Under the Big Dipper

by Desiderius George Dery

A slight shock followed by a tremor through the wood flooring startled Helène. But Mr. Diderot explained that she need not be afraid—it was only the arrival of the ferry-boat. At the opened gateway, he handed her the ticket for Charlotteville and wishing her a pleasant journey he bowed in his punctilious way and left her to the mercy of the crowd that soon pushed her on to the boat. What a hurrying and scurrying and jostling and hustling! Men with packages and suit-cases, women with suit-cases and packages and children; men with golf bags and women with dogs; children clinging frantically to their mothers’ skirts—all perspiring and all craning their necks to swallow the river’s breeze, thankful of this respite from the city’s heat.

A clanking of bells, a shrill, long-drawn whistle, a clinking of chains and she was off—off on her wonderful journey across the majestic river to the hazy, mysterious shore of Jersey—her first travels into America. She gazed about her at the people sitting on the low seats and standing in the doorways; they seemed to her to be different from those she had met in New York. The men were so important, the women so self-conscious and the children so droll.

Through the open windows shone the reflection from the waters of the river, the waves of which sparkled in the sunlight. Busy little tugs saucily stretched their prows; cumbersome ferry-boats glided past as mountainous shadows. The fresh air and the wide expanse gave her a sense of assurance. She decided to risk the outside platform.

As she stood up to go out a sudden recollection made her start. Where was her suit-case? For a moment she felt as if her heart was sinking; but the next moment she gave a sigh of relief as she remembered that Mr. Diderot had “checked” the case to Charlotteville. She felt for the precious pasteboard in her handbag and smiled when she found it was safely there.

On the platform without she looked about her drinking in the wonderful expanse of water and free air and blue sky. The great river with its baggage and floats, tugs and steamers, sailing vessels and a big liner steaming slowly down towards the Bay, little launches and graceful yachts, appeared to her like the river of life itself. Looming up and drawing nearer and nearer, the cavernous train-shed flanked by stupendous grain elevators, looked to her like gigantic fortifications guarding and preventing a possible entry into the green country beyond. Where did the railroad begin, she wondered?

And now the people began their jostling and hustling once more. Packages were seized and children grabbed at the sound of the clanking of chains and the turning of windlass. Then came the rattling of iron gates being opened and the living stream poured itself on to the land.

For a moment she looked about her, bewildered, but seeing a uniformed individual, she plucked up courage to ask him the way to her train. He scarcely deigned to notice her, but with a motion behind him he said: “Track number four to your left.” Helène was no wiser, but she dared not risk another inquiry and walked with the crowd. She heard a benevolent looking elderly person in a magnificent uniform and gold-laced cap singing out some words she could not understand. She found her courage, however, and put her inquiry to him. To her relief he led her to the car and even assisted her to mount the steps. The quick transition from the outer glare to the dark interior caused her to falter; but seeing that other people were making free with the cushioned seats, she chose one for herself opposite a wholesome looking, stout lady and a small girl. She was too timid to look about her and was almost afraid to return the happy smile of the little child across the aisle. At last came the long cry “All aboard,” followed by a hissing noise and the train—her train—moved slowly out.

She was really on her great journey! As the engine gained headway the train passed the pillars along the track and dived into a cavernous deep cut on to a long trestle over the housetops. Then winding its way between simmering and smoky factories, past ugly board fences and stretches of open land covered with rubbish, it thundered over a bridge spanning a broad expanse of muddy water. Round a sharp curve with a shriek as if of desperation, and there she was in a lovely meadow gleaming green in the sunlight, the reeds and the bulrushes waving in the breeze—the country! America—the long sought for land of romance—the New World!

Her heart beat with the excitement of the rush, her eyes fixed on the swiftly moving landscape. The deep rose color of the giant mallows enlivens the sage green of the reeds; narrow veins of tidewater wend their courses with almost geometrical directness through the dark muck of the salt meadows; in the distance are seen the rounded humps of dwarfed hills and the tall smoke-stacks of factories. Then another river is crossed—a broad stream with shallow barges loaded with crimson bricks and yellow clay. The landscape gradually changes to cultivated farmlands. Clumps of trees, cottages and cows—real live cows grazing along the hedgerows—appear and disappear. Through the opening in the foliage are seen small villas and occasionally more pretentious houses; lawns and stone walls; highways with carriages and bicycles. Another rush into a deep cut walled in with rocks and then a gentle gliding into the open revealing a hilly country with houses, gardens, rows of trees and avenues. With a rumble, a short bridge over a stream traversing a deep green pasture is crossed and the train rushes through a quiet street. Out of the village with a noise as of many waters and into another cut flanked by a rocky ledge dripping with moisture and overhung with brambles that almost brush the windows of the cars. Then once more into the open, rolling land.

On and on, northward, the train speeds. Now and again it stops at some small station with a grinding noise and, after a few passengers alight, the engine bell rings once more, the hissing of the brakes deafens the ear, and with hoarse puffs and groans, it is off again, squeaking, bumping, swaying with dust and cinders floating and flying into the cars.