January 19, 1894
As is well known, the immigrant upon his arrival in America was surprised more than anything else by the fact that here he had to pay 5¢ for a sip of beer or a cigar. That was usually above his means. He was used, over there, to getting his glass of beer (and, at that, twice as big) for a groschen and a cigar for 3 - 4 pfennigs. But people get used to anything, especially Germans, and after he is in this land for awhile, he sees it all as entirely understandable. Yea, yea, drinking and smoking cigars is a rather expensive thing here in America, and whoever wishes to do so must be well supplied with change. Newcomers often are in the beginning, but they quickly halt such activities as beer and whiskey drink and cigar smoking.
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| Railroad Advertisement for Routes to Little Rock and St. Joseph's Colony (a German settlement near Conway) |
Months are rare when a person does not think about these
things, though they may permit themselves such luxuries only on special
occasions. Then a person is not used to the stuff, and if he happens to
accidently obtain some, he quickly feels the effects. Who really wants to throw
a stone at such a poor Devil because of this? Not I, and not any reasonable
person.
So one year, Bill with his wife skillfully managed their
fruit and had dried a huge amount apples and peaches. One day, Bill loaded about
25 bushels of these on his wagon and traveled with them, and with his two boys,
to the city in order to sell the fruit. The city was about 12 miles from his
place. There, he soon had sold his wares, certainly at a better price than he
had hoped. Then he bought all kinds of things: porcelain and earthen pots and bowls,
coffee, beans, peas, and a hodge-podge of other things.
As he completed his business, Bill thought, it would not be
a sin if he went to the inn and had a small one, which he then immediately
did. Here he met a few friends and
acquaintances, and as it is the style here in America, they were treated several
times to a drink, and so on.
Yes, that was a pleasurable time for Bill and because he,
naturally, was not used to the stuff, he was soon tipsy. But as soon as he sensed that, he stopped,
harnessed up, climbed up with his boys and traveled away. Above all, it was
time to go because he had a long journey and the sun was not still standing
high in the sky.
As he came outside in the air, his head spun around like a wheel
of a mill, but Bill pulled himself together, recovered his legs, and took off
up the mountain. Outside of the town, there was a hill that was steep going up and
coming down. Luckily he made it to the top, but on the way down, he forgot to
apply the chain. He had, of course, an old fashioned wagon with a chain rather
than brakes. Bill saw what he had done as the wagon was in full flight, and it
naturally was too late to lock it.
Then the situation became critical, what everyone who has
been in such a situation would understand.
At a racing speed, the wagon went down the mountain but everything would
have been o.k. if down on the level ground, in the middle of the path, there
had not stood a brazen tree stump that did not get out of the way. And the horses raced right at it despite the desperate
effort by Bill to steer them away. All of a sudden, a crash; the box flew out
with all of its contents, and the horses stood still, panting and trembling.
And poor Bill with the small kids and all the stuff lay under the box. since it
had immediately turned upside down.
In an instant, Bill is sober, as sober as a new born calf. With
truly extraordinary strength, he raised up into the sky and threw the box down.
And, Thank God, at least nothing had happened to his kids and himself. They
were coming away with only a scare. And also the horses.
But it was all the worse that it appeared that nothing could
be saved from the wagon and the beautiful things that Bill had bought. They all
lay scattered about, and the dishes were in bits and pieces.
Bill had to scratch behind his ears; he did not know what he
should do at that moment. Then he suddenly realizes that he would not be able
to make it home with the busted wagon, at least not that day. As he now stands
there and makes plans, he hears next to him a voice and sees a man who wants to
take a look at the situation. "Bad thing," says he and offers to let
him spend the night at his place. The man was a Frenchman and lived nearby on
the path.
But Bill wanted nothing to do with it; he wanted only to get
home, even if he had to ride. Luckily Bill knew a little broken French from
school and the military, plus some English, and he made it understandable to
the man that he wanted to ride on and return at dawn the next morning to fix
his things.
All arguments from the man were of no use. Bill unhooked the
horses. On one, he packed his kids and various other materials such as a pair
of barrels and a few small packages; he sat on the other horse and went forth
into the night.
Soon it grew dark. Fortunately, he could trust the horses.
They would soon find their way home. He then had the time and leisure to think over
his troubles in order to come up with a believable story that he would be able
to present to his wife. He was, of course, entirely innocent in the story. The
dumb, small Spitz (Pomeranian dog?) was entirely to blame.
