Only by complete sub- 
 mission could she hope to pacify him. She 
 fell upon her knees and made an effort to kiss 
 his hand. 
 
 "I have come to get my dollar," said he. 
 
 She understood only the word "dollar," 
 shook her head, said something, she hardly 
 knew what, and looked up to him piteously, 
 hoping to make him comprehend that she had 
 neither money nor food, and that he must 
 show mercy. 
 
 "God almighty will reward your grace," 
 said she in her mother tongue. 
 
 But his grace did not feel the least flattered 
 by the title she conferred upon him; he under- 
 stood, however, that there was no money to 
 be had. He comprehended this so well, in 
 fact, that he at once picked up the bundles
 
 122 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 that lay on the floor, seized the girl by the 
 arm, forced her up the steps and into the 
 street, where he threw the things before her 
 feet, turned around phlegmatically, opened 
 the door of the public-room and cried: 
 
 "Hello, Paddy, here's a room for you." 
 
 "All right," someone returned; "I'll move 
 in to-night." 
 
 The mulatto disappeared in the dark bar- 
 room, leaving the girl alone in the open street. 
 She humbly picked up her bundles and placed 
 them near the house wall, to prevent them 
 from coming in too close contact with 
 the mud in the street, whereupon she sta- 
 tioned herself at the doorstep, waiting pa- 
 tiently. 
 
 The drunken Irishmen who passed by paid 
 no attention to her. In the room was dark, 
 outside, however, clear daylight shone upon 
 her, bringing into view her sickly looking face.
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 123 
 
 Her flaxen hair had retained its brightness, 
 but the lips were pale and the face piteously 
 thin. She looked like a withered flower. 
 
 Those passing by looked at her with some 
 compassion. An old negro woman even 
 stopped and spoke to her, but receiving no an- 
 swer she proceeded on her way, disgusted. 
 
 In the meantime Lorenz was hastening 
 homeward, spurred on by the agreeable feel- 
 ing which a visible proof of God's mercy pro- 
 duces in the mind of the poverty-stricken. He 
 had his potatoes; he reflected how they would 
 eat and be satisfied; how he would be careful 
 of walking the same way next day. Beyond 
 this his thoughts did not go ; he was too hun- 
 gry to make plans for the future. As he ap- 
 proached the house and saw the girl standing 
 in front his surprise was aroused, and he 
 quickened his steps. 
 
 "Why do you stand here?" asked he.
 
 124 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 "The owner threw me out, father," an- 
 swered Marys. 
 
 "Threw you out?" 
 
 The wood fell from his shaking hands. 
 
 This was too much. Thrown into the street 
 at the moment when he had secured what they 
 needed to bite and to burn. What could they 
 do now, in the absence of a place where to 
 make fire? How could they fry their pota- 
 toes, and where would they direct their steps? 
 He took off his cap and threw it into the mud 
 where the wood was already. He turned 
 away, uttered a "Holy Christ," looked hope- 
 lessly at the girl, and repeated once more: 
 
 ''Threw you out?" 
 
 Then he stepped forward, fell back, stepped 
 forward once more and cried in a hoarse tone: 
 
 "Why did you not ask him to let you stay, 
 you sheep?" 
 
 She sighed deeply.
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 125 
 
 "I did ask him." 
 
 ''Did you throw yourself before his feet?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Once more Lorenz turned and turned back, 
 like a worm that is trodden upon. He be- 
 came dizzy and almost faint. 
 
 "Wish you were dead!" cried he. 
 ^ Full of agony the girl looked up to him : 
 
 "How can I help it, father?'' 
 
 "Wait here, and don't stir. I am going in 
 to ask him to permit us at least to fry these 
 potatoes." 
 
 He went. In a few moments there "was a 
 cry inside, followed by a shuffling of feet. 
 Then Lorenz flew out of the door, evidently 
 thrust out by a forceful hand. 
 
 One moment he stood still, then he turned 
 to Marys and said, briefly: 
 
 "Come!" 
 
 She bent down and gathered up her things,
 
 126 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 but her force was nearly exhausted, and she 
 was scarcely able to lift the bundles. Yet he 
 made no effort to help her; nay, scarcely per- 
 ceived that the burden was nearly too great 
 for the girl. So they plodded on. The sight 
 of two persons so miserable and forlorn would 
 undoubtedly have attracted the attention of 
 those whom they passed on their way, were it 
 not that they were so accustomed to see all 
 phases of misery. Where would they find 
 shelter? Was a higher degree of wretched- 
 ness possible? 
 
 The girl's breath grew more and more la- 
 bored; from time to time she nearly would 
 lose her balance, and finally she said, in a piti- 
 ful tone: 
 
 "Father, take these things, I cannot carry 
 them further." 
 
 Her voice roused him, as it were, from a 
 dream.
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 12? 
 
 "Throw them away, then." 
 
 "We may need them." 
 
 "No, we shall have no more use for 
 them." 
 
 Noticing that the girl yet tarried, he cried, 
 furiously: 
 
 "Throw them away, or I kill you!" 
 
 In her fear she obeyed instantly. The peas- 
 ant repeated several times by himself: 
 
 "Well, if it must be, it must be." Then he 
 said no more, but there was a desperate ex- 
 pression in his eyes. 
 
 Through the dingy lanes they finally, by 
 numerous circuits, arrived at the harbor near 
 the water's edge. High bulwarks dotted with 
 moorings extended to both sides along the 
 sea, and among the boards and landings a 
 great many persons moved around, engaged 
 in different ways. The girl hastily seated her- 
 self on a pile of boards; she was unable to
 
 128 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 make another step. Lorenz, without uttering 
 a word, sat down by her. 
 
 It was about four o'clock in the afternoon. 
 A busy life pervades the whole place. The 
 fog had given way to a friendly, mild sunshine, 
 which offered its light and warmth to the two 
 homeless and friendless persons. A light, 
 soft breeze wafted across the water. There 
 was brightness and bustle all around; the sun- 
 light blinded their eyes, and the reposeful 
 sheet of water lay in full extension before 
 them. A motionless forest of ships' masts and 
 smokestacks rose against the sky. In the 
 horizon one steamer rose after another, bound 
 for the port, or leaving for other shores. Their 
 white sails bathed in the sunlight, like bright 
 clouds which soared across the deep blue of 
 the sky. Other vessels steered out into the 
 open sea beyond, setting the water before 
 them in foam. They passed away into the di-
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 129 
 
 rection where Lipince was, the place which 
 to our both unhappy friends meant the same 
 as happiness, peace and abundant content. 
 The girl was firmly convinced that she and her 
 father must have committed some disgraceful, 
 sinful deed, which called down upon their 
 heads God's vengeance. Why should other- 
 wise He, the All Graceful, hide His face from 
 both of them and leave them among strangers, 
 in a state of complete helplessness? Did He 
 not have the power to make them happy? So 
 many vessels passed across the sea in different 
 directions, not one of them would bring them 
 home. And once more the girl's thoughts re- 
 verted to Lipince and to her beloved one. Did 
 he yet think of her? 
 
 In any event, she had not forgotten him. 
 Only happiness makes people forgetful; when 
 we must bear misfortune alone, our thoughts 
 
 will cling to the dear ones far away, like ivy 
 9
 
 130 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 clings to the tree. But he? Had he not for- 
 gotten his first love and sought out someone 
 else? No wonder if this was the case, for it 
 would be a shame to think of a being so 
 wretched, and who possessed nothing at all in 
 her own name; a fettered, poor little thing, 
 whom death alone could set free. 
 
 Sick as she was, hunger did not pain her 
 much, but a tired and weak feeling closed her 
 eyelids, and her thin, pale face sank deeper and 
 deeper. She dreamed of the dear ones at 
 home; that she fell down into a great, void 
 space; that she sank into the water, far, far 
 down, when suddenly she roused herself, a 
 little fresher, and the dream vanished. Near 
 by was not her beloved one, but her father, 
 and the water of which she had dreamed 
 flowed rapidly through the New York harbor. 
 The mild air of a spring day, drawing near its 
 close, wafted across earth and sky. A sacred
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 131 
 
 peace pervaded whole Nature. Everything 
 about her was radiant with joy and life; only 
 she and the old man beside her were unhappy 
 and forgotten by the whole world. Now 
 the workmen prepared to return home; 
 they alone among them all possessed no 
 home. 
 
 With increasing intensity old Lorenz was 
 harassed by the pains of hunger. Mute and 
 self-contained he remained by his child, se- 
 cretly brooding over a terrible plan. His 
 want of food gave him the appearance of a 
 wild beast; outwardly he remained quiet and 
 composed, though unnaturally so. While the 
 shadows grew long, he remained immovable, 
 did not once speak to the girl, and preserved 
 the expression of desperate passivity. When 
 night set in, he said, in a strange, unnatural 
 tone: 
 
 "Marys, come with me."
 
 132 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 ''Where shall we go, father?" asked she, 
 wearily. 
 
 "Let us go and lie down on that platform 
 near the water. Let us try to sleep." 
 
 They went. On account of the darkness it 
 was necessary to walk with some caution, to 
 avoid falling into the water. 
 
 The American piers are built in a somewhat 
 intricate manner. They form a sort of broad 
 gallery, with a broad platform covered with a 
 roof, at certain intervals. These platforms 
 were deserted by this time, as all the workmen 
 had returned home. 
 
 The place was quite lonely. When they 
 had reached the outer edge, that close to the 
 water, Lorenz again spoke : 
 
 "Here we will lie down and sleep." 
 
 The girl dropped down upon the boards, 
 perfectly exhausted. She was not disturbed 
 by the swarms of mosquitoes which sur-
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 133 
 
 rounded her immediately, but fell asleep al- 
 most instantly. 
 
