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[p.39: To America] After leaving school I had exchanged letters with my brothers in America, and received their encouragement
to go there. I went to the inspector to talk about it, mentioning that a worker in America got a dollar a day, or 1 ruble
94 kopecks. But Volmars answered, "no tam gengam drugaja ciena" [Russian], that is, that money has a different purchasing
value there. This caution did not make me back away from my decision.
I drove to Grobini, the district center at the time, to the head of the district police, Meijers, to ask for a passport
for emigration. My request was turned down. I drove back to Liepaja and my friend Ernests Gutmanis introduced me to his cousin,
[also named] Gutmanis, who worked for the gas works as a streetlamp-lighter. He introduced me to the carpenter of the steamship
Livnyj, who for 25 rubles agreed to get me to England. I was glad, and invited my classmate Vilis Tomnovics to come along.
His mother's brother, named Lindbergs, had been caught bringing revolutionary literature in from England; he was hanged from
a telephone pole in the town of Priekule. Rumors circulated to the effect that he had tried to escape, cutting his bonds with
the edge of a button, when the dragoons were ordered to shoot as well; then his cheeks had reddened [I don't understand this].
On the day of departure the ship was in harbor, on the Jaun-Liepaja ("new town") side across from the cemetery.
Vilis and I waited for the evening and for our contacts in a tavern on the corner of Vakzales (Rigas) Street, playing billiards
and having a glass of beer. From time to time a policeman came into the tavern to check what was going on. Late into the evening
two sailors came in and took us away to the ship. Going past the watchman we all acted as if we were drunk, barely able to
get up the gangplank to the ship. We got on safely, and I assume that the watchman had been bribed. The two of us and an Estonian
woman with a pock-marked face were brought to the bow of the ship, and put in hiding near the very bottom of the hold, under
some old ropes and tarpaulins, where the rats were, and where one could barely breathe. The ship left the next day. We had
to lie in hiding until the (harbor) pilot and customs inspectors left the ship and it reached the open sea.
It won't be hard for the reader to believe that we began to feel the rocking of the waves, and I got a feeling in my head
and throat, the likes of which I had never experienced before. The compressed, stuffy air made this feeling unbearable, and
seasickness set in. To our great relief, the ship's carpenter could soon let us out and bring us up into the sailors' quarters,
where we could lie in bunks. We were given food, but I couldn't eat through the entire journey- to England, which lasted one
whole week. I remember that on April 1, 1907, we saw the south coast of Sweden in the first green of spring; that cheered
me up, but did not restore the feeling of being on solid land. It was still easier there than on the North Sea, where it is
usually stormy at that time of year. The test began when we reached our destination. We came into Grimsby [England] harbor,
not a real harbor, but a fairly large inlet. The Livnij was carrying a cargo of lumber, and quite a bit of it was piled up
on the deck as well. The harbor workers pulled up to the ship in boats, then turned back toward land. We had to get into a
boat. The jump down into the boats may have been 8 or 9 feet; I landed on the raised wall of one boat, which shortened the
distance. I felt exhausted, and could barely stay on my feet. Probably the workers were paid off for helping us in the tavern.
Our first walk was to the tavern, where we ordered beer and white bread. We were drunk quickly enough. Some people tried
to talk with us, but when the word "ko?" (Latvian "what?") slipped out, they asked "koa, koa Finnish.
Finnish?" Soon our innkeeper came in, and brought me to a store to buy a [blekis- tin?] suitcase, where I put my few
pieces of clothing and the large Alexandrov English- Russian dictionary. He also bought us [railroad?] tickets through Edinburgh
to Glasgow, leaving us to paddle along further ourselves. Here it was already spring, and, having escaped from seasickness,
we felt like great travelers. From Glasgow we had to travel to Liverpool, and from there to America.
Once in Glasgow, we wanted to get to the harbor, and determined that the wide Buchanan Street would bring us there, since
it led downhill. We were not mistaken. From the port (Greenock) we got onto the small shore [?] ship Gorilla, and soon we
were on our way. But now we got to experience a real storm. Since the waves were coming from the side, the little ship was
rocking heavily. In the front there was a large cabin for the passengers; along its sides there were benches with brass bars
along the walls for the passengers to hold onto. Among the passengers there were quite a few Jews, sitting on the floors with
their bundles and baggage. They were groaning and sliding with all of their possessions from one side to the other. My friend
and I couldn't stay on the bench, and ended up dangling from the brass bar. I couldn't stand it any more and went out from
the compartment; I stood under a roof and held onto the ropes that were strung across the deck; that way I didn't have to
look at the Jews throwing up, and listen to their moaning. When we reached the wide River Mersey, then all of these horrors
were over. How we looked up the Jewish ship agent, I don't remember. Probably the ship (... end p 39 of original text)
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