The Settlers (35 page)

The story in
Hemlandet
was called “Fifty Years in Chains” and was an American slave’s true description of his life. The story was so horrible and touched everyone so deeply that all readers were compelled to pray to God that He would abolish the curse of slavery, she said. Yes, Robert would read “Fifty Years in Chains” by and by, he told her, but for the moment he was looking for happenings here in Minnesota.

A terrible accident had occurred down in Carver County. A Swedish settler had been out hunting of a Sunday and when he returned home and started to clean his gun he was so clumsy that he shot his seventy-year-old mother-in-law to death. The paper emphasized the happening as God’s warning to the immigrants; they ought to keep the Sabbath and never hunt on this day.

Cities had begun to spring up in America like mushrooms on a rainy August day. In Minnesota Territory no less than eighty town sites had been planned and surveyed during the last year.

At this Karl Oskar interrupted in annoyance: “That’s cheating and swindling!”

He knew the true situation. Nearly all towns out here existed only on maps. No people lived in them, for there were no houses. The paper cities were founded by speculators who were too lazy to work the earth and merely speculated in lots. Parasitical critters who lived off honest settlers! He would like to take his gun and drive these rats and vermin out of the Territory.

Robert said that the richest cities were in California. In one of the smallest towns out there, New Home Town, lived the greatest number of millionaires on the smallest number of square feet in America.

Karl Oskar picked up the paper and read about the price of grain: winter wheat in Chicago brought a dollar fifty per bushel, while rye brought only seventy-five cents and oats thirty cents for the same measure. What he had suspected turned out to be true: wheat was the flour grain valued above all else in the New World. White bread, reserved for their lordships in Sweden, was on everyone’s table in America.

“I see women are allowed to write in the papers here,” said Robert.

Following the example of American papers,
Hemlandet
had two articles by women. Male readers had taken exception and sent in angry letters: writing by women was contrary to the biblical and Lutheran spirit which until now had dominated the paper. The editor replied that in the future he intended to remain fearless and when he received something worthwhile written by a woman he intended to print it. He wanted in this way to encourage females who more and more were learning to write. He insisted he would still remain a good Lutheran.

“I believe he is right,” said Kristina. “I can’t think it’s sinful to learn to write.”

She felt that many Swedish immigrant women, like herself, felt inferior because they never had learned to write and were unable to communicate with their relatives at home.

“Everything is different here,” said Robert. “You are a missus and Karl Oskar is a mister out here.”

“Yes, I am now
^‘
Mr.’ Nilsson!”

And Karl Oskar laughed heartily: he had been elevated here! If a farmer in Sweden were called “Mister” he would take it as an insult, believe he was being made a fool of.

“You should know how trusted your brother is in America,” said Kristina to Robert. “He and Uncle Danjel were elected to the parish board.”

“Are you a church warden, Karl Oskar!” exclaimed Robert.

“A church warden without a church as yet. Danjel and I are ‘deacons,’ we’re chosen to run the parish.”

“Deacons?! That sounds almost like a dean or a bishop.”

Kristina said she remembered that time when Dean Brusander denied the Holy Sacrament to Uncle Danjel and refused to accept him as godfather for Harald when the boy was baptized. Suppose the dean now learned that Danjel and Karl Oskar ran the parish—that in America they could select and fire ministers! Wasn’t the world turned upside down out here?

This evening supper was late again because Kristina had so much to talk about with Robert. She noticed his hearing had grown still worse, that she had to raise her voice in speaking to him. And she wondered again if he weren’t sick in some way; he moved about so slowly and heavily, and when he sat still and did not exert himself in any way, big drops of sweat trickled down his forehead. He was very thirsty and often walked over to the bucket to drink. He explained that he was weak after a cold he had caught on the steamboat coming up the river; that was why he wanted to go to bed early these first evenings.

And as soon as Robert had eaten supper he went to bed in the gable room.

Kristina looked after him as he closed the door.

“Something is wrong with your brother, Karl Oskar. You can see and hear it.”

