Dutchman and the Devil : The Lost Story (9781456612887) Read Online Free PDF Page A

wasn’t going to help Waltz for very long.
    One evening at Otto’s bar, Waltz told Otto his secret dream was to have a farm of his own. Otto grinned and said, “You’re going to have to move to America, if that’s what you want, lad.” Taking Waltz’s silence for agreement, Otto continued, “My cousin Herman went to St. Louis five years ago, an’ now he has enough money to buy a shoe factory. If you really want to get ahead, you ought to go work for Herman. He’d jump at the chance to hire a hard-working man like you.” Warming to the subject, Otto said, “If you worked for Herman, you could save your money an’ get that farm!”
    Weiser had come in as they were talking and sat down to join them. “What’s this about a farm?” he said. Without waiting for an answer, he went on, “I’ve been reading about gold strikes over in America. If you and I went to America, we could find gold and buy anything we want. How’s that sound, Waltz? A strong man like you could get rich in a hurry in those gold mines.”
    “Maybe I could,” Waltz said, “but I can’t leave my mother. Who would look after her?”
    Getting into the spirit of the conversation, Otto said, “That ain’t a problem. If you go to America, Hilda an’ I can look in on your mother.”
    “An’ take her meals,” Hilda said, taking off her apron and sitting down beside Waltz.
    Warming to his idea, Otto went on, “Besides, if you go to America, you’ll have plenty of money to send her.”
    “It’s nice of you folks to offer,” Waltz said slowly, “but I can’t go to America — I don’t speak any English!”
    “You won’t need to, if I go with you,” Weiser spoke up. “We’re still partners, aren’t we?”

TWO
First Strike

    On the tenth day of April 1840, Jacob Waltz and Jake Weiser set out for America from the port of Bremen. They survived violent Atlantic storms that tossed their ship like a child’s toy, and reached New Orleans six weeks later. Although they craved a couple of days on solid land, the seething city of New Orleans stank too strongly of garlic and garbage to linger there. They pushed their way past stoic Swedes with arms akimbo, swarthy Italians kissing and waving their arms, and chestnut-skinned Swahili chained like animals to reach the Mississippi River and embark on the last leg of their journey.
    Fourteen days later, their steamboat chugged into the humid heat of early summer in St. Louis. Otto’s cousin Herman had invited Waltz and Weiser to stay at his home, and Weiser’s English was fluent enough to hire a horse-drawn buggy to take them there. The driver worked his way through traffic to a wide boulevard lined with stately homes. Halfway down the block, he turned into the circular drive of a stately three-story red brick home and stopped in front of its white columned entrance.
    A black man in overalls hurried to unload their suitcases as a coffee-skinned maid opened the door and said, “Master Herman regrets he is not able to welcome you himself. I am Selma. I will show you to your rooms. You are to make yourselves comfortable. Master Herman will be home at six o’clock.”
    Waltz looked uneasily at Weiser. He hadn’t expected such a grand house. Weiser, however, seemed quite at ease and followed Selma up a broad staircase. Waltz followed.
    Their rooms were on the second floor, looking out on a trim lawn that sloped gently to a stream. Weiser took Herman at his word and spent the afternoon on the veranda sipping lemonade. Waltz stayed in his room and wrote a letter to his mother.
    After supper, as they sat sipping tiny glasses of kirsch, Herman said, “You men are welcome to stay with me as long as you like. Any friend of cousin Otto is a friend of mine.”
    Waltz took Weiser’s silence for agreement. Delighted to show off his limited English, Waltz said, “Thank you Herman. We will like to do this.”
    “Good,” Herman said. “Now, how about jobs for you lads? I can use a couple of strong young