 Suddenly, in the middle of the night, she 
 was roused by the sound of her father's 
 voice: 
 
 "Marys, wake up!" 
 
 He spoke in a tone that awakened her im- 
 mediately. 
 
 "What do you want, father?" 
 
 Through the dark and quiet of the night 
 Lorenz Toporek's voice sounded ghastly and 
 fearful in its forced steadiness: 
 
 "My daughter, you shall not die of hunger. 
 You shall not ask for your bread at any one's 
 door, nor shall you sleep under the open sky. 
 We are deserted by men; God has forsaken 
 us; you are suffering from want. So Death 
 shall receive you, and put an end to your suf- 
 fering." 
 
 She was unable to see him in the' dark,
 
 134 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 though her eyes had opened themselves wide 
 in horror. 
 
 "I will throw you in the water, my poor 
 girl, and jump in myself, too. There is no sal- 
 vation, no pity, for us. To-morrow you will 
 feel no hunger; you will be better off than you 
 are now." 
 
 No, she would not die. She was but eigh- 
 teen years old; she loved life and was fright- 
 ened at death, as youth always is. Her soul 
 revolted against the thought that to-morrow 
 she would be a corpse and sink into the dark- 
 ness at the bottom of the sea, down among the 
 monsters in the muddy sea-bed. For no price 
 in the world ! A terrible fright seized her, and 
 her own father, who had pronounced her 
 death-sentence, appeared like an evil spirit. 
 In the meantime both his hands rested on her 
 narrow shoulders, and he continued, in the 
 same manner as before:
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 135 
 
 "Even if you call for help no one will hear 
 you. I'll push you down; it will be over in 
 no time." 
 
 "I will not, father, I will not," cried the girl. 
 "Have you forgotten that God is above us! 
 Father, dear, kind father, have mercy upon 
 me! What have I done that you should kill 
 me? I have not complained over our misfor- 
 tune. Have I not suffered patiently hunger 
 and cold with you? Oh, father!" 
 
 His breath came faster and faster; his hands 
 held her like in an iron grip. She begged piti- 
 fully for her life. 
 
 "Have mercy, mercy, mercy! Am I not 
 your own child, your poor, sick child? Be- 
 sides, I cannot live very long. I am afraid to 
 die." 
 
 So she clung to him in agony, grasped his 
 clothes and pressed her lips against the hands 
 that meant to throw her into the sea. But he
 
 136 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 minded nothing. His equanimity had flashed 
 out in desperation; he began to snort and to 
 grind his teeth. There was a moment's si- 
 lence, a deep breath, and a creaking of the 
 boards in the platform. The night had be- 
 come pitch dark; there was no possibility of 
 help, as they had chosen a place far away from 
 the thoroughfares; where no one save the 
 workmen would ordinarily come. 
 
 "Mercy, mercy!" cried the girl, in a pene- 
 trating tone. 
 
 He pulled her violently down to the edge of 
 the pier and beat her head in order to subdue 
 her cries. But to these no response came; 
 only a dog was barking far away. 
 
 Marys felt that her resistance was on the 
 point of giving out. Suddenly the ground dis- 
 appeared beneath her feet; but her hands 
 clung to her father's body, though she had 
 scarcely any power left. Her cries of help be-
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 137 
 
 came more and more faint; then he realized 
 that she hung directly over the water. 
 
 She had fallen from the platform, but 
 grasped a board and thus escaped death for 
 the present. 
 
 The peasant bent down and tried to push 
 her hands off the board. 
 
 A world of thoughts flashed through the 
 girl's head. Lipince, the public well, the 
 ship, the storm, their wretchedness in New 
 York. And she sees she sees a gigantic 
 ship, towering high above the pier, where a 
 crowd of people are standing. Two arms are 
 stretched out toward her. Heavenly father, 
 there stands her Jasko, reaching for her, and 
 there there, above the ship, the likeness of 
 the holy Virgin, in gleaming splendor. She 
 pushes every one aside: "My Jasko, my Jas- 
 ko!" Another moment, and she lifts her eyes 
 toward the old man :
 
 138 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 "Father, there I see the mother of Christ, 
 the mother of Christ!" 
 
 The next second the same hands that would 
 precipitate the girl into the sea pulled her up 
 with superhuman power. Then she stood 
 once more on the firm soil. Two arms folded 
 her into their embrace, the arms of her fath- 
 er, not of her murderer. Her head rested up- 
 on his breast. 
 
 Waking from her swoon Marys found her- 
 self resting quietly near her father. In spite 
 of the dark she realized that his body was 
 shaking, and that he sobbed from the bottom 
 of his heart. 
 
 "Marys," said he, in a broken tone, "forgive 
 me, my child." 
 
 The girl felt for his hand, pressed a kiss 
 against it and whispered: 
 
 "May God forgive you, as I fcrgive 
 you."
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 139 
 
 A faint shimmer which rose in the east soon 
 developed into a strong light. The moon 
 rose, and in the light haze surrounding her 
 Marys fancied she saw a number of little angel 
 figures, which descended about her, circled 
 about her. 
 
 And she became gradually quiet, quiet 
 enough for a sounder sleep than she had en- 
 joyed for a long time. 
 
 Night passed. Dawn rose and shed its light 
 over the water, the ships and their masts. Out 
 of their faint outlines things evolved them- 
 selves more and more plainly. 
 
 With a prayer in his heart Lorenz bent over 
 his child, fearful that the girl might have 
 drawn her last breath. Her slim body lay 
 there, without the slightest movement; there 
 was a bluish shadow over her wax-like face; 
 the eyes were closed. Again and again the 
 old man tried to rouse her, finally he held his
 
 140 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 hand to her mouth and felt that she was still 
 breathing. 
 
 Her heart beat still, though weakly. He 
 feared that she might be near dying 
 
 If she did not wake when the sun rose, he 
 thought, she must surely die. 
 
 A flock of gulls began to circle about them; 
 one even flew down near their resting place. 
 A light breeze sprung up from the west, 
 scattered the morning fog and carried clown 
 to them a pleasant stream of warm, soft 
 air. 
 
 The sun rose. Her first rays struck the 
 highest points, the roof of the platform ; then 
 lowered themselves and spun a golden halo 
 around the young face, pale as death, of the 
 girl. They kissed her forehead and wound 
 themselves around her. Her golden hair, un- 
 tidy and dishevelled with moisture and with 
 the nightly struggles, lay around her head like
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 141 
 
 a frame, and imparted to her a trait of some- 
 thing exquisitely innocent and angelic. 
 
 A beautiful spring day rose above and 
 around them. The sunshine grew warmer 
 and warmer; the wind blew softly over the 
 girl's outstretched form on the planks. 
 
 Lorenz took off his coat and covered her 
 ^ with it, hoping that her life might yet be 
 
 ^ 
 
 spared. 
 
 Gradually a faint color mounted to her 
 cheeks, and finally she opened her eyes. 
 
 The old man fell upon his knees, lifted his 
 eyes toward the sky above, and a stream of 
 tears rolled down over his cheeks. He now 
 realized how dear she really was to him; the 
 soul of his soul, a sanctified trust, above every- 
 thing else in the world. 
 
 She awoke, looking much fresher and 
 healthier than the day before. The pure air 
 which wafted across the harbor was infinitely
 
 H2 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 healthier than the poisoned atmosphere of the 
 narrow room to which she had been so long 
 confined. She awoke to life's reality, for 
 scarcely had she opened her eyes when the 
 appeal burst from her lips: 
 
 "Father, I am so hungry." 
 
 "Come, my daughter," said he, "and let us 
 walk along the water's edge. Perhaps we 
 may find something that will satisfy our hun- 
 ger." 
 
 She arose without much difficulty, and they 
 went. This day seemed destined to form an 
 exception to all others, for they had walked 
 but a few steps when Lorenz came across a 
 bundle hidden somewhere in the structure of 
 the pier. It contained bread, smoked meat 
 and several boiled corn ears. 
 
 This discovery was easily explained by the 
 fact that a workman had left part of his lunch 
 here, for the day following. This is custom-
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 143 
 
 ary here; but Lorenz and Marys viewed the 
 matter still more simply. Who had placed 
 this food directly where they would find it? 
 They could but think of Him who considers 
 the birds in the air and the flowers in the field. 
 
 God, the Almighty! 
 
 So, saying their prayers, they sat down and 
 ate what had been given to them by so won- 
 derful means, whereupon they walked over in 
 the direction of the larger docks. 
 
 Both were strengthened and in better 
 mood. Having reached the Custom House 
 Building they turned down Broadway. As 
 they were yet somewhat weak, it took them 
 several hours to walk this way. They plod- 
 ed on, hardly realizing where they went, and 
 with no definite end in view; but Marys felt 
 that they must at any cost walk up the city. 
 Numerous wagons, heavily loaded, passed 
 them, wending their way toward the harbor.
 
 1-44 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 In Water Street an intense life and stir was 
 going on. People rushed out of the houses, 
 hastening on, pursuing their business. At a 
 certain door stood a tall, elderly gentleman, 
 with gray hair and beard, in the company of 
 a young fellow. He looked at the peasants 
 in their national costumes, and a trait of sur- 
 prise and wonder passed over his face. Scrut- 
 inizing their appearance, he allowed a smile to 
 pass over his face. 
 
 That in the great city of New York there 
 should be a single human being who smiled 
 kindly at them, was indeed a wonder, for 
 which they were not prepared. 
 
 But the old gentleman stepped up to them 
 and said, in pure Polish: 
 
 "Where did you people come from?" 
 
