Read Ebook: From Pole to Pole: A Book for Young People by Hedin Sven Anders

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rophet; others have called him a crafty adventurer, who stole Toscanelli's plan in order to gain power, honour, and wealth for himself. But when, about twenty years ago, the fourth century since his discovery was completed, full amends were made to his memory and his achievements were celebrated throughout the world. He opened new fields for unborn generations, he extended the bounds of the earth, and guided the world's history into new channels.

Four years before the death of Columbus, Amerigo Vespucci of Florence, who made four voyages across the ocean, suggested that the new lands had nothing to do with Asia, but were a "New World" in distinction to the Old; and a German schoolmaster, who wrote a geographical text-book, suggested in the introduction that as the fourth continent had been discovered by Amerigo Vespucci , there was no reason why it should not be called Amerigo or America after its discoverer. The proposal was accepted, and only too late was it realised that Columbia would have been the proper name.

During the succeeding centuries white men struck their claws ever firmer into America. The Indians were forced back into the backwoods, and in North America they have been almost exterminated. Under French, and later, under English rule, those parts of North America have developed an unexpected power and wealth which were despised by the Spaniards, who in their boundless greed of gain thought of nothing but gold.

NEW YORK

In a house in a Swedish countryside sit an old man and woman talking seriously.

"It is a great pity," says the old woman, "that Gunnar is beginning to think of America again."

"Yes, he will never rest," replies the old man, "till we have given our consent and let him go. To-day he says that an emigration 'touter' has promised him gold and green forests if he will take a ticket for one of the Bremen line steamers. I reminded him that the farm is unencumbered, but he answered that it could not provide for both his brothers and himself. 'It was a very different thing for you, father,' he said, 'but there are three of us to divide the produce.' He thinks it is a hopeless task to grub in our poor stony hills, when boundless plains in the western states of North America are only waiting to be ploughed, and in any factory he can be earning wages so large as to yield a small income for several years."

"Yes, indeed, I know, it is his cousins who have put this fancy in his head with their glowing letters. But I suppose we cannot prevent him going if his heart is set on it?"

"What can we do? He is a free man and must go his own way."

"Well, perhaps it is best. When he is home-sick he will come back again."

"I am afraid it will be long enough before that happens. At starting all seems so fine. 'I shall soon come home with a small pile.' In reality all his memories will grow faint within a year, and the distance to the red cottage will seem to grow longer as time flies. I mourn for him as dead already; he will never come back."

A few days after this our emigrant Gunnar breaks all ties and tears up all the roots which since his birth have held him bound to the soil of Sweden. He travels by the shortest route to Bremen and steps on board an emigrant steamer for New York. During the long hours of the voyage the people sit on deck and talk of the great country to which they are all bound. Before the last lighthouse on the coast of Europe is lost to sight, Gunnar seems to have all America at his finger-ends. The same names are always ringing in his ears--New York, Philadelphia, Chicago, and San Francisco have become quite familiar, and he has only to insert between them a number of smaller towns, a few rivers, mountains, and lakes, to draw in a few railway lines, to remember the great country of Canada to the north and mountainous Mexico in the south, to place at three of the corners of the continent the peninsulas of Alaska, California, and Florida, and at the fourth the large island of Newfoundland, and then his map of North America is complete.

The voyage over the Atlantic draws to an end. One day a growing restlessness and excitement is perceptible, and the travellers cast inquiring glances ahead. It is said that the American coast will be visible in an hour. And so it is. An irregular line appears to starboard. That is Long Island. Two hours more, and the boat glides into the mouth of the Hudson River and comes alongside at Ellis Island in the harbour of New York. A row of other vessels lie moored at the quays. These also have brought immigrants to America and will soon return to fetch more. They must go backwards and forwards year out and year in to carry three thousand persons daily to the United States.

