And the ex-carpenter, their tall countryman, smiled encouragingly at them. He had a mouthful of teeth which glittered white and handsome, and his cheeks were covered with a black, well-kept beard. He was a man whom women looked at. When unmarried Ulrika of Västergöhl asked him a question, she stuck her finger in a buttonhole of his coat so as not to let him get away. Long Landberg was kept busy answering questions, as they had no one else to ask, no one else to hear complaints; but he was never impatient or short.
Hardly had the passengers got their promise of fresh air than they were disturbed again: the sound from the wheels had suddenly grown more intense and hollow. They looked out and saw water streaming on either side of the wagon. They were riding over a bridge that crossed a broad river. The Americans had laid the iron bars for the railroad right across the water! The guide said the Americans were very daring people; above all, they liked to risk their lives; they did it frequently, as a matter of course.
Robert and Arvid sat together on the wagon floor and spoke to each other in low voices. Arvid did not feel well, he had a toothache; he wished he had continued the journey on foot. The first day on land he had had the motion of the waves in his legs and had felt as though he were walking over a quagmire; now when all his limbs were in good order again he must sit locked up in this calf coop. He was sure the wagon had been used for cattle transport—under one bench he had found dry cow dung. Robert showed this to Landberg, who said yes, maybe the wagon had been used for freighting cattle before it had been turned into an immigrant wagon.
Arvid asked if they could trust the wheels to follow the iron bars all the way. Robert told him there were rims on the wheels which forced them to follow the bars. It might, of course, happen that a wagon would lose a wheel, particularly as they drove with this terrible speed; they must be going eighteen miles an hour, or three times as fast as an ordinary spring wagon. That was how fast and strong the steam was.
Arvid looked at him in disbelief: “They say steam is nothing but mist?”
“Ye-es. The kind of mist one sees when water is boiling.”
And Robert explained the power of steam to his friend: Once he and some other boys had picked up an old, discarded gun pipe; they had plugged one end, filled the pipe with water, and then plugged the other end too; they had made a fire in the forest and laid the gun pipe over it; soon it became red hot and blew up; it made a terrific explosion, and the pipe burst into a thousand pieces. One of the boys had had three fingers torn off—so strong was steam power when loosed.
If they were unlucky, it might well happen that the steam in this train would break loose and tear all of them to pieces like a mash of meat so intermingled that flesh scraps and bone chips could hardly be separated.
Arvid chewed one of his knuckles, as was his custom when uneasy. “You think the steam will break loose?”
“No. I said, only if we are unlucky.”
Robert meant to recount all he had read in his History of Nature about iron roads and steam power, so that his friend might feel comfortable and safe on this journey. But Arvid’s face showed that his mind was in a turmoil. He whispered: “Do you remember what we promised each other? Always to stick together. Whatever happens, we must stick together.”
“That we must, Arvid.” Robert suddenly became very serious. “I do not forget a promise. Whatever happens to us in America, we must be friends.”
Once, in their farm hands’ stable quarters, back in Sweden, they had clasped hands and promised always to stand by each other. After their lives had been endangered on New York’s broadest street, they had renewed this pledge.
Robert nodded toward his elder brother, he told Arvid he did not care for Karl Oskar’s masterful ways, he did not like masters, he would rather be in Arvid’s company. To be such friends as he and Arvid were counted more than blood relationships.
The train was slowing down, and soon their wagon stood quite still. Landberg kept his promise: the doors were opened at both ends of the wagon, and fresh air came in to ease their breathing. Through the windows they could see a few tall houses along a street and many small houses clustered near by, some no larger than woodsheds.
At last Kristina dared open her eyes and she gazed out as long as their wagon stood still. Karl Oskar asked how she felt after this first stretch.
“Not too bad. A little dizzy.”
“It’s because the wagon runs so fast, of course.”
Across from Kristina sat Ulrika of Västergöhl, who had been looking out the window ever since they left Albany and did not seem to have suffered from dizziness. She was still as rosy cheeked and healthy as when she left Sweden, she had suffered no inconvenience during the long voyage, she had not missed a single meal at sea, she had never been seasick for one minute, nor had she thrown up one bite of all the food she had eaten. Scurvy did not attack her, lice did not come near her. No other passenger had remained as well as she. It had been given to her to step ashore in America in full health, with all her strength intact. And now she sat here, unruffled by the terrifying speed; it agreed with her to ride behind the steam wagon.
Kristina wondered how this woman was created, what she could be made of. Most remarkable of all was the fact that twenty years of whoring had left no visible marks on the Glad One. Since embracing Danjel’s teaching she no longer followed her profession, and lately Kristina had begun to believe that Ulrika’s nature had improved; she was kind to Danjel’s motherless children and took good care of them; this everyone had remarked on. Perhaps she wanted to expiate her life of whoring. Surely, in God’s redemption book much was written concerning Ulrika of Västergöhl; each time her body had been used for fornication was noted. (Ulrika, however, thought that Christ’s blood had washed her clean and that her sins, like a bundle of soiled linen, were tied up in the Saviour’s napkin cloth.)