 They came to a dead stop then and there. 
 From the peasant's face every drop of blood 
 disappeared; he staggered, and refused for a
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 145 
 
 moment to trust his own eyes and ears. But 
 the girl quickly regained her equanimity. 
 Dropping a courtesy before the old gentle- 
 man she said: 
 
 "From the Province of Posen, sir, from 
 Posen." 
 
 "What are you doing here?" 
 
 "We are on the point of being starved. We 
 suffer from want of bread and all other neces- 
 sities." 
 
 She could say no more. Lorenz, however, 
 fell upon his knees before the stranger, 
 grasped the seam of his coat and kissed it as 
 fervently as if he had taken possession of a 
 portion of heaven itself. 
 
 Here was a man, one of their own race; he 
 would not let them die from hunger, or scorn 
 their hopes, but help them on their way. 
 
 The young man who stood by opened his 
 
 eyes wide. People stopped and looked at the 
 10
 
 H6 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 strange scene, where one man kneeled before 
 another, kissing the hem of his garments. An 
 unheard-of scene in America. 
 
 Their curiosity seemed to bore the old gen- 
 tleman, as he addressed them: "Never mind 
 this, gentlemen. Better go about your busi- 
 ness." Whereupon he turned to Lorenz and 
 his daughter. 
 
 "We cannot remain standing in the street," 
 said he. "Come with me." 
 
 He led the way to a restaurant in the neigh- 
 borhood, ordered for himself and his followers 
 a separate room and conducted them in. The 
 young man followed. 
 
 Once more they wanted to throw them- 
 selves before his feet, but he motioned them to 
 desist, and said, a trifle vexed: 
 
 "You had better not do that. Are we not 
 countrymen, children of the same soil?" 
 
 Evidently the smoke of his cigar had drifted
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 147 
 
 into his eyes, for he wiped them stealthily and 
 said: 
 
 "Are you hungry?" 
 
 "We have had no food for two days, until 
 this morning we found a few things in the har- 
 bor." 
 
 "William," said he to the young man, "let 
 the people bring us something to eat." 
 
 Then he continued his examination: 
 
 "Where do you live?" 
 
 "Nowhere, your grace." 
 
 "Where did you sleep last night?" 
 
 "On one of the platforms down by the sea." 
 
 "Were you thrown out of your house?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Have you no property except what you 
 carry with you?" 
 
 "We have nothing else." 
 
 "Have you no money?" 
 
 "No."
 
 148 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 ''What are you going to do?" 
 
 "We do not know." 
 
 The old gentleman spoke in a rapid and, 
 seemingly, vexed tone. Suddenly he turned 
 to Marys, asking: 
 
 "How old are you, child?" 
 
 "By Mary's Ascension I shall be eighteen." 
 
 "You have suffered enough by this time, 
 have you not?" 
 
 Instead of answering, she humbly fell before 
 the feet of her deliverer. 
 
 Once more the cigar smoke seemed to af- 
 fect his eyes, but in this movement the vic- 
 tuals, roast meat, potatoes, a mug of beer and 
 other things, were brought in. He told them 
 to sit down and eat, but they answered that in 
 his presence they dared not do it; whereat he 
 became angry and called them fools. But in 
 spite of his impulsive manner they considered 
 him an angel sent from heaven.
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 149 
 
 Their eating appeared to afford him gen- 
 nine pleasure. When they had finished, he 
 bid them relate under what circumstances they 
 had emigrated, and what had befallen them 
 since their arrival. Old Lorenz now gave a 
 detailed account of their experience. He told 
 all, not even omitting his own fault, as if he 
 was confessed. The stranger became angry 
 and scolded, and when Lorenz arrived at 
 the point where he made an attempt to 
 take his daughter's life, the old gentleman 
 cried : 
 
 "Ah, I could knock you down!" 
 
 Addressing Marys, he said: 
 
 "Come here, child." 
 
 As she came up to him, somewhat embar- 
 rassed, he took her head in both his hands and 
 pressed a kiss against her forehead. 
 
 After a pause he said : 
 
 "You have gone through a great deal of suf-
 
 150 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 fering. But the country is good, if one only 
 knows how to help himself." 
 
 Lorenz looked at him in astonishment. This 
 worthy and good man called America a good 
 country. 
 
 "Well, my old friend," said he, "so it is." 
 And he smiled at the peasant's expression of 
 wonder. "A good country. When I came 
 here, I had nothing; now my income is even 
 abundant. You farmers should remain on 
 your land, however, and not roam about the 
 world. If you leave your old place, what will 
 become of you? 
 
 "There are no prospects for you here. It 
 may be an easy matter to come here, but the 
 return is more difficult." 
 
 For a while he remained silent, then, as if 
 speaking to himself, he continued:' 
 
 "Forty years ago I arrived here, so one is 
 apt to forget his native place. But sometimes
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 151 
 
 we arc seized by a great longing. William 
 must go over and see the land where his fath- 
 er's cradle rocked. 
 
 "William is my son," said he, pointing to 
 the young man. 
 
 "You will bring back a handful of soil from 
 home and place it in my grave, William?" 
 
 "Yes, father," answered he, in the English 
 tongue. 
 
 "You will place it right on my heart!" 
 
 "Oh yes, father!" 
 
 The old gentleman was moved, but checked 
 his feelings and continued: 
 
 "The boy comprehends the Polish language 
 quite well, yet he prefers to speak English. 
 Yes, whoever finds himself at home here, is 
 lost to the old place, and so it must be. Wil- 
 liam, go up to your sister's house, and tell her 
 we shall have some guests with us." 
 
 William hastened out. His father remained
 
 152 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 for a while mute and seemed to ponder over 
 some problem. Finally he said: 
 
 "Even if one might send you home, it costs 
 a good deal, and you would have no property 
 to live on, even if you did return. All you had 
 is sold; you would come home as beggars. 
 If this girl is sent out to earn her bread, hea- 
 ven knows what may befall her. Now that 
 you both are here, you might as well try to 
 find some work. If you were to live in some 
 country colony the chances are that the 
 girl will be married before long. Then, 
 if the young people come into posses- 
 sion of something, they may want to return 
 home." 
 
 "Did you hear of our colonies in this coun- 
 try?" said he to Lorenz, in an abrupt manner. 
 
 "No, your grace." 
 
 "For heaven's sake, then, why did you emi- 
 grate to a foreign country? In Chicago there
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 153 
 
 are more than twenty thousand persons like 
 you; in Milwaukee as many; in Detroit an- 
 other great number. They work in factories; 
 but the farmer feels best when working in the 
 fields and stepping on his own soil. If you 
 were to go to Illinois, it might be difficult for 
 you to find some suitable piece of land. A 
 New Posen has been founded in Nebraska, I 
 learn; but that is far away, and so is Texas. 
 The railroad fares to these places are high. 
 Borowina would be the best place; besides, I 
 can obtain for you a pass to that place. So 
 you would not need to pay for the journey, 
 but could use what money I gave you for buy- 
 ing land." 
 
 Once more he relapsed into thoughtful- 
 ness, then, in an off-hand manner he con- 
 tinued: 
 
 "Listen, my old friend! In Arkansas a new 
 colony has been founded. The land is good,
 
 154 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 the climate fine, and the land is entirely new. 
 There the Government will give you a hun- 
 dred and sixty acres of land and pay your rail- 
 road fare besides. There are no taxes do 
 you understand me? I shall give you what 
 you need to make a beginning, and procure 
 free passes for you and your daughter. You 
 will proceed as far as Little Rock and drive in 
 a wagon as far as your destination. There 
 you will find other colonists, whom you can 
 join in cultivating the soil. I shall furnish 
 you with letters of introduction also. I mean 
 to help you all I can, for we are sons of one 
 country, we are brethren. I feel a thousand 
 times more sorry for your child than for your- 
 self, understand? You must thank God that 
 I found you. 
 
 "Listen to me, child/' said he to Marys. 
 ''Here is my card. Take it, and preserve it 
 like a great treasure. If you should ever come
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 155 
 
 into trouble; if you should ever find yourself 
 alone and defenseless in the world, seek me. 
 You are a good girl. If I should die, my son 
 will protect you. Do not lose this card. Now 
 follow me!" 
 
 On the way he bought clothes for them and 
 finally brought them to his daughter's house, 
 where, they were kindly received. Every 
 member of this family seemed kind and good, 
 and \Yilliam and Jenny, his sister, received 
 them as old friends. William treated the girl 
 as a lady, which often caused her considerable 
 embarrassment. From time to time, in the 
 evening, a number of ladies paid their visits at 
 the house. All were beautifully dressed ; their 
 hair was arranged according to the latest 
 fashion, and they approached the poor village - 
 child with much kindness, flocked about her, 
 wondered over her beauty and her pale com- 
 plexion, and were embarrassed, in their turn,
 
 156 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 when she knelt down and wanted to kiss their 
 hands. The old gentleman went about the 
 groups, muttering by himself, sometimes be- 
 ing vexed, talking a mixture of English and 
 Polish, discussing with Lorenz the conditions 
 of their native country, reviewing old memor- 
 ies. Sometimes he withdrew in order to con- 
 ceal from the company his emotion. 
 
 When retiring to rest the first night, Marys 
 wept from the bottom of her heart. These 
 people were kinder and better than any she 
 had met before. No \vonder, however, the 
 old gentleman was born in Posen. 
 
 In due time Lorenz and Marys were on 
 their way to Little Rock. In his pocket the 
 farmer carried a hundred dollars, at the 
 thought of which he forgot everything else. 
 Marys herself felt that God's hand was once 
 more over their heads. She now firmly be- 
 lieved that He would help them in days to
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 157 
 
 come, as He had helped them in their troubles 
 thus far. Probably He would also bring to 
 America her Jasko, and unite them and bring 
 them back to Lipince! 
 