Gunnar has packed his things in good time and takes up a favourable position from which he can observe his fellow-travellers. He has never heard such a noise and never seen such bustle. The people throng the gangways, call to one another, haul out their discoloured portmanteaus and their roped bundles. There are seen Swedes and Germans, Polish and Russian Jews, Galicians and Croats mingled together, some well dressed and with overcoats, others in tattered clothes and with a coarse handkerchief in place of a collar.

Yonder, overlooking New York harbour, stands the colossal statue of Liberty, a female figure holding a torch in her right hand. When darkness lies over the earth she throws a dazzling beam of electric light out over the water, the quays, houses, and ships. But Gunnar experiences no feeling of freedom as he sets his foot on American soil. He and all his fellow-travellers are provided with numbered tickets and marshalled into long compartments in a huge hall. Then they are called out one after another to be questioned, and a doctor comes and examines them. Those who suffer from lung disease or other complaint, or being old and feeble have no prospect of gaining a livelihood, receive a peremptory order of exclusion on grey paper and must return by the next vessel to their fatherland. The others who pass the examination proceed in small steamers to the great city, where, among the four millions of New York, they vanish like chaff before the wind.

From whatever land they may come they always find fellow-countrymen in New York, for this city is a conglomeration of all the peoples of the world, and seventy different languages are spoken in it. A third of its inhabitants have been born in foreign countries. In Brooklyn, the quarter on Long Island, there are whole streets where only Swedes live. In the "Little Italy" quarter live more Italians than there are in Naples, in the "Chinese Town" there are five thousand Chinese, and even Jews from Russia and Poland have their own quarter. Gunnar soon finds that New York is more complicated than he supposed when he was rolling out on the Atlantic.

Meanwhile he decides to take it easy at first, and to learn his way about before plunging into the struggle for existence. In Brooklyn he soon meets with a fellow-countryman and gets a roof over his head. A pleasant, well-to-do railway employ? from Stockholm takes pleasure in showing him about and impressing him with his knowledge of America.

"This town must be old," says Gunnar, "or it could not have grown so large."

"Old! No, certainly not. Compared to Stockholm it is a mere child. It is barely three hundred years old, and at the time of Gustavus Adolphus it did not contain a thousand inhabitants. But now it is second only to London."

"That is wonderful. How can you account for New York becoming so large? Stockholm and Bremen are pigmies beside it. I have never seen the like in my life. There are forests of masts and steamboat funnels in all directions, and at the quays vessels are loaded and unloaded with the most startling speed."

"Yes, but you must remember that the population of the United States increases at an extraordinary rate. During last century it doubled every twenty years. And remember also that nearly half the foreign trade of the Union passes through New York. Hence are exported grain, meat, tobacco, cotton, petroleum, manufactured goods, and many other things. It is, therefore, not remarkable that New York needs 36 miles of quays with warehouses, and that more than seventy steamboat lines sail to and from the port. And, besides, it is a great industrial town. Think of its position and its fine harbour! Eastward lies the Atlantic with routes to Europe; westwards run innumerable railway lines, five of which stretch right through to the Pacific coast."

"Tell me something about the railways," exclaims Gunnar, who wants to go out west at the first favourable opportunity.

"Yes, I can give you information about them, for I have been working on several lines. As far back as 1840 the United States had 2800 miles of railway, and twenty years later 30,000 miles. Now it has nearly two hundred and forty thousand miles of rails, a strip which would reach to the moon or ten times round the equator. The United States have more railways than all Europe, though the population is only a fifth that of Europe; but the area is about the same."

"How do you explain this rapid development of railway enterprise?"

"Well, the fact is that at first the aim was to fill up the gaps between the waterways. Rivers were relied on as long as possible, and the first railways were built in districts where there were no large rivers. Then in course of time various lines converged together, new railways were constructed, and now the forty-nine States are covered with a connected network of lines. Moreover, the country roads are so bad that they must be supplemented by railways."

"A large number of bridges must be necessary across all the large rivers?"