It had always bothered Kristina that she was forced to use the same privy as Ulrika; she could never forget the great number of men the Glad One had consorted with. In one end of the wagon was a small booth serving as a call-of-nature room for the passengers. Someone was always waiting near the booth, as the immigrants suffered from a severe diarrhea, which had attacked them after landing. But diarrhea was to be expected when they first arrived in America, said their interpreter; it was a special kind of immigrant diarrhea, caused by the change of country and different weather conditions; hardly one newcomer escaped it. Now all of them had been running to the privy this last day, at least once an hour—all except Ulrika of Västergöhl. She seemed to have normal, undisturbed bowels. She had escaped all ills and evils, even the diarrhea. God had verily shown her great patience, even though she was so deeply sunk in sin; yet He had severely tested Uncle Danjel, who always strove to live righteously. The ways of the Lord were inscrutable. But Kristina was grateful that Ulrika did not often use their privy here in the wagon.
For the third time since boarding the train Jonas Petter emerged from the little stall at the end of the wagon, fumbling with his trousers. He had lost weight during the crossing, and his face was pale and sunken. He complained to Karl Oskar: “This plagues one’s bowels!”
“Diarrhea is not dangerous to life; it will pass as soon as the bowels are accustomed to the climate.” And Karl Oskar pulled out his knapsack: “I heal myself with pepper-brännvin. Have a swallow, Jonas Petter.”
He poured the brännvin from its earthen jug into a tin mug, and from a small bag added pepper until the brännvin looked as black as dung water.
“Pour it down fast!”
Jonas Petter emptied the mug of dark pepper-brännvin and made a wry face. “It’s like swallowing burning coals.”
“But it closes the hole. Take another drink in the morning—then you won’t be forever running.”
Jonas Petter said it was a strange invention to sit on a wagon and ride while attending to one’s needs. What would the people at home say if they knew how comfortable they were, traveling with such a contraption! He admitted Americans were smart. This
invention saved much time; should the train have to stop each time someone needed to cleanse his bowels, they would have traveled scarcely more than a stone’s throw a day. But he wondered if anyone collected all this human dung so that the earth and the crops might benefit. Or perhaps American soil was so rich that no manure was needed.
Karl Oskar offered some of the pepper-brännvin to Kristina, but she refused it, thinking it too strong for her; she had tried it on the ship but threw it up again. Perhaps this was because of her pregnancy, which also caused her to suffer more than the others from the heat. She had often wondered why God inflicted so many miseries on pregnant women when He Himself created the human lives inside them.
As half her time had passed now, it would soon begin to show that she was with child. No one in their company except Karl Oskar knew as yet how things stood with her. But it couldn’t be kept secret much longer. It was the women who first made such discoveries in each other; they always noticed the signs. Indeed, probably Ulrika already knew—she had seen the shameless creature, from time to time, look searchingly at her body, and even before they left Sweden the Glad One had said to Kristina, in a meaningful tone, that seasickness was much like being in the family way. Kristina had no hiding garment to don; she had not found time to sew herself a forty-week apron before they started out on their journey, and she did not think she would have opportunity to sew one here in America; she had a needle and thread, but not the smallest piece of cloth.
At home it was the custom for a woman to hide her pregnancy as long as possible. But why should she need a forty-week apron far away in a foreign country where she didn’t know a single person and no one knew her? And perhaps no one in this country was offended by women showing their pregnancy. Perhaps they had different customs in North America. She had heard that no one cared how other people lived here or what they did.
But there sat Ulrika staring at her again, as if wondering in which month she might now be. This look on Ulrika’s face angered her; she had a full right to be with child. She lived with her husband in a Christian marriage, she had a known father for her child. But how had it been with Ulrika’s own brats? Who was father to Elin, the girl next to her, now looking after Danjel’s children, sitting this moment with little Eva on her knee? There had been rumors about tramps; the churchwarden in Åkerby had also been mentioned. And who had been the fathers of those children she had lost? Their fathers were known only to God. Ulrika ought to remember this before she stared at honest women.
Kristina would have liked to sew a forty-week apron—if for no other reason than to irritate Ulrika.
—5—
The immigrants from Ljuder rode on the steam wagon through a green and fertile country. From their train they saw vast fields covered with a thick fell of beautiful crops; in other fields the crops already had gone to seed. They saw meadows with tall fodder grass where cattle grazed in great numbers; in places the grass was so tall that they saw only the animals’ backs. They thought the cattle here must tramp down more grass than they ate; they counted as many as fifty cows together and wondered if such large herds might belong to one single owner. They passed through forests of tall, lush leaf-trees and recognized oaks, maples, elms, and birches. They saw groves of unknown, low trees and wondered what the name of such beautiful little trees might be. Danjel Andreasson thought they might be fig trees, of which Jesus often had spoken in parables and which grew also in the land of Canaan.
