The Project Gutenberg EBook of Wanderings of French Ed, by Joseph René

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Title: Wanderings of French Ed

Author: Joseph René

Release Date: July 24, 2013 [EBook #43292]

Language: English

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WANDERINGS OF FRENCH ED ***

Produced by Jerry Kuntz

Wanderings of French Ed
by Joseph Adelard René
Published 1899
Wright & Company, New York

The beginning of life is like the morning of a spring day and dreams are to one's soul what sunshine is to that day—often too brilliant to last; but human nature needs a stimulant, and that stimulant is the ideal which takes place in the soul of every human being when ambition for the future is born.

Who does not remember nursing golden dreams in days gone by? Such is the human heart; it lives on fiction, and feeds on happy dreams for the future.

When about twenty years of age, Edward Cottret was at the end of his schooldays, and the desire to realize an old cherished dream was uppermost in his soul. That old dream was to go to the United States, make a fortune, come back home and astonish the natives.

The little village where Edward was living was all excitement when it was learned that old man Cottret had decided to let his boy Ed go to the States. Some blamed him, others thought it was proper, but they all joined in wishing the boy godspeed and good luck.

The day to depart had arrived, and at the little station parents and friends were assembled to bid him farewell. His mother and sister were taking turns kissing him, while crying, and his father, sad but solemn, stood by, waiting for a last chance to give him, his only son, fatherly advice. The shrill whistle of the locomotive was heard, and then it was like the last part of a funeral ceremony, and even Edward, who up to this time had succeeded in hiding his emotion, felt his heart growing too big for his chest, and when he held the quivering hand of Marie Louise, his sweetheart, he completely lost the power of speech, and when she said: "Ed, don't forget me," he could only stare at her.

The train was now ready to start, and standing at the end of the car, Edward was holding his father's hand, who also felt tears in his eyes. The last seconds were painful to all, and it almost seemed a relief when the train moved and handkerchiefs fluttered in the air his last farewell. Had it not been for the noise made by the moving train his sobbing would have been heard by those on the platform.

The last ones to leave the station were his father, his mother, and his sweetheart. They stood there until the smoke from the locomotive could be seen no more. Edward saw the last houses of his native village grow smaller, and long after he could not see them he stood at the end of the car while tears were coursing down his cheeks. When he went inside he felt a strange sensation of loneliness which seemed to increase as the distance grew between him and his village. When the train stopped at the next small station Edward was tempted to get out and walk back home; but at this his pride revolted, and the train as it moved again seemed to mock him.

Try as he might he could not revive in his soul the old dreams for the future, and when night came, stretched on the hard benches of the second class coach, he slept just long enough to dream of his mother and his village. Once he woke up, thinking he held the quivering hand of his blue-eyed sweetheart.

After a restless night, morning found him aching in every limb in his body, but glad that he was nearing his destination. Worcester, Mass., was the city where he expected to first walk upon American soil, and after searching in vain upon the yellow time-table to find the exact time he would arrive, he turned to a fellow-passenger, a big fat fellow, whom he addressed in French, saying: "A quelle heure arriverons nous a Wor-ces-ter?"

The big fellow look puzzled at first, then smiling, he said: "Talk
United States."

Edward failed to understand the meaning of "talking United States," but answered "thank you," trying to look satisfied with the answer.

About two hours later the conductor came in and said: "Worster!
Worster!" and shortly after the train stopped in a large depot.
Almost everyone stepped out except Edward, who had no idea that
"Worster," as the conductor called it, and "Worcester" were the same
place. "Don't you want to get off here?" asked the conductor.

"No, I am going to Worcester," answered the French lad, but the conductor picked up some of his things and smilingly informed him that he was at the end of his trip.

After finding his way out of the station, Edward stopped an instant to look around and immediately he was surrounded by a lot of cabmen yelling, gesticulating and wanting to take hold of some of the boy's parcels. Surprised and almost scared he tried to make them understand something in French, but failed, and he was getting in a rather embarrassing situation, when an old gentleman, who had witnessed the proceedings, stepped up to him and asked him in broken French where he wanted to go. "God bless you!" thought Edward as he looked up into the kind old gentleman's face, and told him where he wanted to be directed to.

The old gentleman walked part way with him, and then gave him directions to find a hotel kept by a Frenchman, where he said Edward would be well treated. After a few minutes Edward found himself in front of a cheap-looking boarding house, bearing the name "Hotel de Montreal," and he walked in. Every one in the place spoke French, and he felt at once like a new man. His face brightened up and his old-time courage came back as he told the proprietor that we wanted to stop there for a few days.

The remainder of that day was spent in sight-seeing and in gathering information about addresses given him by his father and friends of some compatriots in business in that city, from whom Edward expected to receive employment and get his start in American life.

Early the next day he started to call at each place, sure that he would have no trouble in finding employment, but his enthusiasm was somewhat cooled when compatriots in business informed him carelessly that they could do nothing for him. At each succeeding place he met with the same fate, until a call had been made at every address.

His modest pocketbook was depleted, and the light of hope that bums in every man's soul was getting dim, and its rays were like those of a flickering candle. Golden dreams had left his heart one by one to make room for the cold and cruel reality. Was that the United States he had read and heard so much about? Where every one could make money? True, there was much activity, but it broke his heart to think he had no part in it. He felt small and lost among these strangers who passed by him without noticing him; he, who in his native village was used to be quite an important personage. He would have given ten years of his life to be back home, but alas! his money was now nearly all gone.

That night he went to bed earlier than usual, not to sleep, but to cry in despair. In the stillness of the night he thought he could hear the sobbing of his old mother, and in the darkness of his little room he imagined he