Part 2

The Sparrow was astonished that neither of the two men, nor the rest of the people, seemed to be afraid of the monster. On the contrary, they ran up to it, disappearing in its smoke. Then the Sparrow saw that the monster pulled some black houses behind it. He saw the two men sneak into one of these houses and flew on to the roof of the same house. Scarcely had he settled himself when the monster again began to puff and pant and started on its journey.

The poor Sparrow thought he would die of fright. The monster rushed with such speed that the little bird could not hear or see. At home he had often flown with the wind for the sport of it and had enjoyed the swift motion. But this was altogether different. He made himself very small, settled himself firmly, and believed his last hour had come. If men called this rest they surely are strange creatures. Perhaps it wasn’t so terrible where the people were. He was a clever Sparrow and when the monster stopped again to take breath, he flew down from the roof of the house and examined it. The door was not quite closed. The Sparrow squeezed through the crack, entered a dark room where many boxes were piled. He squatted on one of the chests and waited to see what would happen.

The monster began to run again. The Sparrow laughed with joy; now he had guessed right. He sat here quietly, comfortably, and the monster had to slave to carry him further. So this is what people call “to ride.” Truly, people are not so stupid as he had thought.

The countless feet of the monster pounded over the earth singing a rattling, rumbling, monotonous song. The Sparrow understood the words to mean “Into the distance! Into the distance!” For a while he listened to the song, then he fell asleep.

He must have slept a long time. When he awoke the sun was high in the sky and its rays came into the dark room through narrow cracks in the door. The Sparrow saw that his two acquaintances had hidden themselves between two tall boxes. They seemed to be in good humor, chatting with one another and laughing.

“We have traveled a good part of our journey without trouble,” said the older one. “Now we only have to walk another day and ride another night. Then we will reach the ocean.”

“How long will we have to swim?”

“About five days.”

The Sparrow was frightened. Five days he would have to swim over the endless waters, five long days he could not rest or cease if he wished to save himself from sinking into the waves. How could he endure it? He began to reflect carefully. Could men swim so long in water? He had seen boys bathing in the village pond, yet they would come out of the water in a short time and none of them ever remained in the water all day long. But perhaps there were also tame monsters which carried men over the water. Again he decided not to leave the two men and to do everything they did.

When the two men jumped, unnoticed, off the freight train at a railway station, the Sparrow followed them. He flew very close to them. He felt that they were both his friends and so long as he would not leave them nothing would happen to him.

All day long the men journeyed, walking through fields and meadows, through little villages with queer pointed church steeples. The younger of the two men limped, he could only walk slowly. This was very pleasing to the Sparrow, because he did not have to move fast, he could fly comfortably. When the men stopped, the Sparrow followed their example, meantime seeking his food, as the long journey made him unusually hungry. He also chatted with a few strange birds, all of whom advised him not to continue his dangerous journey. The migratory birds looked him over scornfully, saying with a sneer, “Do you believe you can do the same as we distinguished people? To travel, to see the world, to spend the winter in warm countries—that is not for common people.”

An old blackbird minister, black-frocked and solemn, delivered a sermon to him from a branch. “We must obey God’s commandments. God has ordained that Sparrows must spend the winter in the north.”

“If God has decreed that all our people shall freeze and starve and that only the aristocrats, the Capitalists, like the Swallows and Starlings, shall fly away to the warm places, I don’t want to know anything about him!” cried the Sparrow and his feathers bristled up in anger.

The old blackbird minister primped his shining feathers with his bill and growled senselessly. But the Sparrow was sad. “How cruel the birds are to one another,” he thought to himself. “I want to do something that will help all and am just laughed at. Can’t anybody understand me?”

“Hark, hark!” called a soft voice from a great height, and a young Lark shot downward as swift as lightning to the side of the sad Sparrow. “I understand you. Everybody jeers at me too, because I don’t fly close to the earth like they do, but always seek to fly higher and higher, into the blue sky. Do not be downcast, beloved brother, you will reach your goal.”

