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IS 4.2 Story of an Emigrant.
another lawn, on which were many people. They were
strange looking; I never saw any like them before. Some
were swinging, some dancing, others shouting, singing and
weeping and behaving in a most out-of-the-way manner. I
wondered and wondered, and finally it dawned upon me
that it must be a lunatic asylum. It was, in fact, as I since
learned, the county poor farm, where one part was used for
the lunatics and the other for paupers like myself. Has it
come to this? I asked myself; is this the goal of all my
ambition and hopes? Going back to the room, where I had
slept, I stealthily took my little bundle, slipped out through
a side door into a back yard, found a gate open and was
soon in the street. I started on a run with all the power in
me, as if pursued by all the furies of paupers and lunatics,
never stopping until I was near the old boarding house,
where I was taken in exhausted and in deep despair. I
would have killed the landlord for deceiving me if I had been
able to do so. One good thing resulted from the sad
experience of that day: the mental shock on discovering where
I was, cured me for the time being of the ague.
The next day my friend returned from Hamburg, where he
could no longer get ativ employment on account of his
blistered hands, and poor health in general. We now put our
wise heads together and agreed that we had already had
enough of the West for the time being. Having plenty of
good clothes, bedding, revolvers and other knick-knacks, we
sold to our landlord whatever we could spare, in order to
raise money enough to pay our way back to Boston.
During our stay in Buffalo, our renowned countrywoman,
Jenny Lind, happened to give a concert there. We were
standing on the street where we could see the people crowd
into the theatre, but that was all we could afford, and we
never heard her sing. Our host advised us to go and ask
her for help; but our pride forbade it.
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