The horses trotted briskly onward and soon it was so dark
that one could not see his hand in front of his face. The horses had to find
their way about. After riding about 6 miles, there was a side path going left
that he had to take. And it seemed to
Bill an eternity before this path would appear.
Then suddenly the horses make a turn, but not onto a path,
but into the woods through a thick thicket.
Oho, says Bill, this isn't right, and his hat falls off. He jumps down and
looks for it, but to no avail. He cannot find it. He climbs back on the horse, turns
the horse around in order to get it back on the open path. But what is that? He is sitting in the middle of shrubs and
doesn't know right from left anymore. After
a long search, he locates the path again.
The horses don't want to go any further. But they must, and
now Bill thinks to himself, I will be home in an hour. An hour passes! Two pass, but still his fence
doesn't come. Bill finally concludes that he is on the wrong track, and that it
was no longer reasonable to think that he will make it home that night.
Now, Bill thinks, at the first opportunity I'll knock at the
next house and stay there for the night. To the devil with this situation! (Der
Kukuk soll die Wirthschaft holen). And,
at last, he sees in front of him in an opening what appeared to be a light.
This is the place to stop, says Bill, and rides toward it. At the fence, he calls
"halloh," at which a man comes out and asks him what he wants.
Remarkably, he recognizes the voice! And as he is able to
see the man, Bill doesn't want to believe his eyes. It truly is the Frenchman
by whose house the accident occurred.
"Sacre di blue," shouts Bill. I will not repeat
what else he said. The Frenchman laughs and immediately recognizes him. How did
his all happen? Bill doesn't know himself. The main thing is that he has to
have a roof tonight for his poor small kids. More troubles: His hat is gone; he
has lost a couple barrels and other packages, probably in the thicket.
It doesn't make any difference, Bill thinks. Tomorrow I have
to look for all the stuff. He puts the horses in the stall, and in the
meanwhile the wife has made a fire and put together a good supper. Afterwards,
before anything else, the kids are put to bed. Then the well-living host gets a
bottle of wine, and Bill soon feels alright again and thinks, tomorrow
everything will be fine.
But Bill couldn't sleep much that night. He could not get
out of his thoughts the expected punishing sermon that awaited him at home,
even if he had to agree that he richly deserved it.
The next morning as soon as he could see, he was outside by
his wagon. Oh misery! The shaft was broken as were several spokes and other
small things. And his wares? None were still whole. Coffee, sugar, beans, peas
mixed together in a heap.
First Bill repaired the wagon with the help of the Frenchman.
It went so well that he even hoped to get home with it. He borrowed a sack and put
the whole mess in it. Then, after he ate breakfast, he harnessed up and
traveled homeward with a heavy heart. On the way, he looked for his hat and the
other things. Where are they? He couldn't find them.
So at last he made it home. How he was welcomed there, he
has not told me. Things were so bad that it took him 14 days to sort the stuff
in his sack. And later if Bill again went to sell apples or peaches, he
was not alone. His wife accompanied him.
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Introduction to the Pioneer Tales
This pioneer tale is one in a series published in 1893 and 1894 by the Arkansas Echo, a German-language newspaper in Little Rock. The stories are intended to show the challenges and adventures facing German immigrants when they came to settle in Arkansas. So far, the following posts have introduced the Pioneer Tales and provided translations of several of them:
Pioneer Tales of Arkansas' German Immigrants (background of the newspaper series)
Arkansas Echo, November 3, 1893
THE GOOD OLD DAYS?
Arkansas Echo, November 10, 1893
MERRY MÄT, OR A TRIP TO THE BATHS, Part 1
Arkansas Echo, November 17, 1893
MERRY MÄT, OR A TRIP TO THE BATHS, Part 2
Arkansas Echo, December 1, 1893
A JUICY ROAST--OR--WHO WANTS TO EAT WITH ME?
Arkansas Echo, December 8, 1893
ANOTHER PIECE ABOUT "AUGUST" --OR -- LONG FENCE RAILS
Arkansas Echo, December 22, 1893
HOW FRANK, WITHOUT POWDER AND LEAD, ONCE SLEW A MAGNIFICENT DEER
Arkansas Echo, December 29, 1893
Arkansas Echo, January 5, 1894
THAT'S THE WAY ITS DONE IN HUNGARY -or- A PERSON WHO WILL NOT ACCEPT ADVICE CANNOT BE HELPED
Arkansas Echo, January 14, 1894
HOW ONE CAN LOSE ONE'S WAY IN THE PRIMEVAL FOREST
http://www.eclecticatbest.com/2011/09/pioneer-tales-of-arkansas-german.html
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