The young Lark flew quite close to the Sparrow, looked at him and said, “Fly a little for me, brother, so I can see how strong your wings are.”

The Sparrow flew up, hovering over the Lark.

As he returned she looked at him sadly and said earnestly, “Your wings cannot carry you over the great ocean, my poor friend. But you must not give up on account of that, you must do as men do, who cannot fly and yet travel all over the world. They have invented a sort of house that swims over the water. They call it a ship. You must....”

The Sparrow did not wait to hear the end. The two men had left during the conversation, and now the Sparrow saw them in the distance looking like two dark spots. Frightened, he cried. “My two men have left me,” and he flew after them as fast as he could.

When it grew dark, the men once again sneaked into a freight train. The Sparrow followed them and slept all night, while the black monster again took him over hills and mountains, past rivers and streams.

As dawn came, the two men crept out of the train and the Sparrow flew after them. They walked for a little while, then the Sparrow saw an immense body of water lying before him. Endless, extending beyond his vision, this blue-gray body of water extended, and on its surface stormed wild, white-capped, monstrously high billows.

So this was the ocean! Never had the Sparrow felt so small and helpless as at the sight of this dreadful water. What was he in comparison to this? A poor, helpless little bird, a tiny something. Deep sighs lifted his little breast, from his bright eyes the tears fell. “If I were only at home, in the safe little nest,” cried he to himself. “I could creep under mother’s wings as I did when I was little.”

The waves roared dismally, threateningly; the white froth squirted upwards. The two men walked unconcernedly on the damp, sandy ground. With beating heart the Sparrow followed them. And then he saw something surprising. In a great bay some strange things tossed. They were something like a house, but had few windows and tall chimneys from which streamed heavy grey smoke; some things that looked like a forest; bare trees without branches seemed to grow in it. Although these trees bore neither fruit not leaves, the Sparrow was delighted to see them. They gave him confidence. He began to feel at home. But how strange it was that these houses with trees on them were tossed up and down by the waves. Suddenly the Sparrow remembered the words of the Lark. “Men call these houses that swim on the water ‘ships’.” So these were ships! On one of these tossing, swimming houses he would journey to warm lands.

But which should he choose?

It occurred to him that at home the largest trees could best withstand the wind. Evidently the same was true of ships, and so he must choose the largest.

His two friends went to a small ship, and the Sparrow piped, “Good luck! Good luck!” but they did not hear him.

The Sparrow flew on to an immense ship from whose chimneys streamed great clouds of grey smoke, and hid himself high up at the top of one of the leafless trees.

What noise and excitement there was below. Countless people ran hither and thither, calling and shouting to one another; something rattled, something clattered, the great chimneys shrieked loudly. A bridge that attached the boat to the land flew up into the air, then fell into the boat with a bang. The boat started on its journey. Slowly, solemnly it cut through the water that bubbled on either side. The large house with the leafless trees, the little bird’s new home, swam away from the land.

The Sparrow’s mind was quite confused with the noise and hurry. And now another great fright came to him. Suddenly a young fellow climbed up his tree. The Sparrow believed that he wanted to capture him, but the fellow didn’t seem to notice him and after a little while climbed back. As it grew dark, the boat became quiet and one could only hear the noise of the waves. The Sparrow flew down from his tree and sat down on the roof, where he soon fell asleep.

When he awoke in the morning, he thought he would die of fear. The land had disappeared. Wherever he looked he saw only water; great grey waves rolled against the ship, shaking it gently as a soft wind shakes the nests in the trees. Nowhere a tree, a shrub, a flower. The boat swam all alone on the great ocean, that would not end.

The poor Sparrow felt quite lonesome and deserted. “If I could just find any bird,” sighed he. “Even if it were a haughty Swallow or a strange Blackbird. At least I could speak with some one who knows my world, who speaks my language.” Finally he lost all his courage and began to weep bitterly.