 On their way they passed a number of cities 
 and smaller towns. They looked quite differ- 
 ent from New York. Here were woods and 
 fields and small houses, shielded by green fol- 
 iage. Large fields extended to all sides, and 
 they were exactly like those of their old home. 
 At the sight of all this old Lorenz felt his heart 
 expand, so that he would almost call out a 
 hearty greeting to the woods and the fields, 
 where large and small herds of cows and sheep 
 were grazing. Men were at work in the 
 woods. Onward the train sped, further and 
 further out into the wilderness. Houses and 
 other habitations at length became scarce, and 
 finally nothing was seen except the wide, deso- 
 late prairie, where the wind played in the grass
 
 158 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 and shook the numberless wild flowers. Here 
 and there a scant crop of brush was seen, the 
 short branches waving to and fro. High 
 above hung the eagle, scanning with his sharp 
 eyes the deep grass. The train listlessly pur- 
 sued its way, plunging, as it were, with all its 
 might into the distant far away, where the 
 horizon joined the prairie. Occasionally there 
 were seen a number of hares or prairie wolves. 
 Far and wide no house, no dwelling, not even 
 the most primitive village. Only the stations, 
 otherwise the same endless, blooming desert. 
 Lorenz looked out upon it, shaking his head 
 and wondering how people could allow so 
 much land to lie there unused. 
 
 One day and a night, too, had passed in this 
 manner; but on the following day they ap- 
 proached a forest of mighty trees. Numerous 
 vines clung to the old stems, forming a brush 
 that seemed almost impenetrable. Strange
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 151) 
 
 birds were occasionally seen in the green 
 masses of foliage overhead. On seeing this 
 wilderness, this strange, unknown country,, 
 Lorenz could not forbear turning toward 
 Marys, saying: 
 
 "Marys!" 
 
 "What is it, father?" 
 
 "Do you see all this?" 
 
 "Yes, I do." 
 
 "And do you wonder?" 
 
 "Yes, I do wonder." 
 
 Finally they arrived at a river larger than 
 any they had ever seen before, and learned 
 that this was the Mississippi. Late at night 
 they arrived in Little Rock. 
 
 From here they were to proceed as far as 
 Borowina, their destination, where we take 
 leave of them for the present. The second 
 stage of their wanderings was now reached. 
 The third was in the woods, where we shall
 
 160 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 again find them, sharing the toilsome life of 
 the colonist. Was it destined to give them 
 less sorrow, pain and misfortune than all that 
 had preceded?
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 161 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 What was Borowina? A settlement in be- 
 ing. Judging from appearances, the founda- 
 tion of this colony had been laid under the 
 impression that if a name was found the place 
 corresponding to it would soon find itself. At 
 the outset all newspapers printed in the Polish 
 language, and even the American ones in Chi- 
 cago, New York, Buffalo, Detroit and Mil- 
 waukee, all the places where Polanders were 
 represented, and where Polish emigrants were 
 found, had explained in clear and convincing 
 language that whoever among them was de- 
 sirous of becoming wealthy, of preserving 
 their health, of eating well, of living long and 
 dying a peaceful death, might obtain his share 
 
 in an earthly paradise named Borowina, by as- 
 11
 
 162 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 sisting in the colonization and development of 
 the place. The notices contained information 
 to the effect that the state of Arkansas, where 
 Borowina was located, yet presented the ap- 
 pearance of an uncultivated desert district, yet 
 was the healthiest land under the sun. Al- 
 though the town of Memphis, which had been 
 built on the eastern border of the state, near 
 the Mississippi river, might be designed a 
 breeding place of yellow fever, the truth was 
 that neither this nor any other fever was able 
 to cross the great river. These Diseases dread- 
 ed the river for one reason among others, 
 namely, that the Indians on the farther side, 
 belonging to the tribe of the Choctaws, would 
 fall upon them and scalp them without mercy. 
 The fevers themselves quaked before the sight 
 of a redskin. Consequently, the settlers at 
 Borow r ina would live between the fevers in the 
 eastern and the Indians in the western dis-
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 163 
 
 tricts, on neutral soil, and for as much as 
 Borowina would number, a thousand years 
 hence, at least two million inhabitants, each 
 acre of land, which was now offered for one 
 and one-half dollars, would in time be valued 
 something like one thousand dollars per 
 square rod. 
 
 To withstand such prospects and eulogies 
 was no easy matter. In the case of such as 
 were not quite pleased with the prospect of a 
 too close proximity to the Choctaw Indians 
 the assurance was given that this valiant tribe 
 was filled with sympathy with the Polanders, 
 so the most friendly relations only were to be 
 expected. Otherwise it was a well known fact 
 that wherever a railroad crosses the prairies 
 and the woods, and telegraph poles, with their 
 cross-like appearance, had been raised, these 
 crosses would soon become monuments to the 
 destruction of the Indians. Inasmuch as all
 
 14 PIER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 the land in Borowina was owned by a railroad 
 company, the total extinction of the Indians 
 could be but a question of time. 
 
 The land had really been secured by a rail- 
 road company, which gave promise of a con- 
 stant connection between the settlement and 
 the outer world, as well as of an easy disposi- 
 tion of products and a rapid development. 
 The public notices had not mentioned, how- 
 ever, that the railroad in question existed only 
 in the minds of certain promoters, and that 
 those very tracts of land, which the govern- 
 ment had ceded to the railroad, were to yield 
 the fund necessary to the construction of the 
 road. A slight oversight like this is, however, 
 easily pardoned in such an immense affair. 
 With reference to Borowina it made only the 
 slightest difference that the colony, instead of 
 being situated close to a great railroad line, 
 was located in the lone wilderness, where
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 165 
 
 one could move about only with great dif- 
 ficulty. 
 
 This circumstance might lead to great trou- 
 ble, but, after all, it was a matter dependent 
 merely upon the development of the railroad 
 itself. At any rate, the prospectus of this set- 
 tlement should not be read too closely, but 
 viewed in the light that advertisements of 
 this character often grow at the cost of the 
 fruit, so that it is somewhat difficult to separ- 
 ate the grains of truth from the chaff of 
 phrases. So, if one separated all "humbug" 
 from the truth contained in the notices of 
 Borowina, enough alluring facts remained to 
 testify that the colony was neither better nor 
 worse than thousands of others that had been 
 founded in a like manner. 
 
 For many reasons the conditions on which 
 the land was to be had appeared most promis- 
 ing, consequently a large number of Polanders
 
 166 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 from all parts of the country contributed to 
 the development of the new settlement: Mag- 
 yars, Silesians, Galicians, former inhabitants 
 of Posen and Lithuania; people from the fac- 
 tories in Chicago and Milwaukee, who longed 
 once more for the free life in the country, 
 seized with great eagerness the opportunity of 
 being removed from the smoke- and dust- 
 laden atmosphere in the large cities and of 
 gaining for themselves a free life in the exten- 
 sive districts of Arkansas. 
 
 Those to whom Texas seemed too hot, Min- 
 nesota too cold, Michigan too moist and Illi- 
 nois too barren, joined the rest, and several 
 hundred persons, mostly men, but also women 
 and children, started for Arkansas. The ap- 
 pellation, "bloody Arkansas," was not especi- 
 ally horrifying to these colonists. The land 
 really was swarming with rapacious Indians, 
 outlaws and robbers; with wild squatters that
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 1G7 
 
 preyed upon the woods and brought large 
 amounts of wood away down the Red river; 
 with numberless adventurers and vagabonds, 
 who had fled from the gallows. Even if the 
 western part of the state was in those days the 
 scene of terrible rights between the redskins 
 and the white hunters of the buffalo, this 
 could not be avoided, and against such dan- 
 gers the colonists could guard themselves one 
 way or other. When a Magyar is armed and 
 surrounded by his own men, he will not eas- 
 ily yield to violence, and anyone that might 
 presume too much upon his rights, would 
 soon learn that he can be neither bent nor 
 broken. It is also a well known fact that the 
 Magyars are very apt to hold together, and 
 that one neighbor will always be ready to help 
 another. 
 
 The majority of the colonists assembled in 
 Little Rock and Claresville, the nearest towns
 
 168 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 of importance near Borowina, which was situ- 
 ated some twelve hours' ride from either. Un- 
 fortunately, the road ran through meadow- 
 land, woods and places where stagnant water 
 was abundant. Some persons who would not 
 await the common start, had disappeared 
 without a trace. Later, the remaining settlers 
 reached the place and pitched their tents in 
 the woods. 
 
 In truth, at their arrival they were disap- 
 pointed at the appearance of the place. They 
 had hoped for open land and some forest, but 
 found that they were required to clear the 
 primitive forest. Black oaks, redwood, light 
 platanes and dark sycamores stood close to- 
 gether, as a firm mass. This wilderness bore 
 no promising appearance; the ground was 
 covered with moss, and high up the tenacious 
 vines spun their net around the trees, forming 
 a living bridge, a dense infiltration almost en-
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 169 
 
 tirely impenetrable. It was not like at home, 
 where one could look out among the tree- 
 tops. He who ventured into the thicket 
 would soon lose sight of the sky above, lose 
 his way in the dark and expose himself to 
 innumerable dangers. Some of the Magyars 
 viewed the gigantic oaks with distrust and 
 feared their hands and axes would not prevail 
 against them. Of course it is pleasant enough 
 to command the use of timber for one's own 
 house and for burning; to be protected against 
 the cold and to make one's own calculations; 
 but to clear a hundred and sixty acres of 
 primitive forest without the help of others, 
 pulling the deep roots out of the soil, and lit- 
 tle by little make the land yield a profit, this 
 would require years and years of one's life. 
 