“Yes—he’s somewhat quiet about his gold digging. And he hasn’t said a word about Arvid . . .”

The old doubts were gnawing at him again; could everything be as it should with the big packs of bills his brother had given them?

Karl Oskar and Kristina remained sitting in the kitchen for a long time that evening, talking about something that had been in their minds all day long, something that had hardly left their thoughts for a minute—that something which for a whole day had been lying hidden in the bottom of the Swedish chest: the fortune that was secreted in their house.

XVII

THE SECOND NIGHT—ROBERT’S EAR SPEAKS

You’re tired and want to sleep but I must keep you awake. I am your faithful companion—I am the memories which refuse to leave you, a severe master.

You have an ear ache; you feel your heart’s persistent pumping in your ear, a dull thudding. But there is nothing you can do about it, except to lie quietly and endure it. What is it that hurts me? you have asked. No being on earth can give you a reply to that question. When you were born into this world as a human being you were condemned to being hurt. You were born with this body with its two ears, one of which buzzes at you tonight! Whose decision was it that you were to be a human being? The Lord of life and death, of course, and he also created the hurt. Why did He do it?—That is the Riddle of Life you cannot solve.

During that spring, three years ago, you still had your health, without suffering. At that time you lived with an expectation which aided you to endure patiently all troubles and tribulations; you thought the only thing that mattered was to get to a certain place on this earth. Yes, I remember so clearly everything that happened during that spring . . .

—1—

The buffalo grass was again turning green on the prairie, and new shoots were springing up, already three inches tall. Again there was fodder for the animals of the gold caravan, all the animals which would carry California-bound travelers on their backs and provide them with meat. The grass was fresh and green for only one month of the year, but it remained nourishing and desirable to the animals the year round.

Toward the end of March the two Swedish farm hands threw aside their axes, said goodbye to the farmer, and made ready to continue their journey westward; this spring they would not be too late to join up with the caravan on the California Trail.

Every day great numbers of strangers arrived in St. Louis on their way to Independence and St. Joseph, the meeting places for gold seekers. Here they obtained part of their equipment, food, fodder, tools which could not be bought farther west. St. Louis was beginning to look like a great army camp bivouacking for a few days. In every open place in the town, Robert and Arvid could see those strange vehicles, the Conestoga wagons, with their broad side boards and heavily forged wheel rims. From one side board to the other canvas was stretched on curved wooden bows over the wagon to form a covering. The boys looked with respect at the Conestoga wagon wheels which would turn over two thousand miles of prairies and plateaus, over mountains and deserts, and at last sink down in the sand where the gold glittered and shone.

The California-bound rode in wagons or on horses or mules and those who had neither vehicle nor animal must use the old “apostle horses”—they must walk. But even for those on foot, pack animals were necessary; no one could carry a heavy burden for two thousand miles.

Robert and Arvid counted the money they had saved and talked and figured carefully. How ought they to travel?

One morning as they walked about the town they were approached by a dark-hued stranger who carried a silver-ornamented Kentucky rifle. The man was not much taller than a young boy and wore a short red jacket with yellow stripes across the shoulders and chest. His hat was brown with a hatband of silver-white strings—the biggest hat they had ever seen on a human head. They thought it funny to see such a short man with a hat brim half as wide as his height. This peculiarly dressed stranger asked them if they were on their way to California.

“Yes . . . yes! We are hunting for gold!” Never before had Robert found an answer in English so quickly.

The little man smiled, exposing long white teeth. His skin was honey-colored, and his strong, protruding nose reminded Robert of his brother Karl Oskar. His eyes were big and friendly and warm.

He too was on his way to the goldfields. He would supply them with all they needed on the journey if they would keep him company and help him with his mules. Had they any experience in handling animals?

“We are used to farm work,” exclaimed Robert. “We can take care of cattle.”

“Good! Let’s go to a tavern for a beer.”

