Excerpt from the Diary of Jacob Hieb

November 17, 1895:
     The winter has begun, and the black prairie of our new land in Hosmer is hardened by the cold. There is work to be done, but we are all already fatigued from lack of food, so I write. I write to forget the harsh winter air and to take my mind off our new hardships by remembering everything that has happened to us to get here. The land thus far is more forgiving than the harsh crop failures we were experiencing in Neudorf, but after all my family and I have been through to get here, we still face difficulty. When I remember the conditions in Russia the difficulty fades. Once the stirrings of the Russian Revolution began, we realized things would become more difficult for us as German-Russians. The privileges of our beloved Catherine II were soon stripped from us. My close friend Balthasar Wetzier was drafted into the army and it was then that I begin to think about leaving Neudorf. He had been a friend of mine since we were quite young. His family had farmland close to ours and we would often smoke pipes together during the few instances we weren’t working hard in the fields. We made sure not to smoke in front of our parents because this was disrespectful, so we often would take short walks alongside the fields. Balthasar and I had many great conversations on those walks and we became very close. It was hard for me to see him taken, to have to fight for something that had little to do with us as German-Russians. The revolutionaries were becoming increasingly overbearing, as taxes and religious freedoms were choked from the people in our village. I did not want my sons Friedrich and Rudolph, or my dear wife Karolina, to experience the same loss I had suffered when Balthasar was taken. I realized we had to make a move fast before the unrest dried up all our income. We sold our farm along with most of our processions to some close friends for a good profit that would be enough for the stages of our journey to new land. Many people in our village were talking about the opportunities and cheap land in the American West, but many did not have the money to make the journey. I knew that if we waited too long we would also be unable move on.  It was in October 1894 that we would make our way to Bremen, where our ship would embark for New York. The arrangements that were made before our travels did not prove to be difficult on account of my stubbornness. I was pushed by our circumstances to the point where I was ready to make any sacrifice needed to get out, provided my decisions were in my families best interest.  Most of our possessions were sold, each of us taking only a pack and a hand trunk as we headed towards Bremen from Russia. This would prove to be the hardest leg of our journey. I cannot forget the harsh conditions as we made our way across the snow and ice of Russia. There was a large group of us from Neudorf, between fifty or sixty, that either walked or were pulled by their horse drawn carts. We did our best to keep our spirits up and for the most part no one complained as we made our way. We were all hopeful at the idea of new land and the freedoms that awaited us.
     I will never forget the moment I first saw the Havel. I had never seen a boat so large and I was bewildered by the idea that I had four tickets in my pocket that would soon allow us to board the vessel. It had three masts and two large funnels in the center. I asked the man that collected our tickets how many people would be boarding that day. He had a hard time understanding my dialect, but from what I gathered from our exchange, there was over 600 people aboard. When we went below deck to find our quarters I could see that he was right.  There were passengers bustling in every direction, speaking different languages as they began to settle in for the week we would be at sea. I was very pleased with our ocean crossing despite it being crowded and there was an overwhelming sense of release for me as we turned away from Europe. I could see it in my family as well. We spent great amounts of time on the boat together, sharing stories and memories of our life in Russia while creating new tales for what we would find in the American West. Upon our arrival at Ellis Island on March 4 my wonderment increased. My thoughts were captivated by what was beyond the hectic city of New York and it didn’t take long for me to realize how grateful I was to be heading away from such a population. We ran into some trouble when we discovered my son Friedrich was suffering from severe eczema and it took some convincing on my part to allow us to pass through.  Everyone had to be checked before they were allowed to continue their new lives in America and the lines seemed to stretch on for miles. Fortunately, it was because there were so many people waiting, that we were allowed to pass through. We would escape the city by train, it was both mine and Karolina’s decision to follow the tracks as far West as they would take us. That is how we came to be in Hosmer. The train slowly halted and there was a sea of prairie around us, a comfortable spectacle for a farmer that had a strong desire to begin work again. As I heard the birds and felt the air of our new home when I stepped off the train, there was no doubt that we had made the right decision in coming. It wouldn’t prove difficult to get the land we needed either. I explained to those in charge of the division of land that I was a farmer by trade and the extreme conditions we had been working under in Russia. They needed willing people that could work the land as the great country continued to expand West into new territories. I have not forgotten the generosity that this country has showed us. As we experience these times of difficulty during our first winter I simply remind myself of the sacrifices we have all made to get here and what this country and our new land in South Dakota has given us. I can look out now across our acres and envision a progress that would have seemed hopeless for us in Russia, and I thank the Lord.

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Jacob Hieb is my Great Great Grandfather on my mother’s side. This fictional journal is based on stories told by relatives.