 Yet, as there was no other choice, the set- 
 tlers went to work at once, crossed themselves, 
 seized their axes with a sigh and began to cut
 
 170 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 down the trees. Henceforth the click of the 
 axe was the only sound heard in the forest, 
 and sometimes it was even accompanied by a 
 song of many voices. 
 
 The colony was centered in an imposing 
 square in the depth of the forest, where the 
 town was to be located. A school and a 
 church were planned to form the center of the 
 settlement. It would require some time, how- 
 ever, before these plans could be carried out, 
 so at present the wagons must serve as houses, 
 where the settlers arranged things as 
 comfortably as circumstances would allow. 
 The camp was well defended against attacks 
 from without, and contained even a grazing 
 place for cattle, sheep, horses and mules which 
 were under the protection of young men well 
 armed. The settlers slept in the wagons, or 
 around the fires, wherever a clearing had been 
 made.
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 171 
 
 Women and children remained in the day- 
 time inside the limits of the camp, while the 
 men were at work in the clearings. At night 
 the cries of the wild beasts were heard in the 
 surrounding woods, especially jaguars and 
 wolves. The terrible gray bears, which were 
 less afraid of the fires, would sometimes ap- 
 proach the wagons quite close, therefore cries 
 for help and the reports of guns were often 
 heard in the night. Such of the settlers as had 
 come from the wilderness of Texas, were 
 mostly experienced hunters; they usually pro- 
 vided the camp with fresh game, such as ante- 
 lopes, deer and buffaloes. Others fed chiefly 
 upon the provisions they had procured in Lit- 
 tle Rock and Claresville, and which consisted 
 chiefly in corn flour and salt meat. Of sheep, 
 nearly every family had procured a number, 
 which were successively killed for food. 
 
 In the evening, when the great camp fires
 
 172 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 were started, the young people, instead of 
 seeking at once their resting places, amused 
 themselves with dances. Some one of their 
 number, perhaps a violinist in former times, 
 had brought, his violin, and when its thin tones 
 were lost in the open air, the people accom- 
 panied by tin cans and other queer instru- 
 ments. The heavy work proceeded steadily, 
 but slowly. First the cabins had to be built, 
 and for this purpose timber must be procured 
 with as little delay as possible. The redwood 
 was quite easily worked, but it was scarcer 
 than any other kind. A number of the settlers 
 had pitched their canvas tents on their land; 
 others, especially young men, who did not ask 
 for a pillow under their heads at night, and 
 who began to grow tired of the incessant work 
 in the brush, began to study the possibility 
 of cultivating the soil. For the first time 
 the Arkansas air began to vibrate with the
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 173 
 
 cry with which the oxen are driven forward. 
 
 In general, it might be said that such a bur- 
 den of work rested upon the settlers that they 
 hardly knew where to begin. 
 
 It was found that the Borowina settlers had 
 bought the land of the railroad company in 
 good faith. No one had ever set foot on it 
 before, otherwise it would have been a diffi- 
 cult matter to dispose of a primeval forest, 
 since prairie land could be had at a much less 
 figure. When the representatives of the rail- 
 road company arrived, they were met by a 
 delegation of settlers and proceeded at once to 
 distribute the available area of land to the 
 colonists individually; but difficulties arose, 
 and before long the party quarreled, and in a 
 few days the representatives left the settlement 
 for the alleged purpose of procuring, in Clares- 
 ville, the necessary leveling instruments. They 
 never returned to the place.
 
 174 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 It was soon found that the settlers had pro- 
 cured claims of unequal size. The worst of it 
 all was, however, that no one knew where his 
 claim was, or how it should be located. Nor 
 did anyone know how the cultivation of this 
 foreign soil was to be carried out. If the set- 
 tlers had been Germans, they would have 
 cleared the land by a united effort, so far as it 
 was fit for cultivation, and afterward divided 
 it into lots, or plats, of equal size, built huts, 
 and left the perfection of each allotment for 
 agricultural purposes to each individual set- 
 tler. But every Polander had only his own 
 land in view and cared nothing about the rest. 
 Besides, each man was anxious that his house 
 should be built as near as possible to the for- 
 tified camp and the river. This occasioned 
 much trouble, especially as one day the large 
 wagon of a certain "Pan Gruenmanski" ap- 
 peared on the scene. Pan Gruenmanski was
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 175 
 
 hitherto known among the Germans only as 
 Grnenmann; but in Borowina he deemed it 
 necessary, for business reasons, to add a "ski" 
 to his Christian name. His canvas-covered 
 wagon bore a large sign on which was painted 
 the word "Saloon," and beneath this the le- 
 gend: "Brandy, Whisky, Gin." 
 
 How it came to pass that this wagon arrived 
 safely in the camp without having suffered 
 any molest from the robbers or the Indians 
 that haunted the dangerous road between 
 Claresville and Borowina, was never known. 
 How the dangerous redskins that swarmed 
 the country in larger and smaller bands could 
 refuse to take Mr. Gruenmann's scalp, re- 
 mained this gentleman's own secret. The fact 
 remained that he arrived safely and made ex- 
 cellent business on the very first day after his 
 arrival. Trouble and strife were abroad at 
 once, and in the course of the next few days
 
 376 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 bloomed beautifully throughout the settle- 
 ment. The more earnest objects of the ani- 
 mated discussion at once allied themselves to 
 a longing for the old home. Those settlers 
 who had come from the northern states had 
 much to say in favor of their former homes 
 and against those in the south, of which Boro- 
 wina was the nearest example. There was 
 developed a jargon composed of perverted 
 Polish, with an admixture of English, partly 
 pure, partly adapted. 
 
 Among the colonists we find our friends 
 Lorenz Toporek and Marys, his daughter. 
 They had arrived safely in Borowina, Arkan- 
 sas, and shared the fate of their brethren. At 
 the outset they were, however, better situated 
 than the rest. The primeval forest is a much 
 better soil to a poor man than New York can 
 ever be; besides, they were not altogether pen- 
 niless. They possessed a wagon and some
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 177 
 
 implements, which had been procured at rea- 
 sonable rates at Claresville. Homesickness 
 was their only affliction; but it was, too, a 
 source of much suffering to them. Still, the 
 hard work required of both did not permit of 
 much reflection. Lorenz worked nearly all 
 day in the woods, in order to gather as rap- 
 idly as possible the necessary material for a 
 log house. The girl prepared their meals, 
 washed clothes in the river and busied herself 
 from morning to night. In spite of her toil- 
 some life the work in the open air soon ef- 
 faced all traces of the sickness which resulted 
 from her wretched life in New York. The 
 fresh, cool air in the woods had a favorable 
 effect upon her whole system. The hot sun 
 burned her face until it assumed a golden red 
 hue. The young men who had come to Boro- 
 wina from nearly every state in the Union, 
 
 and who were always ready, on the slightest 
 12
 
 178 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 provocation, to assail one another, agreed in 
 their wonder at the girFs beauty, noted the 
 soft, mild, even humble expression in her love- 
 ly face, the light in her eyes and her golden 
 hair. The girl's beauty was a direct help to 
 Lorenz. He had chosen for himself a certain 
 strip of the forest, and no one contested his 
 right of ownership, as all the young men sup- 
 ported him. Many of them helped him in his 
 work, and the old man realized quite readily 
 in what direction the wind was blowing, in 
 consequence whereof he chose not to discour- 
 age any one. 
 
 "My daughter is like a flower, like a verit- 
 able princess," said he. "Whoever appears to 
 me the best lad in the settlement, will suc- 
 ceed in winning her. I am not disposed to let 
 any and all take her, for she is really the 
 daughter of a good family. Anyone that 
 pleases me well may take her; but she is not to
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 179 
 
 be had by any vagabond who may call for 
 her." 
 
 So, those who helped the old man were 
 really working for their own cause. 
 
 Old Lorenz succeeded almost better than 
 anyone else, and he might even have had 
 splendid prospects, if the colony, as such, 
 had given promise of a successful future. 
 But things became worse and worse, as time 
 passed. Weeks came and went. Large piles 
 of wood lay heaped around the camp; here 
 and there an unfinished house was seen pop- 
 ping out, and yet the work that had been 
 done was but a child's play compared to what 
 must be carried out in time to come. The 
 green walls of the primeval forest yielded but 
 slowly before the axe. Those who had ven- 
 tured into the depths of the woods declared 
 that after all there was no end of the trees. 
 There were terrible swamps and foul-smelling,
 
 180 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 stagnant pools, and some even held that there 
 were terrible monsters, ghosts and spirits hid- 
 den in among the dense shrubbery. Big ser- 
 pents and other equally horrible creatures 
 inhabited the sylvan depths. Shrubs with 
 fearful thorns impeded the steps of the travel- 
 er, tore his clothes to shreds and blocked the 
 way everywhere. m A boy from Chicago stated 
 that he had seen even the Evil One himself, 
 as he raised his gray, thick head out of one 
 of the ponds and yelled so terribly that he, the 
 boy, turned away and fled to the camp in mor- 
 tal horror. The Texas colonists explained, 
 however, that the apparition was nothing but 
 a buffalo, but he refused to trust their word. 
 These fantastic reports added to the natural 
 superstition in the settlers. A few days after 
 the supposed appearance of the devil, some of 
 the strongest men went into the forest, but 
 did not return. Some became quite ill, suf-
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 181 
 
 fering pains in their back, in consequence of 
 the hard work to which they resorted in order 
 to gain headway against the stubborness of 
 the forest; some were taken sick with fever. 
 The strife arising on account of the distribu- 
 tion of the land led to actual fighting, and 
 even to bloodshed. The cattle that had not 
 been marked with the owner's name were fre- 
 quently taken up by others. At length the 
 firm rows of wagons were dissolved ; each man 
 wanted to live as far away from his neighbor 
 as possible. So it became impossible to guard 
 the animals as before; the sheep ran wild and 
 were often lost in the woods. Still one thing 
 became more and more clear to all, namely, 
 that unless the new fields yielded as they 
 should, food would become scarce and actual 
 want of life's hardest necessity stare into their 
 faces. Little by little the men lost courage, 
 and some even abandoned work altogether.
 