“Who are you?” suddenly asked a thin, piping voice, and the Sparrow beheld a little mouse standing before him, who stared at him with large round eyes.

The Sparrow was happy, for he was acquainted with mice at home. He bent down and hopefully answered the questions of the mouse.

“You are a brave Sparrow,” she said, after she had heard his story. “I bid you welcome to my ship.”

“To your ship?” exclaimed the Sparrow. “I thought that the ship belongs to the people.”

“The people also believe that,” replied the Mouse sharply. “But don’t you know that people believe that everything belongs to them?”

“That is true. The farmer at home believed that the church-steeple was his, and yet it is quite clear that the church-steeple was made for us Sparrows.”

While they were speaking thus, a very old mouse came over and began to speak. “Not all people believe that everything belongs to them,” said she learnedly. “There are also people who do not possess anything. You can observe that on the ship. Above live people in large, beautiful rooms, and eat all day long. My mouth waters when I smell the rich foods that are set before them.”

“But down below the people are crowded together, so that they can hardly find place to lie down at night, and many have only dry bread along with them to eat on the whole journey. This stupid phrase ‘my boat’ you have also learned from men,” she said scolding the mouse. “You know that the common things are ours. Don’t let me hear false words from you.”

“Excuse me, grandmother,” begged the young Mouse.

“You are a stranger here,” said the Grandmother Mouse to the Sparrow. “We will be helpful to you, so that you can endure the long journey. I advise you not to fly to the rich people, they will play with you a day or two, and then forget you. Indeed, it is only among the poor people, on the lower deck, that you will find a few breadcrumbs, and these people will be good to you because they know how a poor, unfortunate creature feels.”

The Sparrow followed the advice of the wise Grandmother Mouse and soon realized that she had spoken truthfully. The children were delighted with him, and they spared him breadcrumbs from the few that were provided for their own little mouths. And because they were children, they understood the language of the Sparrow, and chatted with him. In this way the Sparrow heard many sad stories. The children told of poverty and distress, how hard parents had to work and how often there was nothing to eat at home. The honest Sparrow felt very sad to hear this. “There must also be a beautiful land for men, where conditions are good and they do not have to hunger and freeze,” said he to his little friend.

“Perhaps,” said a pale little girl. “But we have not yet found the road to it.”

“When I am big,” declared a little boy dressed in black, “then I will go out to search for that land. When I find it I will lead all the poor people to it.”

The two mice also visited the Sparrow often, they always came towards evening, when all was quiet.

So passed a long time, and one day the Sparrow saw land in the distance, saw houses and trees and knew that now his goal was reached.

The grey ocean had become quite blue and gleamed in the sunshine. It was very hot, and Grandmother Mouse said that in this land there was no winter.

When the ship landed, the Sparrow flew after his friends for a while and then contemplated his new home.

All the people had brown faces and wore strange clothes. The faces of the women were covered so that one could only see their large black eyes. He also saw queer animals that walked on four legs and had great humps on their backs. Even the trees were different than those at home, there were some with long pointed leaves and brown fruit that the Sparrow relished. There was plenty to eat; here no Sparrow had to suffer hunger, and there was no snow or cold.

“Isn’t this also the right country for the poor people?” the Sparrow asked himself. But then he saw that in this sunny land there were also rich and poor, that some were richly dressed and others wore rags, that some lazy ones rode in handsome carriages and some dragged heavy burdens. And he thought, “It is much easier to find a Sparrow paradise than a land in which people may enjoy happiness.” This pained him, because on his journey he had learned to love the poor people. “But how strange this is. People can tame wild animals to carry them through all lands, they know how to build houses that swim on the water and yet they are so poor and destitute and let a few evil wretches take everything for themselves.”

Now that he had reached the warm country, the Sparrow rested from his long and wearisome journey, flew about lazily, and spent each night in a different tree.