"Yes, certainly. The Americans are adepts in bridge-building, and the railway bridges over the Mississippi and Missouri and other rivers are masterpieces of the boldest art. Where lines cross deeply eroded valleys, bridges of timber were formerly built, like sky-scraping parapets with rails laid along the top; but such bridges are now fast disappearing and iron bridges are built, and the trains run at full speed over elegant erections which from a distance look just like a spider's web. Just look to your left. There you have one of the world's strongest bridges, the suspension bridge between New York and Brooklyn. It is of colossal dimensions, and yet it looks so fine and delicate as it hangs between its two mighty piers. You see that vessels with the tallest masts can pass clear below, for it is poised 135 feet above high water. The length is nearly a mile and a quarter. It is wonderful that men have been able to stretch this huge span of iron above the water. Wait a little and you will see a kind of aerial railway."

Then the Stockholm man takes his new friend to a station to travel on the elevated railway through New York. Gunnar's astonishment is beyond bounds as he rushes along on a framework, supported by innumerable iron pillars, over streets and squares, and sees the seething crowd moving in carriages and on foot below his feet.

"Here is the Central Park. Is it not delightful with its leafy trees and cool pools? In summer it is burning hot in the town, and it is refreshing to rest an hour or two in the shade of the trees. The winters are equally cold, and raw, biting winds blow from the east coast. Here is Fifth Avenue, the finest street of New York. In the row of palaces you see here live millionaires, railway kings, steel kings, petroleum kings, corn kings, a whole crop of kings. But I would rather we went to look at the rows of houses facing the Hudson River."

"New York lies, then, on the Hudson River?"

"That is so, but more properly speaking New York stands on the island of Manhattan in the mouth of the river. We are standing, then, on Manhattan, and it is interesting to recall the fact that this island was sold three hundred years ago by Indians to Dutchmen for the sum of four pounds. It is rather more valuable now! Just look at the hideous sky-scrapers with their twenty and thirty storeys" .

"I was just wondering why houses are built so enormously high."

"That is owing to the tremendous value of the ground. When there is not space enough to build out laterally, the buildings are piled up heavenwards, where there is plenty of room. They are certainly not handsome. Look at this row of houses, some of moderate height, others as tall as chimneys. Are they not like a row of keys moved by invisible gigantic fingers?"

"I should not like to live in such a building, I am sure. On the top floor I should be giddy with the height, and on the first I should expect the whole mass to tumble down on me."

"We are better off in Brooklyn, where the houses are of moderate height. To-morrow I will show you something not less remarkable than the wealthy quarter of the city. I will take you to the Chinese town. There Chinese swarm in the dirty lanes; there the whole place reeks of onions and tobacco and spirits from the public-houses; there are vile gambling hells and opium dens; and there paper lanterns on fishing rods hang outside the tea-houses. Then we can take a look at 'Little Italy,' a purely Italian town in the midst of the New York of the Americans. There you will see only Italian books in the book-shops, there Italian newspapers are read, there wax candles burn round images of the Madonna in the churches, and black-haired, brown-eyed children from sunny Italy play in the gutters. And we must not forget 'Little Russia,' the Jews' quarter. The Jews are a remarkable people; you never see them drunk, and you never hear of any crime or felony committed by them. They live poorly, cheaply, and sparingly, and seem cheerful in their booths beside the streets."

"All this is very well, but I do not understand where all the immigrants go. I am told that as many as three thousand persons land daily on Ellis Island. At this rate New York receives yearly an addition of a million souls."

"Yes, but how many do you think remain in New York? Most of them go up country and out westwards. Some improve their position and then repair to other fields of work. But many also stay here and increase the slum population. The immigrants who are destitute on landing take work in factories at any wage they can get. The wages they receive seem very high compared to those in their own country, but they are low for America. Accordingly the immigrant Europeans thrust out the Americans, and therefore there are two millions out of work in the United States. And so there are failures, human wrecks, who are a burden to others. If you like we will try this evening to get to a midnight mission and see the poor wretches waiting in crowds for the doors to open. They have a worn, listless expression, but when the doors are open they wake up and rush in, fill all the benches in the large hall, and go to sleep in all imaginable positions."