 182 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 They might have continued their efforts, if 
 they had only known what was theirs and 
 what belonged to their neighbors. The well- 
 founded complaints on the part of the leaders 
 grew louder and louder. The settlers com- 
 plained that they were facing great misery, 
 and that no effort would enable them to suc- 
 ceed in this wilderness. From time to time a 
 few that had succeeded in keeping their 
 money, left the place for Claresville. But the 
 majority, having no means whatever, and 
 whose w r elfare was bound to the forest, 
 could not improve their circumstances by 
 taking leave of what they possessed. 
 They could merely wring their hands in des- 
 pair. 
 
 The click of the axe had nearly died out in 
 the forest, which seemed, in its majestic re- 
 pose, to brave every effort on the part of the 
 men. "We may contrive to live here a few
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 183 
 
 years," said one peasant to another; "then 
 there will be an end of it." 
 
 One evening Lorenz came up to his daugh- 
 ter and said: 
 
 "I foresee that this place, and all of us, are 
 doomed to destruction." 
 
 "God's will," returned the girl. "Having 
 provided for us thus far He will not leave us 
 now." 
 
 She raised her blue eyes to the sky and 
 seemed perfectly sure that nothing could 
 harm them. Then a big hunter from Texas 
 spoke up and said: 
 
 "Nor will we leave you." 
 
 She thought there was one, only one, with 
 whom she would care to walk through life, 
 and that was her Jasko, in Lipince. He, how- 
 ever, had not kept his promise of following 
 her and protecting her against the world's 
 inclemencies.
 
 184 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 That Marys should not recognize the hope- 
 less situation of the settlers, was hardly pos- 
 sible; yet God had saved them from their 
 hardest need, and her sufferings had chas- 
 tened her soul so that nothing would shake 
 or shatter her faith in God's providence for 
 good. 
 
 She also thought that the old gentleman in 
 New York, who had saved them out of their 
 former wretchedness, and who had given her 
 his card, would, in case it came to the worst, 
 and they appealed to him, once more 
 assist them. Had he not promised his as- 
 sistance? 
 
 The affairs in the colony, however, became 
 worse and worse. A number of settlers ran 
 away successively in the dead of night, and 
 no one learned their fate. Finally old Lorenz 
 became ill from sheer exhaustion. For two 
 davs he tried to withstand the attack; on the
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 185 
 
 third morning he was unable to arise. The 
 girl went into the woods and gathered 
 enough moss to make a comfortable couch 
 on a log-house wall that was all ready to be 
 raised, made him as comfortable as possible 
 and prepared some strengthening food for 
 him. 
 
 "Marys," whispered the peasant, "I feel 
 death is drawing near. He is nearly through 
 the forest. You will remain alone in the world 
 when I am gone. God has punished my 
 great sins against you, how I brought you 
 across the ocean. Death will be hard on me." 
 
 "Father," returned the girl. "God would 
 have punished-me, unless I had remained by 
 you." 
 
 "If I only did not have to leave you alone 
 in the world; if my blessing could only fall 
 upon your marriage, then death would not be 
 so bitter. Marys, my child, take Orlik, the
 
 186 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 big hunter, for your husband; he is a good 
 boy, and will not leave you unprotected." 
 
 Orlik, one of the Texas colonists, who 
 heard this, fell upon his knees beside the old 
 man's couch. 
 
 "Father," cried he, "give us your blessing. 
 I love your daughter better than my own life. 
 I know the forest, and she will not be harmed, 
 as long as she remains by me." 
 
 He rested his eyes on the girl's beautiful 
 face, but she threw herself at her father's side 
 and said: 
 
 "Dear father, do not force me. I belong 
 to him, who has once received my pledge, and 
 to no one else." 
 
 "You will never belong to any other man 
 than me," cried Orlik, "or I shall go and kill 
 him. You shall be mine, or that of nobody 
 else. All will be destroyed here, and so will 
 you, unless I save you."
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 187 
 
 Orlik had stated the truth. The settlement 
 was on the point of dissolution. One week 
 passed, and another. The provisions began 
 to be exhausted, and many found themselves 
 obliged to kill their working animals for food. 
 The fever made more and more victims; the 
 people now cursed, now cried to God for help. 
 One Sunday they were all assembled to unite 
 in a prayer for deliverance; from hundreds of 
 mouths it sounded: "Holy, Almighty God, 
 our Father, have pity upon us!" Even the 
 forest was silent during this prayer. As the 
 voices died out, the old trees soared aloof 
 anew, as if they meant to threaten the men 
 who meant to conquer its power; as if it 
 wanted to designate itself the king and mas- 
 ter. 
 
 Orlik alone maintained that they should re- 
 main firm and do their best to conquer all 
 obstacles.
 
 188 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 The people looked at the big hunter and 
 were reassured once more. Such as had known 
 him from Texas were loud in their praise of 
 him, for even there he had been known wide- 
 ly for his great strength and ability in using 
 all kinds of weapons. He went out alone to 
 hunt the grizzly bear. In San Antonio, where 
 he had hitherto lived, it was well known that 
 he often remained for weeks and months 
 alone in the wilderness, yet returned home 
 unmolested. The sun had burned his skin to 
 such an extent that people had applied to him 
 the name of "The Black Hunter." It was 
 even murmured that he had roamed about the 
 Mexican borders as a highway robber; but 
 this was untrue. Still he would sometimes re- 
 turn to the camp with an Indian scalp, and 
 only abandoned this on being threatened with 
 excommunication by the priest. In Borowina 
 he did mostly as he pleased. The woods fed
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 189 
 
 and clothed him. When the settlers began to 
 run away and to lose courage, he assumed the 
 government of affairs and ordered everyone 
 about according to his own will. This he 
 could do all the more easily, as the people 
 from Texas stood by him in all that he did. 
 As he went into the woods shortly after the 
 prayer meeting, the people felt instinctively 
 that something would happen. 
 
 The sun went down. High above the 
 dark tops of sycamores there remained for 
 a while the glimmer of the last rays. They 
 finally faded out and disappeared. During 
 the twilight a wind sprang up from the 
 south. 
 
 The night had already set in, when the set- 
 tlers observed a singular, lurid light high 
 above the trees. It grew more and more 
 clear and soon shed its grewsome glimmer 
 upon evtry object in view.
 
 190 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 'The forest burns, the forest is afire!" cried 
 the people all around. 
 
 Immense flocks of birds passed above their 
 heads with anxious cries. The cattle in the 
 camp bellowed and wailed dismally, as they 
 felt the approaching danger; dogs yelled; men 
 and women ran about distracted, fearing that 
 the fire bore directly down upon them. But 
 the powerful south wind drove the flames in 
 the opposite direction. Again and again a 
 fresh blaze arose from new quarters. The 
 flames met and time and again they bore 
 down upon the defenseless camp in wild fury. 
 Mighty sycamores fell down with a crash. 
 Lurid tongues of fire shot in through the dry 
 leaves on the ground under the trees. The 
 whizzing and roaring of the flames, the crack- 
 ing of the branches, the roar of the wind and 
 the cries of the wild animals filled the air all 
 about. High trees burned like gigantic
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 191 
 
 torches, sank and fell. The outlines of burn- 
 ing vines stood clear against the darkened 
 background. The ruddy sky received an im- 
 age of the immense ocean of fire, which made 
 the night as light as day. At length the forest 
 looked like a sea of fire which raised its waves 
 against everything distant or near. 
 
 Smoke, heat and the smell of burned wood 
 filled the air. Although the settlers were ex- 
 posed to no real danger they ran about, cry- 
 ing out in a terrible fright, until the dark fig- 
 ure of Orlik plunged out of the woods. His 
 dark face was covered with soot and dirt. As 
 the settlers flocked around him from all sides, 
 he leaned on his musket and said, in an un- 
 naturally quiet tone: 
 
 "We shall now see the end of this forest. 
 There is no more to clear away. I have 
 burned it all off. There will be as much clear 
 land around here as anyone will want.
 
 192 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 He went over to Marys and said to her: 
 
 "You must now be mine, for it is I who 
 burned the forest. No one here is stronger 
 than I am." 
 
 The girl quaked beneath the fiery glance of 
 the big hunter, and he seemed fearful to her. 
 For the first time she thanked God that Jasko 
 had remained in Lipince. 
 
 The fire continued for a while, but finally 
 disappeared. A gray, rainy day rose on the 
 settlement, and some attempted to penetrate 
 into the woods, but the heat drove them back. 
 On the second day a dense fog covered every- 
 thing far and near, developed into rain by 
 nightfall and finally settled as a veritable del- 
 uge. Smoke and fire had probably prevented 
 the outbreak, for spring was well advanced, 
 and a continuous fall of rain might be ex- 
 pected. And besides, the stagnant pools and 
 marshy places developed a disagreeable smell.
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 193 
 
 The site of the camp was converted into a 
 swamp. Many of the people, who had re- 
 mained in this wet place a day and a night 
 were taken sick. Once more some left the col- 
 ony, intending to proceed to Claresville, but 
 soon they returned stating that the river pas- 
 sage was blocked, owing to the rise of the 
 water above its normal level. The situation 
 of the colonists was now a terrible one, for 
 their food supply threatened to exhaust itself, 
 and there was no other possibility of reaching 
 Claresville in any other way than by crossing 
 the river, so there could be brought no new 
 supplies. Lorenz and his daughter had bet- 
 ter prospects than the rest, for Black Orlik 
 protected them above and before all others. 
 Every morning he shot or caught some animal 
 for them. He had made a tent of canvas, 
 which protected the old man and his daugh- 
 ter against the worst rain. They were almost 
 13
 
 194 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 forced to accept his help, for he would hear 
 no opposition; yet they grew more and more 
 dependent upon him and felt all the more 
 obliged to him, as he demanded no return for 
 his services. Still, he claimed a right to keep 
 the girl. 
 
