My Antonia

I FIRST HEARD OF Antonia on what seemed to me an interminable journey across the greatmidland plain of North America. I was ten years old then; I had lost both my father and motherwithin a year, and my Virginia relatives were sending me out to my grandparents, who lived inNebraska. I travelled in the care of a mountain boy, Jake Marpole, one of the 'hands' on my father'sold farm under the Blue Ridge, who was now going West to work for my grandfather. Jake'sexperience of the world was not much wider than mine. He had never been in a railway train untilthe morning when we set out together to try our fortunes in a new world.We went all the way in day-coaches, becoming more sticky and grimy with each stage of thejourney. Jake bought everything the newsboys offered him: candy, oranges, brass collar buttons, awatch-charm, and for me a 'Life of Jesse James, ' which I remember as one of the most satisfactorybooks I have ever read. Beyond Chicago we were under the protection of a friendly passengerconductor, who knew all about the country to which we were going and gave us a great deal ofadvice in exchange for our confidence. He seemed to us an experienced and worldly man who hadbeen almost everywhere; in his conversation he threw out lightly the names of distant states andcities. He wore the rings and pins and badges of different fraternal orders to which he belonged.Even his cuff-buttons were engraved with hieroglyphics, and he was more inscribed than anEgyptian obelisk.Once when he sat down to chat, he told us that in the immigrant car ahead there was a familyfrom 'across the water' whose destination was the same as ours.'They can't any of them speak English, except one little girl, and all she can say is "We go BlackHawk, Nebraska." She's not much older than you, twelve or thirteen, maybe, and she's as bright as anew dollar. Don't you want to go ahead and see her, Jimmy? She's got the pretty brown eyes, too!'This last remark made me bashful, and I shook my head and settled down to 'Jesse James.' Jakenodded at me approvingly and said you were likely to get diseases from foreigners.I do not remember crossing the Missouri River, or anything about the long day's journey throughNebraska. Probably by that time I had crossed so many rivers that I was dull to them. The onlything very noticeable about Nebraska was that it was still, all day long, Nebraska.I had been sleeping, curled up in a red plush seat, for a long while when we reached Black Hawk.Jake roused me and took me by the hand. We stumbled down from the train to a wooden siding, where men were running about with lanterns. I couldn't see any town, or even distant lights; wewere surrounded by utter darkness. The engine was panting heavily after its long run. In the redglow from the fire-box, a group of people stood huddled together on the platform, encumbered bybundles and boxes. I knew this must be the immigrant family the conductor had told us about. Thewoman wore a fringed shawl tied over her head, and she carried a little tin trunk in her arms, hugging it as if it were a baby. There was an old man, tall and stooped. Two half-grown boys and agirl stood holding oilcloth bundles, and a little girl clung to her mother's skirts. Presently a man witha lantern approached them and began to talk, shouting and exclaiming. I pricked up my ears, for itwas positively the first time I had ever heard a foreign tong