On the Trail of the Immigrant

by Edward Alfred Steiner

So one’s apprehension is quieted by such facts, which are by no means rare. Certain crude elements may survive, even in the second generation, and may perhaps enter into our racial existence, but other such elements have come to us from other races, and have not spoiled us nor yet undone us. If we were to pick out on board of ship the most disagreeable people, we would not seek them among the Slavs nor among the Italians, but among a certain class of German and Jewish Americans, who are all flesh; blasphemous in language, intemperate in habits and who are intensely disliked on the other side of the Atlantic among their own kinsmen. This is not intended to reflect upon that large class of sober and intelligent naturalized Americans one meets; but to emphasize the fact, that the classes of immigrants most desired by us, compare very well with the best element in our polyglot population. Looking back over all my experiences, I am justified in saying that the Slav, the Italian and the Russian Jew, will finally compare well with the earlier output of foreign born Americans.

The last night before the landing, an enterprising and pleasure loving Jew arranged a concert; and although the participants were Jews, Bohemians, Poles, Germans and Russians, it was a typical American affair, was as decorous as a church social, and nearly as dull. These children of the foreigners sang American parlour songs, recited “Over the hills to the poorhouse,” and other poems which are intended to make one happy by making one sad, and they concluded by singing together “My Country ’tis of Thee,” but could not remember the words beyond the second verse, which is so typical of our own young people.

The day we were to land there were more American flags in evidence in the second cabin than in any other quarter of the ship. The over-patriotic Jew had his dozen flags out, swinging them all in the face of the German policemen who lined the dock at Bremerhaven. Every button-hole bore the Stars and Stripes. When one of the thriftier Jews suggested that the wearing of the flag would cost them money, because the hotel keepers would charge them American rates, another replied: “It is worth all they will make me pay,” while another still more emphatically said: “They will see it in mine face that I am from America; let it cost me money.”

Swinging the Stars and Stripes they descended the gang plank; Slavs, Italians and Jews, all of them vociferous, patriotic Americans. Wherever they went they proclaimed their love for this country, and the superiority of America over the whole world.

“I will talk nothing but American; let them learn American, the best language in the world,” said one; and much to the chagrin of the sensitive Europeans, these second class passengers went blatantly and noisily through the streets of the cities of Europe, criticising everything they saw, from barber shops to statuary. One of them who had travelled far, who had seen on that journey the galleries of Paris, Munich and Dresden, and who had some little art sense, said: “I tell you the finest piece of statuary in the whole world is the Goddess of Liberty in New York Harbour;” and all those who heard said: “Amen.”

How deep the American ideals have taken root among them, one cannot yet discern; how completely the second generation will come under their sway, how much of the old world spirit will disappear or remain, is difficult to determine. This is no time to be blindly optimistic nor hopelessly pessimistic; it is a time for facing the dangers and not fearing them; for this is the noontide of our day of grace. This is the time to bring into action the best there is in American ideals; for as we present ourselves to this mass of men, so it will become. At present the mass is still a lump of clay in the hands of the potter; a huge lump it is true, but America is gigantic and this is not the least of the gigantic tasks left for her mighty sons and daughters to perform.

XXV
AU REVOIR

My Dear Lady of the First Cabin:

I have followed your good advice, have told my story as I told it to you; and yours be the praise and the blame. You interrupted me in the telling, by saying that I did not know the first cabin, and that my story would not be complete until I knew that part of the ship and that portion of the world also.

I have as you see taken passage in the first cabin. They sold me the ticket as readily as if it were for the steerage and did not ask for my pedigree, only for my check. Fifty dollars more gave me the privilege of sitting where you sat (which was at one time the “seat of the scornful”), of looking proudly upon the second cabin, and pityingly upon the steerage below.