[The Promised Land by Mary Antin]@TWC D-Link bookThe Promised Land CHAPTER VIII 11/30
When the warning bell rang out, it was drowned in a confounding babel of voices,--fragments of the oft-repeated messages, admonitions, lamentations, blessings, farewells.
"Don't forget!"-- "Take care of--" "Keep your tickets--" "Moeshele--newspapers!" "Garlick is best!" "Happy journey!" "God help you!" "Good-bye! Good-bye!" "Remember--" The last I saw of Polotzk was an agitated mass of people, waving colored handkerchiefs and other frantic bits of calico, madly gesticulating, falling on each other's necks, gone wild altogether. Then the station became invisible, and the shining tracks spun out from sky to sky.
I was in the middle of the great, great world, and the longest road was mine. * * * * * Memory may take a rest while I copy from a contemporaneous document the story of the great voyage.
In accordance with my promise to my uncle, I wrote, during my first months in America, a detailed account of our adventures between Polotzk and Boston.
Ink was cheap, and the epistle, in Yiddish, occupied me for many hot summer hours.
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