One day he came to a beautiful green stream and flew along its course. He came to a great, large plain. At first he thought he had reached the ocean again, but as far as he could see lay fine yellow sand. In the distance he saw something rising out of the sand which looked like a monstrous animal. He flew closer to it and saw that it really was a gigantic creature with the head of a human being and two large paws. It was made of grey-brown stone and was partly covered with sand.

The ugly animal lay quite still and grinned angrily. The Sparrow curtseyed carefully: would the beast wish to eat him? But no, it graciously acknowledged his greeting and said: “I have been lying here thousands of years, yet I have never seen a bird like you. Who are you? What are you doing here?”

The Sparrow related his story and the great beast listened patiently. Then the little bird inquired, “Will you tell me who you are? We have no animals like you at home.”

The great beast laughed and replied, “People call me the Sphinx. I am so old that I have lost count of my years; have seen everything, know everything.”

“In my country the Owls say that, too,” was the Sparrow’s pert remark.

The Sphinx looked at him angrily. “The Owl is a conceited boaster!” he cried excitedly.

“Excuse me!” stammered the Sparrow, frightened. “I did not wish to insult you. You look much older than the Owl.”

“Indeed I am. I count my years by the thousands.”

“How much you must have seen!” cried the Sparrow.

The Sphinx opened her gigantic mouth and yawned so hugely that the sand flew about her as though a whirlwind had hit it.

“Since the year 1000,” said she. “I always see the same; I see people who have riches and joy, forcing their starving slaves to drudge. At first the slaves were driven with whips which the overseer used to beat them with when they became tired from the heat of the sun. Often these slaves were kept at work with chains on their feet so that they should not run away. Later the whips disappeared, the masters bragged of their kindness, saying, ‘In these progressive times, no man is a slave.’ But secretly they concealed a dreadful whip, Hunger, and this drove the people to slavery as surely as the whip they had used previously. I see people pass here, rich strangers who visit this country out of curiosity, and see the poor Arabs, who work as muleteers and drag heavy stones, and are barely kept alive with a few dates and a little corn, just like their ancestors thousands of years ago.”

The Sphinx became silent, gazing gloomily at the desert. Then she spoke again, “For thousands of years there were gorgeously dressed, jeweled priests here, who belonged in the same class as the rich people. They preached to the people, threatening them with the anger of the gods if they became dissatisfied with their fate. Today these priests are dressed in black, but they also lie and stand by the rich ones, they also worship a God who was a bad mechanic. It has always been the same, for thousands of years.” And again the Sphinx yawned.

“Can’t you also see into the future, wise Beast?” bashfully questioned the Sparrow.

“Yes, I can also see that. Listen to my words, little bird. A day will come when all slaves will arise in a dreadful struggle against their oppressors. After long bloody battles they will conquer and then there will be a new world, where everything belongs to all the people and all people are free. Even today the earth trembles in happy expectation, and in the quiet night I feel its trembling. For thousands of years I have not spoken to any being, I will only speak again when the day of freedom dawns. Then my voice will join in the jubilations of the freed people.”

The Sparrow flew out of the desert where he could find nothing to eat, back to the green stream, and enjoyed many pleasant days there.

One day he was sitting on a stone on the bank of the stream, when he heard familiar voices, “Tweet! Tweet!”

He looked up and saw three Swallows who flew slowly toward him.

“Are you here already?” the Sparrow asked in surprise.

“Certainly, certainly,” twittered the Swallows. “At home rough winds are blowing, the frost is in the meadows at night, winter is coming.”

How frightened the Sparrow was at that. Here in this beautiful land where he had plenty of fat worms and warm sunshine, he had forgotten about his Sparrow brothers. And in the meantime the deadly winter had come! He must rush home to teach them how to reach the sunny land. Would he reach there in time? How selfish he had been; if Sparrows were freezing and starving at home, it was his fault.