They passed through a smiling landscape—it was a fertile world they saw here. A verdant ground promised food for both man and beast, ample crops, and security. Where the earth grew green, there life throve; it marked a good place for people to live.
They were looking for such green places with rich growth in which to build their own homes—here they would have liked to stop and settle, if others hadn’t arrived before them.
Karl Oskar was pleased with what he saw: the earth here seemed rich, and his eyes did not discover a single hindering stone in the fields. As he looked out over the cultivated land he remembered the picture of a wheat field in North America which he had seen in a newspaper at home; the picture had spoken the truth—the American fields lay before his own eyes now, as vast and stone free, as even and fertile, as they had been in the picture. And it was said that still vaster fields existed farther inland.
At times they passed through poorer regions, they saw hills and mountains, morasses, plateaus, and forests of pine trees. But Karl Oskar had not expected the whole American continent to look like the picture of the wheat field.
The journey on the steam wagon was long, hour after hour passed, and new landscapes came into view, new fields, new pastures, new forests, new crops, and new meadows with more large herds of grazing cattle. Karl Oskar noticed that the cows were larger than those in Sweden, they were white or light yellow in color, like milk and butter; at home they were red or sometimes black. The American horses too were taller than those in Sweden; he wondered if they might be wild horses that had been tamed. The sheep were black and white, fat and round, with bodies like barrels. He saw black and red-brown pigs in the pastures; but the hogs were lean and long legged, not at all resembling those at home. Thus he observed that cattle in the New World were not shaped like the kine at home: cows and horses were larger, sheep fatter, with shorter legs, hogs leaner with longer legs.
Seldom did he see workers out in the fields or forests. There seemed to be a scarcity of people but an abundance of cattle. Seeing the multitude of people in New York, Karl Oskar had begun to worry that America already was overcrowded, that they had arrived too late. He now discovered that his worry was groundless. This country was so vast that it still had room for many more; it wouldn’t be filled up tomorrow, or next year. And he recalled how crowded it had been at home, people had even said there wasn’t enough room for his big nose, and perhaps they had been right. But here there was room for all in his group, here he was sure he would find a place to settle, large enough to turn about in and do as he pleased, and where others would not be disturbed by him or his big nose.
Danjel Andreasson had long been silently watching the green fields on either side of the railroad. At last he said, “This land is fertile and fruitful. It is a good and broad land, a blessed land. We must humbly thank the Lord God for His grace in letting us enter it.”
—6—
Landberg said that when all went well, about twenty-four hours were required for the journey on the steam wagon to Buffalo. But delays were likely to occur. Once, for instance, the steam wagon had been delayed six hours because the iron rails were covered with a thick layer of grasshoppers.
Ulrika was disappointed that their journey on the steam wagon would come to an end so soon. In her whole life she had never before experienced pleasure like this. The poor back home in Sweden were never treated to such entertainment. Most of them were not allowed to ride on any kind of wagon until they were picked up by the corpse cart. And the gentry in Sweden would have preferred to see them walk to the grave as well.
Their guide nodded to her with a broad smile: “You, my dear Fru, will ride on the steam wagon many times in America.”
He had several times called her Mrs., and it sounded strange to those in her company. She had always been called Unmarried Ulrika of Västergöhl. Under that name she was registered in the church book, and everyone called her so. It was as if it ought particularly to be emphasized that she was unmarried, and it sounded as if she were more unmarried than any other woman. Now they could all see that Ulrika sat there, greatly enjoying it that the first man she met in America raised her to a married state, nay, even to the level of gentry, by calling her Mrs.
She guessed what the others were thinking and she said, half mockingly: “Perhaps I ought to change my name as well.”
It happened often that Swedes changed their names when they came to America, Long Landberg replied. Many took entirely new names. Those named Andersson and Larsson at home had here assumed high-sounding names like Pan
tzarskiold, Silverkrona, or Lejonstjerna. But it was, of course, mostly rogues who felt in need of changing their names; it was of no use to an honest person, nor did it help a useless one, for here no one got along better because of a noble name, as people did in Sweden.
That was exceedingly just, Ulrika of Västergöhl remarked, although she wouldn’t mind being called Mrs. Ulrika von Lejonstjerna. For a lonely, poor woman, a noble name would be a comfort. But she was sure menfolk would find nothing different in the body of a noble lady than in a simple woman: each was made in the same way.
Landberg laughed heartily, but the members of Ulrika’s group who knew her past did not smile. They were familiar with her talk. And now she was making up to their guide, who couldn’t know what she actually was.
From his bag the guide now took out a number of medicine jars which he was accustomed to sell to immigrants during his trips. Painkiller was the name on the jars, and he explained what it meant. These were pills which healed all ailments attacking newcomers during their first weeks in America. Painkiller healed fatal diseases as well as small wounds and scratches: cholera, red soot, diarrhea, fever, ague, yellow fever. A jar cost one dollar, leaving Landberg with a profit of only five cents. But he was not one to take advantage of his countrymen.
Unto A Good Land Page 11