 "Am I then the only girl in the world?" 
 objected Marys. "Go and seek someone else 
 for your wife. You know well enough that 
 I love another man." 
 
 But Orlik answered: 
 
 "Even if I went from one end of the world 
 to the other, I should find no one like you. 
 To me you are the only one in the world, and 
 mine you must be. What would be your fate, 
 if your father died? You would be altogether 
 left to me; you would be obliged to seek my 
 help, and I would take you by force, but 
 without doing you the least harm. You are 
 mine, mine alone. Who dares contest my
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 195 
 
 right ? Whom should I fear. Let your Jasko 
 come, so much the better!" 
 
 So far as Lorenz was concerned, Orlik was 
 right in everything he said or did. The old 
 man's sickness developed more and more to- 
 ward a fatal stage; in his fever phantasies he 
 talked of his sins, and said that God would 
 no more allow him to return to his beloved 
 Lipince. Orlik's promise of returning to Li- 
 pince with Marys, if she would consent to mar- 
 ry him, roused the girl's terror, instead of her 
 joy. She could not consent to return home 
 a mere stranger to Jasko, rather would she 
 die alone in the wilderness. 
 
 A still greater calamity was, however, 
 threatening the colony. 
 
 The rain fell more and more heavy. One 
 dark night, when Orlik had gone out hunting, 
 a cry rose in different parts of the settlement: 
 "The water rises! The water rises!" The
 
 196 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 people, roused from their sleep, saw through 
 the dark a great, heaving sheet of water, which 
 crept steadily toward the camp. From the 
 directions of the river and of the half burned 
 woods was heard a rushing of water, which 
 seemed to approach with fearful swiftness. 
 
 A cry of horror went out from the camp. 
 Women and children fled in wagons and ve- 
 hicles of every description. The men who had 
 but themselves to care for fled toward the 
 western part of the protecting ramparts, 
 which were higher than on the other sides. 
 The water was not yet deep, but rose rapidly. 
 The rush from the side where the forest was, 
 or had been, grew more and more threaten- 
 ing; cries of terror and calls for help rent the 
 air. Soon the few animals that had remained 
 within the palings of the camp began to lose 
 their foothold, and the position grew more 
 and more threatening. The rain fell in tor-
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 197 
 
 rents and with increased fury from one min- 
 ute to another. The distant rush approached 
 more and more closely, the waves breaking 
 through the camp and loosening all movable 
 objects. The inundation was not the usual 
 one which results from persistent rains, but 
 had for its cause the swelling of the Arkan- 
 sas river and its tributaries. It was a perfect 
 unfettering of the elements, which caused 
 death and destruction everywhere within the 
 reach of wind and water. 
 
 One wagon standing close to the forest 
 ceded to the power of the water and was up- 
 set. The heartrending cries of the women 
 caused some of the men to glide down from 
 their position on the rampart, but the water 
 seized them before they realized the danger, 
 and carried them away through the dark. The 
 inmates of the other wagons fled to the tented 
 roofs amidst the pelting rain. The dark grew
 
 198 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 more and more dense. Here and there a beam, 
 a board, or the like, was seen protruding; to 
 some of them a human being clung in frantic 
 attempts of preserving his life. Here a hu- 
 man body floated past, there a cow struggled 
 against the flow of the water; over yonder a 
 hand reached out for support, but finding 
 none. 
 
 The rush of the water became more and 
 more violent and soon deafened every sound 
 from man or beast. One wagon tottered and 
 sank after another; everything seemed 
 doomed to destruction. 
 
 In the meantime what had become of Lor- 
 enz and Marys? The wooden wall upon 
 which the sick man had been laid saved him 
 and his child from immediate danger. As the 
 water rose higher and higher it glided out in 
 the direction of the forest, circled around the 
 camp and was finally driven in among the
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 199 
 
 trees, through darkness and night. The girl, 
 wringing her hands in agony, kneeled by her 
 father's side and prayed aloud to God for 
 help and guidance. The reply was the same 
 endless roar and rush of the wet element 
 driven onward by the relentless wind. The 
 tent blew away, and even the raft that sup- 
 ported them might at any time be driven in 
 among the trees in such a manner that they 
 were upset. At length it was anchored by a 
 tree extending its branches far into all 
 directions. From one of these branches 
 sounded at the same moment a voice calling 
 to Marys: 
 
 "Take the gun and stand at the other side 
 of the raft, so it will not be capsized when I 
 jump over!" 
 
 It was Orlik, who a moment later stood by 
 Marys on the tottering raft. 
 
 "Marys," said he. "as I told you already, I
 
 200 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 shall not part from you. By God's help I shall 
 save you both from this danger." 
 
 He tore an axe, which always followed him, 
 from his belt, cut off a common branch of the 
 tree near by and made of it a rough oar, by 
 means of which he set the raft afloat, where- 
 upon he began to row. When they had with 
 some difficulty reached the real bed of the 
 river, their frail skiff was at once seized by the 
 current and carried down the broad sheet of 
 turbulent water at a furious rate. From time 
 to time Orlik tried to stop the raft by a tree 
 or a bank, but in vain; he soon was obliged to 
 concentrate all his effort upon the task of 
 keeping it out of the way of the many obsta- 
 cles that always presented themselves. His 
 strength seemed to grow, and in spite of dark- 
 ness he always saw the dangers ahead. One 
 hour passed after another. Everyone else 
 would have surrendered to the strain, but he
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 201 
 
 felt no weakness. By dawn they had trav- 
 ersed the woody regions and reached open 
 land, or, rather, open sea, for nothing was 
 visible except the yellow waters that rushed 
 along, moved by the strong wind and cur- 
 rent. 
 
 In the meantime the day grew brighter and 
 brighter. Orlik, seeing no obstacle far of 
 near, turned toward Marys, saying: 
 
 "Now you are mine, for I have saved you 
 from death." 
 
 His head was uncovered; his sunburnt face 
 bore witness of the strain he had undergone; 
 his whole appearance expressed such indomi- 
 table power that for the first time Marys dared 
 not gainsay him. 
 
 "Marys," said the hunter, "my beloved!" 
 
 "Where are we drifting?" asked she, desir- 
 ing to turn his attention to something else. 
 
 "I do not care, as long as I remain by you."
 
 202 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 "Had you not better use the oar and try to 
 reach land somewhere?" 
 
 Orlik took the oar once more and made an 
 attempt to alter their course. Old Lorenz, in 
 the meantime, rested on his couch. Now 
 shaken by the fever that raged in his blood, 
 now lying back in the stupor of exhaustion, 
 he grew weaker and weaker. His cup of suf- 
 fering was full; the body could offer no fur- 
 ther resistance. The great, dreamless sleep of 
 death neared with quick steps. Toward noon 
 he awoke and said: 
 
 "My child, I shall not see the dawn of to- 
 morrow. Oh, my daughter, would that I had 
 never left Lipince and never brought you 
 away from there. But God is merciful, and I 
 have suffered so much that he will forgive my 
 sins. Bury me wherever you can, and let Or- 
 lik bring you to the gentleman in New York, 
 who is so good, and who will have mercy upon
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 203 
 
 you and send you back to Lipince. I shall 
 never see Lipince again. Oh, God, be merci- 
 ful and allow my soul to return to my native 
 place!" 
 
 Once more the fever seized his body; he 
 lost his conscience and became delirious. 
 
 "Oh, God's holy Mother!" cried he, "unto 
 
 thee do I commend my soul. Throw 
 
 me not into the water, I am no dog." 
 
 Conscience returned once more, and he said 
 in a pitiful voice: 
 
 "Forgive me, my child, forgive me!" 
 
 The girl kneeled by him, in wild grief, and 
 Orlik used his oar, scarcely knowing where 
 they went, for tears blinded his eyes. 
 
 Toward evening the weather grew more 
 calm. The setting sun looked out upon the 
 immense range of water. No land was yet vis- 
 ible anywhere. The peasant's last hour had 
 come. God had mercy upon him and per-
 
 204 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 mitted him to pass away in peace. First he 
 spoke with regret of Poland. "I have left 
 Poland, Poland in the old world!" said he, and 
 by degrees his imagination carried his spirit 
 back to that beloved place. The old gentle- 
 man in New York had enabled him to become 
 free and to return home with his child. They 
 are on the ocean; the steamer moves on, day 
 and night, until he sees the harbor of Ham- 
 burg, whence he set out on that fearful voy- 
 age. He passes different cities, where the 
 German language sounds in his ear; onward 
 the train is speeding, onward to the spot of his 
 beloved home. They approach nearer and 
 nearer; a great joy fills his whole being; a 
 sweet, well-known air surrounds him once 
 more. His poor old heart hammers within 
 him with joy. Oh, God, there are the fields, 
 there the forests, the houses and the church- 
 steeples. There a peasant, with his lamb-
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 205 
 
 skin's cap, walks behind the plow. He stretches 
 out his arms: "Neighbor, neighbor, listen!" 
 His voice fails him, but presently the coun- 
 ty-seat comes into view, and thereupon Li- 
 pince. He walks along the road with Marys, 
 weeping. It is springtime, the air is full of 
 May-bugs, and is it not the sound of the vil- 
 lage bells that is heard at a distance? Holy 
 Christ, that there should be so much joy for 
 him, a sinful man! Now only this little hill, 
 and there is the cross and the finger-post 
 pointing toward Lipince. They no more walk, 
 but fly across the well-known landmarks^ the 
 finger-post and the cross. And the peasant 
 falls upon his knees, embracing the cross, cry- 
 ing aloud for joy, touching with his lips the 
 soil of his beloved home. 
 
