The Amateur Emigrant Chapter 2 - Early Impression

Robert Louis Stevenson (0:00)

CHAPTER II of The Amateur Immigrant This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The Amateur Immigrant by Robert Louis Stevenson EARLY IMPRESSIONS We steamed out of the Clyde on Thursday night, and early on the Friday forenoon we took in our last batch of immigrants at Lofoyle in Ireland, and said farewell to Europe. The company was now complete, and began to draw together by inscrutable magnetisms upon the decks. There were Scots and Irish in plenty, a few English, a few Americans, a good handful of Scandinavians, a German or two, and one Russian, all now belonging for ten days to one small iron country on the deep. As I walked the deck and looked round upon my fellow passengers, thus curiously assorted from all northern Europe, I began for the first time to understand the nature of emigration. Day after day through the passage, and thenceforth across all the states and onto the shores of the Pacific, this knowledge grew more clear and melancholy. Emigration, from a word of the most cheerful import, came to sound most dismally in my ear. There is nothing more agreeable to picture, and nothing more pathetic to behold. The abstract idea, as conceived at home, is hopeful and adventurous. A young man you fancy, scorned in restraints and helpers, issues forth into life that great battle to fight for his own hand. The most pleasant stories of ambition, of difficulties overcome, and of ultimate success, are but as episodes to this great epic of self-help. The epic is composed of individual heroisms. It stands to them as the victorious war which subdued an empire stands to the personal act of bravery which spiked a single cannon and was adequately rewarded with a medal.

For in emigration, the young men enter direct and by the shipload on their heritage of work. Empty continents swarm as at the bosons whistle, with industrious hands, and whole new empires are domesticated to the service of man.

This is the closet picture, and is found on trial to consist mostly of embellishments. The more I saw of my fellow passengers, the less I was tempted to the lyric note. Comparatively few of the men were below thirty. Many were married and encumbered with families. Not a few were already up in years, and this itself was out of tune with my imaginations, for the idle emigrant should certainly be young. Again, I thought he should offer to the eyes some bold type of humanity, with bluff or hawk-like features, and the stamp of an eager and pushing disposition. Now, those around me were for the most part quiet, orderly, obedient citizens, family men broken by adversity, elderly youths who had failed to place themselves in life, and people who had seen better days. Mildness was the prevailing character, mild mirth and mild endurance. In a word, I was not taking part in an impetuous and conquering sally, such as swept over Mexico or Siberia, but found myself like Marmion, in the lost battle borne down by the flying. Laboring mankind had in the last years and throughout Great Britain sustained a prolonged and crushing series of defeats. I had heard vaguely of these reverses, of whole streets of houses standing deserted by the tine, the cellar doors broken and removed for firewood, of homeless men loitering at the street corners of Glasgow with their chests beside them, of closed factories, useless strikes and starving girls. But I had never taken them home to me or represented those distresses livingly to my imagination.

A turn of the market may be a calamity as disastrous as the French retreat from Moscow, but it hardly lends itself to lively treatment and makes a trifling figure in the morning papers. We may struggle as we please, we are not born economists. The individual is more affecting than the mass. It is by the scenic accident and the appeal to the carnal eye that for the most part we grasp the significance of tragedies. Thus it was only now, when I found myself involved in the rout, that I began to appreciate how sharp had been the battle. We were a company of the rejected, the drunken, the incompetent, the weak, the prodigal. All who had been unable to prevail against circumstances in the one land were now fleeing pitifully to another. And though one or two might still succeed, all had already failed. We are a ship full of failures, the broken men of England. Yet it must not be supposed that these people exhibited depression. The scene, on the contrary, was cheerful. Not a tear was shed on board the vessel. All were full of hope for the future, and showed an inclination to innocent gaiety. Some were heard to sing, and all began to scrape acquaintance with small jests and ready laughter. The children found each other out like dogs, and ran about the decks scraping acquaintance after their fashion also.