In late May of 1903, a huge cargo steamer named the Blücher set out from Hamburg to London. There were horses and people on the ship. Horses are an extremely valuable cargo and quite susceptible to seasickness, from which they suffer greatly, and for this reason they were allocated the best spot on the Blücher. People also suffer from seasickness, but the Blücher passengers belonged to a class one does not make a fuss over. They were mostly the natives of Northwestern shtetls, cowed, small, plain, very poorly clad, marked with the seal of centuries-long chronic malnutrition. The burly sailors shouted at them as they drove them into the black depths of the hold. Men, women and children crawled in obediently, dragging behind them huge bundles and dirty flock-mattresses. Of course, none of them could have said why they had brought along these dirty and worthless rags to their new homeland. Among the scrawny, curly-haired, hook-nosed natives of the Northwestern Krai one could discern emigrants from a different region of Russia, mostly fair-haired ones, and veritable giants by comparison with the Lithuanian starvelings. Jews predominated here, but there were also quite a few Estonians and Poles. Some had already parted with their national caftans and ‘suknyas’ at the border or in Hamburg, but a few proved obstinate conservatives. Among their number was a tall, broad-shouldered Ukrainian in an astrakhan hat, a black peasant overcoat girt with a colourful belt and a pair of enormous boots. This passenger seemed especially bewildered when the emigrants were being driven into the hold in Hamburg.

‘Tell me, are we going?!’ he questioned the sailor desperately.

‘Vorwärts! Schneller!’ the sailor shouted.

‘But I need to know if we’ll go soon?’ the passenger kept repeating.

Instead of replying, the sailor gave the Ukrainian a shove in the neck. The latter grew furious, threw down the sack he was holding, ground his teeth, quickly turned around and took a swing with his huge heavy fist. But at that moment, somebody grabbed the Ukrainian by the hand and spoke quickly.

‘Let them be! don't raise a ruckus! He didn't understand you. I’ll ask for you. Upon my soul, it's better if you calm down! come! we’ll lie down together,’ said a puny, very nervous and fidgety young man. The Ukrainian sighed, picked up his sack and descended into the hold.