 Yes, there they are. But on the raft lies 
 the lifeless body, while the soul remains where 
 there is peace and joy.
 
 206 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 In vain the girl calls aloud: "Father, dear 
 father!" Poor child, he will return to you 
 no more: he would rather remain in Lip- 
 ince. 
 
 It is night once more. 
 
 Orlik, suffering with hunger, was almost 
 ready to drop his paddle. Marys kneeled by 
 her dead father praying for him in a broken 
 tone. Far and wide the same endless sheet of 
 water. 
 
 They appeared to have been seized by the 
 strong current of the widened river, and were 
 carried down the stream with great rapidity. 
 It was impossible to guide the course of the 
 raft. There might be whirlpools, too, which 
 would be likely to turn the frail skiff around 
 and around. So Orlik kept a close lookout, 
 when presently he cried: 
 
 "By Christ, there is a light!" 
 
 Marys looked in the direction to which he
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 207 
 
 pointed, and she, too, saw a light that was 
 reflected in the water. 
 
 "It is a ship from Claresville," said Orlik. 
 "The Yankees have sent out a saving party, 
 and they will take us aboard. Marys, I shall 
 save you yet." 
 
 With a great effort he continued the 
 work of steering the raft. The light drew 
 nearer and nearer, and finally a large ves- 
 sel became visible. It was yet far off, 
 but came nearer and nearer. Yet, after a 
 while Orlik noticed that it was farther 
 off than at first. 
 
 They had been seized by a current which 
 carried them farther and farther away from the 
 boat. Besides, the branch broke in Orlik's 
 hand, and so they were deprived of every 
 means of guiding the course of the raft. The 
 light became fainter and fainter. Presently 
 their progress was stopped by a tree which
 
 208 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 caught the floating wall from underneath, and 
 so they were unable to progress further. 
 
 Both called for help, but the rush of the 
 water deafened their voices. 
 
 "I must fire the gun," said Orlik. "Per- 
 haps they may hear that and see us." 
 
 But the shot made no sound, for the gun- 
 powder had become wet. 
 
 Orlik, growing desperate, threw himself 
 down upon the raft and lay quiet for a while, 
 like in a stupor. At length he arose and said: 
 
 "Marys, I should have run away with any 
 other girl, perhaps, and brought her away with 
 me. So I wanted to do with you, too, but 
 dared not do it, for I love you. I have roamed 
 about the world like a wolf, and strong men 
 have been afraid of me. It was for me to be 
 held in check by you. If you cannot love me, 
 death will be welcome. I shall save you, or 
 die. But if I die, pray for me, dear, and
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 209 
 
 weep over me! Marys, Marys, pray for me!" 
 And before the girl realized what he meant, 
 he had jumped into the water and begun to 
 swim. For a while she could see how his 
 strong arms cleaved the water. He was an 
 excellent swimmer. But soon he disappeared 
 before her eyes. He had set out in the direc- 
 tion of the ship to seek help for her. The 
 numerous currents played with him and car- 
 ried him out of his course, now here, now 
 there. In spite of all his efforts he proceeded 
 but slowly. The yellow, muddy water, came 
 into his eyes, but he raised his head and 
 strained his eyes to keep the steamer in sight. 
 One large wave carried him swiftly forward, 
 another took him out of his course. His 
 breath came more and more heavily; his feet 
 were benumbed. He doubted whether he 
 would be able to reach the ship, then the 
 sound of the girl's voice sounded again in his
 
 210 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 ear, as she had called for help, and his arms re- 
 gained their former strength. He might at 
 any time be seized by a current that he did 
 not know, but continued, in spite of all obsta- 
 cles, his perilous plodding through the muddy 
 water, and finally the ship's lanterns seemed 
 to draw nearer and nearer. The swimmer 
 doubles his effort; the current threatens to 
 draw him down, but he fights the waters in 
 agony, until once more his power is exhaust- 
 ed and he feels near sinking. A few more 
 strokes, and he is dazed by faintness. He can- 
 not see the lanterns, but struggles and strug- 
 gles, and finally gathers himself enough to 
 call for help. But the arms refuse their serv- 
 ice; he can keep above water no longer. One 
 wave after another rolls over and past him; 
 he cannot see; he can hardly breathe; then a 
 sound of the swift strokes of oars reaches his 
 cars. With one last effort he repeats his cry
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 211 
 
 for help, and it is heard. A boat is nearing 
 rapidly. Orlik, however, sinks, and the strong 
 undercurrent seizes him, carrying away his 
 body to a moist, unknown grave. 
 
 Marys, alone with her father's body on the 
 raft, looks anxiously toward the far-away 
 light. It draws nearer and nearer, and the 
 girl watches it, until a boat glides out of the 
 dark, and she cries for help in frantic despair. 
 
 "Hello, Smith," said a voice, "I'll be 
 hanged if there isn't somebody crying for help 
 again!" 
 
 A few minutes later she was grasped by 
 strong hands and pulled over into the boat. 
 But Orlik had disappeared forever. 
 
 In two months Marys left the hospital at 
 Little Rock. In the meantime, enough mon- 
 ey had been gathered together to enable her 
 to reach New York. Still, owing to her ignor- 
 ance of the world and the people surrounding-
 
 212 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 her, she must pass part of the way on foot. 
 There were many who pitied the weak-look- 
 ing girl with the large, blue eyes, who looked 
 like a shadow more than like a live being, 
 and asked with tears for every small favor she 
 needed. She realized, too, that circum- 
 stances, and not mankind, had been the cause 
 of her troubles. What should a poor Polish 
 field flower like she what should she do 
 amidst the turmoil of American life? How 
 could she support herself? The wheels of that 
 gigantic machinery must tear her away and 
 crush her, as wagon wheels crush the flow r ers 
 in their track. 
 
 But in spite of it all she reached her desti- 
 nation. At length her thin hand reached for 
 the bell of the house in Water street, New 
 York, where her and her father's old friend 
 from Posen lived. The door was opened. 
 
 "Is Mr. Klotopolski at home?"
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 213 
 
 "Who is he?" 
 
 "An old gentleman, who ." She pro- 
 duced the card. 
 
 "He is dead." 
 
 "Dead! And his son?" 
 
 "He is traveling abroad." 
 
 "And his daughter?" 
 
 "Also traveling in Europe." 
 
 The door was closed. Marys dropped down 
 upon the threshold and wiped the perspiration 
 from her forehead. There she was once more 
 in New York, helpless and friendless, without 
 means of support, a prey of fate. 
 
 Remain here? Never! She will go down to 
 the harbor; she will seek the German steamers, 
 throw herself before the feet of one captain or 
 another, and beseech him to have pity on her 
 and bring her back to Germany. From Ger- 
 many she will beg her way home to Lipince. 
 There her Jasko is living. Beside him she has
 
 214 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 not a single friend in the whole wide world, 
 and, if he shall refuse to care for her, she will 
 at least die near him. 
 
 She found the way to the harbor and bent 
 her back before the German captains. They 
 would have been but too glad to bring her 
 home, for she was pretty yet, and some rest 
 was all she needed to regain her full strength 
 of youth. Consequently no beseeching would 
 avail. 
 
 The girl sought a resting place among the 
 piles of boards that lay scattered about in all 
 directions near the water, close to the place 
 where some time ago she had passed that ter- 
 rible night in her father's company, and where 
 he had attempted to drown her. She ate the 
 refuse she could find along the water's edge. 
 Happily it was summer and warm enough 
 outside. 
 
 Every morning she went to the German
 
 HER TRAGIC FATE. 215 
 
 docks and asked for a passage, but always in 
 vain. But, with a peasant's persistence she re- 
 turned again and again. 
 
 In the meantime her resistance was ex- 
 hausted and she felt that unless she was taken 
 aboard a ship before long she would die, as all 
 who had interested themselves on her behalf 
 had died before her. 
 
 One day she dragged herself wearily along, 
 as usual, thinking that very likely this would 
 be the last time, as her fate might be decided 
 on the day following, when all her remaining 
 power would give out. So she determined to 
 ask no more, but steal aboard some vessel that 
 was ready to sail for Europe and hide hersett 
 in a dark corner. Then, when the ship was on 
 the open sea they would not throw her into 
 the water, and even if they did, it would not 
 matter much. If, at any rate, she must die, it 
 was quite indifferent where it happened. At
 
 216 HER TRAGIC FATE. 
 
 the gang-board of every vessel a strict sur- 
 veillance is kept up, however, and so her first 
 attempt was unsuccessful. 
 
 Now she seats herself on the landing place 
 and thinks the fever has seized her, for she 
 smiles and murmurs to herself: 
 
 "I am a wealthy heiress, Jasko, but I have 
 remained true to you. Do you not know me?" 
 
 It was not the fever, however, that had pos- 
 sessed the poor girl, but insanity. Hence- 
 forth she walked about the docks every day, 
 to seek and point out her Jasko. People be- 
 gan to recognize her, and from time to time 
 someone gave her a few cents. She thanked 
 humbly and smiled like a child. In this man- 
 ner two months passed. One day she disap- 
 peared forever. Only the newspapers stated 
 that at the outer end of the harbor the body 
 of a young girl had been found. Her name 
 and her connections were unknown.
 
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