Personal Narrative: Diary Of An Immigrant

It was July 4, 1905 on a hot Summer day in Ireland. I, Robert Clemants, was at my small house grabbing everything I could carry. I had heard about America at the local marketplace. Times had been tough and I had been looking for a new life for a long while. I thought this was my chance. I had been living in poverty since the time my family moved away. I could not afford to pay for them a home for much longer. I had to find a place to go. Nothing could be worse than where I right now. Then, we agreed to travel back to our house to pack. That brings us back to the start. I gathered what little clothes I had and packed them in my case along with other personal items that were important. As I walked outside, I flagged down a wagon and asked for a ride. I jumped into the wagon, The man greeted me and I greeted him. Then, he asked where I wanted to go. I told him I wanted to go to the harbor. It would cost me $1.29. So, I paid him the

There was a magnificent room when we entered the building. There was luggage piled up to the ceiling. I stood there beside Frank for a second and was in awe. After checking our luggage, we put it down on the edge of the humongous pile of luggage. Then, we entered the next room. It was a extravagant winding staircase leading to the registry room. As I stood there, Frank and I both saw doctors standing on the second floor making notes as they looked at people with limps or other physical sign of injury or sickness. Then, I looked at Frank. He looked worried. I wondered why. We walked up the staircase and I saw a doctor glance at Frank before putting down a note in his notebook. I began to worry. I had been feeling sick for a long while and was worried about getting into the United States. But, when I looked over at Frank, he looked worse than before. Beads of sweat were running down his forehead and he kept glancing toward the doctors. Then we reached the top of the