They hung over the counter while exchanging information. Within the hour everything had been agreed upon: Robert and Arvid were employed for four months—the time needed to cover the California Trail—to serve as mule drivers for a Mexican whose name was Mario Vallejos. English was not the native tongue of either Robert or Vallejos, yet they talked with ease to each other in this language. Vallejos had been born in Texas. A few years ago the Americans had come and taken his land and now he wanted some of their California gold in exchange. A few of his friends were in the same situation and it had been agreed among them they would all meet in St. Joseph, from whence a large group of California-bound men were to start toward the end of April. From St. Louis to St. Joseph the distance was about two hundred and fifty miles; this was the road they must first travel. Vallejos figured they could cover an average of twenty miles a day so they would need about twelve or thirteen days to get to St. Joseph. They would travel over uninhabited regions of prairies and plains but he knew the road well. If the boys could leave then, he would like to start out tomorrow; he had only been waiting to find the helpers he needed.

The Mexican turned out to be the owner of eight mules, all at their peak age, between four and six years old. They were strong and sturdy pack animals, each capable of a three-hundred-pound load. Seven of them were light gray, the eighth was dark brown; this one was the largest in the herd and was to carry the owner himself.

Indian horses and Mexican mules were the toughest animals both for packing and riding, explained Vallejos. But his mules required constant attention—careful brushing and feeding and a friendly attitude.

Robert assured him that both he and his friend had always loved Mexican mules above all other animals on earth. No mules of any kind existed in their home country but they had always looked forward to the pleasure of driving and combing and feeding these wise animals. In fact, this was the reason they had emigrated to North America.

Their new boss smiled and seemed pleased with his muleteers.

The boys had never driven animals other than horses and oxen. Arvid looked apprehensively at these Mexican mules and worried about his chores:

“Asses, ain’t they? Unreliable critters, I bet . . . ?”

Before he had come to America Arvid had never seen an ass except the one Jesus rode when he entered Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, and this was only a picture in the Bible. But that ass didn’t look at all like Vallejos’ pack animals.

The Mexican soon taught Robert all about their new duties, and Robert explained to Arvid one important point: hinnies and mules were different sorts of animals, for they had entirely different parents. When an ass took a stallion a hinny was born, but a mule was not begotten in that way; with her parents it was just the opposite: a mule had an ass to father and a mare for mother. With parents, he told Arvid, it is always the mother who is most important for the offspring, and since the mule had a mare-mother she became much more important than the hinny; she was the wisest animal on earth.

“A mare as mother and a jackass for father. Try to remember that, Arvid!”

And thus Arvid learned his first sentence in English: a mare mother and a jackass father. For he must know what kind of animals he had to take care of. Arvid had heard that asses were the dumbest animals alive; on the contrary, he now learned, if you had an ass for father you were the wisest animal on earth. For all children got their sense from the mother, said Robert, and the mother was a wise mare.

“I think I got my sense from my father,” said Arvid. “My mother had a poor head.”

They helped the Mexican with the provisions for the journey and loaded the packsaddles of the mules with flour, hams, beans, rice, coffee, dried fruit, sugar, salt, and water in canteens. They were openmouthed at the sight of all the goods their boss had bought for the California Trail, and he said he would buy still more when they arrived at St. Joseph. During the four months required for the two-thousand-mile journey each man would consume 150 pounds of flour, 50 pounds of ham, 50 pounds of dried pork, 30 pounds of sugar, 6 pounds of coffee, 1 pound of tea, 3 pounds of salt, one bushel of dried fruit, 25 pounds of rice, 20 pounds of hardtack, and half a bushel of beans.

When Robert and Arvid saw all the food a single man would eat on the journey they began to understand how very far it was to California.

It took more than one day for even the most willing muleteer to learn how to saddle a mule and pack it properly. The weight must be evenly divided between the front and hind quarters, and the same for both sides; an even balance was required or the pack animal would fall on its nose or sink down on its hind legs. Robert and Arvid had only harnessed horses and yoked oxen—to place several hundred pounds on a small mule was a much more complicated matter. And Arvid decided this much: a muleteer must be wiser than everyone else on earth. In America a hired hand must be smarter than in Sweden.