Even while he was thinking this he spread out his little wings and flew toward the ocean.

In the harbor many silvery-white Seagulls flew about, crying with shrill voices, “A storm is coming! A storm is coming!”

“Which ship is going north?” he asked hastily.

“None,” answered a Seagull; but this was not true, they were disagreeable birds and wanted to frighten the Sparrow.

But he believed them. “Then I must fly over the ocean,” thought he, fearfully. “I must do it, for on me depends the life or death of my Sparrow brothers. I must make good.”

Sadly he looked back once more on the wonderland; then flew out on the great waters.

Wild waves dashed up, the storm howled and rain fell. In a few hours, the Sparrow was so tired that he could no longer fly high. The billows made his feathers wet, they were heavy with the water and drew him deeper and deeper down. A monstrous wave reached out for him with white arms and the Sparrow fell into the ocean and was swallowed by the waves.

For that reason the Sparrows must still freeze and starve every winter, for there has not been another courageous Sparrow to show them the way to the sunny country.

But had the Sparrow suffered so much and died in vain?

No, the little black-haired boy on the ship had paid special attention to the story which the Sparrow had told him and had listened to what the Sparrow wanted to do for his Sparrow brothers, and this the little boy wanted to do for his fellow-humans. He grew up, and wherever oppressed workers struggled against their oppressors, he was the leader. But the story of the black-haired boy, of his life and his death, is another tale and does not belong here.

THE LITTLE GREY DOG

He was an ugly grey dog with long silken-soft ears and a bushy tail. He was born in a splendid stable that belonged to a rich man. This rich man lived on a large estate in which were fields and meadows. And in these fields grew sugarcane, in great quantities, great, round, smooth canes that contained the sweet sugar. On the sugar plantations worked hundreds of Negroes, men and women, and the Negroes belonged to the rich man who had bought them in the market as he would buy cattle, for this story happened long ago, in those days when slavery existed in America. The rich man could do anything he wished with his slaves. If he was in a bad mood he would permit them to be whipped; if they dared to protest against this cruel treatment they were more cruelly punished—they were stripped naked, smeared with honey, and tied to a tree. The smell of the honey attracted the bees that came in large swarms, settled on the body of the slave, sucked the honey and stung the bound man till he collapsed with pain. Also, the master could sell his slave, did this frequently, without the least consideration, tearing mother from child, separating man and wife, sister and brother. The poor Negroes were completely helpless, they had to work all day long in the hot sun, received very poor food, lived in wretched huts, separated from the house of the rich man by a mighty river. Here lived the Negroes, crowded together; the children played about in front of these huts, played happily, because they did not yet know that they were slaves and that a hard, difficult life awaited them.

In one of the Negro huts arrived the little grey dog who had been born in the splendid stable, and this is how it happened.

Once when the rich man walked through the stable, he noticed the little grey dog who was playing in the straw. He examined the little dog, and said angrily to the coachman, “What is this ugly little creature doing here in my beautiful stable? Take it out, drown it in the river.”

The coachman promised to do this; indeed he pitied the lively little animal, but the master was strict and he did not dare to disobey the command. He called the little dog, who came running joyously, and started toward the river. As he came near the homes of the slaves, a little black boy ran out of one of the huts and cried, “O, the lovely little animal! Where are you taking it?” And he ran quite close to them and patted the dog, who mischievously jumped at him, barking.

“I must drown the dog,” answered the coachman.

At that the eyes of the little boy filled with tears, he took the dog in his arms, held him close, and begged, “Don’t do it, just see how darling he is!”

“I must do it, Benjamin. The master has commanded me. If I don’t obey him he will punish me severely.”

The little grey dog licked Benjamin’s face, looked at him with his large eyes that seemed to implore him, “Save me, save me!”

“Give me the dog,” pleaded Benjamin. “I will hide him well so that the master will not see him.”