"What do they do there?"

"A missionary preaches to them, but they are hungry and weary, and sleep soundly on their benches. Among them you will find tramps and vagabonds, professional beggars and thieves, idlers and men out of work. In the daytime they beg and steal, and now at night they take their sleep in the mission. When the preacher finishes, they file out and go to the bread stalls to get food. Such is their life day after day, and they sink ever deeper into misery."

"They are the slag that remains after the precious metal has run off, of course. It is curious to think of a people that is increased by a never-failing stream of immigrants. What will be the end of it?"

"No one can answer that question. Everything is possible with Americans. They are a mixture of English, Scandinavian, German, Dutch, Italian, and Russian blood, to name only the principal constituents of this complex blend, this huge incorporation. Out of all these elements one day an American race will emerge, when Ellis Island has closed its gates to emigrants from Europe."

"Tell me another thing, now. Why is not New York, the most important city, also the capital of the country?"

"It was thought that the city which bears the name of the great Washington had a more convenient and more central position with regard to the States of the original federation. The population of Washington is only about 330,000, and there are fifteen larger cities in the United States, but it is the centre of government. There the President lives in White House, there Congress assembles in the Capitol, there stands the Washington monument surrounded by large national buildings, and there three universities are established."

CHICAGO AND THE GREAT LAKES

After our friend Gunnar has seen as much as he wants of New York, he obtains a good post in a large factory, but he stays there only two months, for with other Swedes he receives an offer from Philadelphia which he does not hesitate to accept. His idea is to work his way gradually westward. If he can only get as far as Chicago he thinks it will not be difficult to go on to San Francisco.

Now he works in a yard where more than a thousand locomotives are made annually. This yard seems to him quite a town in itself. Here the iron is made white hot in immense furnaces, there it is hammered and rolled, and with irresistible power human hands convert the hard steel into steam boilers, wheels, axles, and parts of machines which are put together to form engines. The workshop is traversed in all directions by rails, and the completed steam-horses are sent out all over the railway systems of the United States.

Gunnar learns from his mates that Philadelphia is one of the largest cities of the world, with nearly a million and a half inhabitants, and that in America only New York and Chicago are larger.

After a while, however, Gunnar has had enough of Philadelphia, and takes a ticket for Pittsburg, the steel and iron capital, where immigrants never need be in want of a post. He travels without a change of carriages between the two towns, traversing the whole of Pennsylvania. Innumerable branch lines diverge in all directions, for towns and villages are everywhere. Here a railway runs to a mine, there another to a district rich in maize and tobacco, and here again a third to a timber yard. At the station stand long trains laden with grain, planks, petroleum, cotton, reaping machines, coal--in fact all the wares that the earth can produce by its fertility, and men by the labour of their hands.

The country becomes hilly, and the train winds about through the northernmost part of the Alleghany Mountains. Gunnar lets his eyes rove with strained attention over the dark woods, the waving fields, and the smoke rising from villages and farmhouses, when an American comes and sits down on the seat just in front of him.

"I see that you are a newcomer in America," says the stranger. "It may then interest you to know that the crest of the Alleghany Mountains, composed of granite, gneiss, and slates, is the watershed between the Atlantic and the Mississippi. You must not suppose that these mountains are everywhere as low as here; far down south-west, in North Carolina, there are summits more than six thousand feet high. Maize and fruit are grown in the valleys, and there are fine forests of pines and foliage trees. And there are places where you lose yourself in dense clumps of rhododendrons and climbing plants. And there are wild recesses where men never go, but where bears and wolves have their haunts among broken branches and twigs, fallen trunks and moss-grown granite boulders, and where nothing is changed since the time when the Indian tribes went on the war-path. But where are you bound for?"

"I am going to Pittsburg to look for work, for I was a smith at home."

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