To the immigrants, watching from a distance, it seemed as if God’s heaven were burning this night, and a burning heaven is an awesome sight to see. Even the children noticed the fire in the heavens above them, and asked about the angels and wondered if they could fly away before their wings got burned.
The immigrants were reminded of the altar picture in their village church. It showed the Last Judgment and Christ’s return to earth. In the picture, too, fiery clouds and smoke belched forth, heavy and dark and so real one could almost smell the smoke. And from on high Jesus came riding down on a burning cloud, in snow-white mantle, surrounded by a host of white angels. The people who were to be judged stood in fear on trembling legs, while the earth was lighted by pale rays from a darkened sun. It was daylight, yet it was dark as night, because it was the Last Day, the Day of Doom.
And now they were seeing the heavens burn in a fire which spread a fearsome light over the earth: their village altar picture was now hanging before them in the firmament, immensely enlarged and brought into living reality.
As yet that part of the picture which gave meaning to it remained undivulged: as yet Christ remained invisible in the fire-wreathed clouds. Christ and His angels had not yet made their appearance.
But many among them would not have been surprised if during this night He had descended from on high, in the glare of the heavenly flames, to judge living and dead.
They recognized the signs, they saw them in the very skies: like this it must be on the last day of the world. The seas and the winds would make much noise, and the heavens would tremble. Any moment now the world’s Judge might descend from His heavenly throne, the burning skies lighting His way to the earth.
But even if this were only an earthly fire — the prairie turned into a burning sea — they were nevertheless drawing closer to this fire each moment. The steamer followed the river, and the river flowed right into the red wall of flames and smoke. They would have liked to ask the captain why their ship didn’t moor, why he continued to steer right into the fire. Did he with intention bring his boat into the flames, to destroy it with passengers and crew? But unable to speak the language, they could not ask. All they knew was that the fire appeared closer and closer, and the boat approached the fire: the boat and the fire must meet.
Would it be possible to pass through a burning wall and yet remain alive? The alarmed and anxious immigrants sought comfort in their Bibles, where the prophet Isaiah had written the Lord’s words: “When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.”
All stayed awake through this night; those who went to bed rose at short intervals to look at the burning skies; many prayed in anguish and despair; if it were so that their last day was upon them, hadn’t it come too suddenly? Would the heavenly King recognize them as His own, or would He say to them: “Depart from Me, ye cursed!”
Toward morning they could see the fire and the smoke far to the right of the steamer; during the night they had passed a turn of the river, to the left, and were drawing away from the fire.
In clear daylight, it paled and diminished, losing its terrifying effect on those who had taken it as a sign of approaching Doomsday. During the day, the flames gradually disappeared, and at dusk could no longer be seen from the deck of the steamer.
Far, far away they had seen a fire on the prairie. But all around them, all the way to the horizon, the flat land remained green and untouched by flames.
Earlier the immigrants had crossed the stormy sea and had safely reached shore. Now again they thanked their God Who had helped them: He had saved them from the burning sea.
— 3—
The river steamer brought them farther West, following the deep furrow which the Creator had cut through the land of grass, where the billows rose and fell under the wind’s persistent comb. Down in the river the drive wheel churned its circular way, hurling the glittering drops into the sunlight.
Since leaving their homes, the immigrants had traveled by flat-wagon and sailing ship, by river boat and steam wagon, by canal boat and steamer. They had been pulled by horses and transported by winds, they had moved by the power of steam. They were still traveling through night and day, traveling across this country which seemed to have no limit. And every moment drew them farther from the land that had borne them. Their native village was now so far behind them that their thoughts could scarcely traverse the distance from the point on the earth where their journey began, to the place where they now were. They shuddered when they tried to comprehend the whole distance they had traveled across land and water. Trying to remember, they were unable to reach back — not even their imagination could undertake a return journey. The distance was too overwhelming; the earth which God had created was too large and too wide to fathom.
A realization which their minds had long resisted became fixed in their hearts and souls: this road they could never travel again; they could never return. They would never see their homeland again.
IX. DANGER SIGNS ARE NOT ALWAYS POSTED
— 1—
A bell rang on the upper deck, the steering wheel turned, and the prow of the river steamer headed shoreward. The boat moored to a lonely bank deep in the forest; there were no signs of people or human habitation. The gangplank was thrown out, and two of the crewmen went on shore, carrying an oblong bundle between them. Two other men with shovels followed them. All four disappeared behind the thick wall of trees and bushes which grew to the water’s edge.
After a short while the men returned to the ship. But now they carried nothing except the shovels dangling in their hands. The bell rang again, the gangplank was pulled in, and the steamer backed into the river, resuming its course after this short, unscheduled delay.
These stops at wild and lonely shores took place every day, some days many times. Except for the ringing of the bell, the stops made not a sound, indeed, they happened so quietly and unexpectedly and were of such short duration that at first the passengers hardly noticed them. Otherwise they might have asked why the steamer made shore; no passenger disembarked, they saw no freight unloaded, no firewood or timber was taken aboard. And at the mooring places not the smallest shed could be seen, there were no piles of wood, no stacks of lumber; untouched wilderness was all that could be seen. Why was time wasted for these stops?
Only the most observant travelers had noticed that a bundle was carried ashore, they had seen the men with shovels, and on closer inspection had seen earth clinging to the shovels when the men returned to the boat. And so they had figured out that the men remained ashore long enough to dig a shallow grave.
Soon all had guessed the riddle of the frequent stops in the wilderness, so quickly and silently undertaken. Something — wrapped in a piece of gray cloth — was carried ashore. Some one of the passengers was taken on land, not alive, but dead. A corpse was removed from the boat, a funeral was performed during the brief interval while the steamer was moored to the bank.
Some passenger died every day; and there were days when several died. Soon all on board were aware of this and counted the number of times the bell rang and the men with shovels went ashore.
No one on board had died by act of violence or by accident, no one had starved to death, no one had frozen to death in this summer heat. A disease was killing the passengers, a disease which in a few short days transformed the healthiest person into a corpse. And the sickness which had stolen aboard the river steamer was so greatly feared that it could not be called by its name, it was the disease, nothing else. To call it by name would have been to challenge the dreaded scourge, make it appear sooner. People became sick from fear. In terror they watched for the signs: when the bodily juices dried up, when the skin turned blue-red and coarse, when the nose grew sharp, when thirst burned the tongue and the membranes of the throat, when the body could retain nothing, neither fluids nor solid matter, when the limbs felt cold and cramped, when the eyes sank into their sockets, when nasal slime and saliva stopped, when all tears dried up — then it had entered the body! And if the miracle didn’t happen — perspiration breaking out over the whole body within two hours of the seizure — then death had prepared his work well and would finish it within twenty-four hours.