Unto a Good Land (29 page)

Robert was too young to keep watch, but he couldn’t go to sleep. He lay under a pine tree with his head toward the trunk. He had gathered enough moss to make a soft bed, but he felt as though his body were broken to pieces. Every muscle ached. And the forest had so many sounds to keep him awake. The leaves rustled, bushes and grass stirred, he wondered what kind of reptiles might lurk in the thickets. Buzzing insects swarmed in the air, the mosquitoes hovered over him with their eternal plaintive humming. There were sounds everywhere—hissing, whizzing, chirping. But the most persistent sound of all came from some small animal in the grass, it screeched and squeaked like an ungreased wagon wheel. It reminded him of a cricket, but it was louder and more intense, and it hurt his ears. He looked for the animal but could not find it; how was it possible that an animal could be so small and yet make such an infernal noise?

From his
Description of the United States of North America
Robert remembered all the wild beasts of the American forests; all of them might now lurk quite close to him in the dark, waiting their moment: the bear and the wolf to bite his throat, the rattlesnake to wreathe its body around him, the crocodile . . . But Captain Berger had said there were no crocodiles in the northern part of the country. Wild Indians, however, were here in the forest, even though they hadn’t yet encountered them, and Indians could move without the slightest sound: before he knew it, without the least warning, he might lie here with his scalp cut off, wounded and bleeding to death. An Indian could cut off a scalp as easily as a white, Christian person could cut a slice of bread.

As herdboy at home Robert had never been afraid, but here he lay an his bed of moss and scared himself until he felt clammy with perspiration. Arvid slept only a few feet away from him, snoring loudly; he did not hear any sounds, not even the ones he made himself. And Robert could see Karl Oskar, who had taken the first watch—he moved like a big shadow near the campfire, now and then poking the embers with a branch, making the sparks fly into the air until they died high up among the treetops. His brother was not afraid: Karl Oskar and the others didn’t know enough to be afraid, they didn’t realize how dangerous it was to lie here and sleep. Had they possessed all the knowledge Robert had concerning lurking dangers during the night in Minnesota Territorial forests—if they only knew what he knew about the unbelievably sharp knives the Indians carried, and with what complete silence they could sneak up—then they wouldn’t enjoy a moment’s sleep.

Each time Robert was about ready to go to sleep he was disturbed by the screeching noise like an ungreased wheel from the small animal in the grass. And his injured ear began to hum and throb as it often did when he lay still. What kind of a sound could it be in his ear, never ceasing? Sometimes he wondered if some buzzing insect hadn’t managed to get in there. And as this noise had continued he had grown to hear less and less with his left ear. For two years now the sound had pursued him; it had followed him from the Old World to the new one. Perhaps it would stay with him and annoy him for the rest of his life, perhaps he would suffer from it until he died, and by then there would be small joy in losing it. And all because of that hard box on the ear which his master, Aron of Nybacken, had given him when he served as hired hand in Sweden; all this a hired hand suffered undeservedly because of the master. He had secretly shed many tears at the memory: How had God allowed this injustice to befall him?

Now he lay listening to his ear until the noise sounded like a warning: Don’t go to sleep! You may never awaken again! Or you may wake up with a knife cutting through your scalp! You will cry out and feel with your fingers and find warm, dripping blood. . . . Better not go to sleep! Listen to what your ear says!

But Robert slept at last, and slept soundly, awakening only when Karl Oskar shook him by the shoulders: It was full daylight, they must resume their walk while it still was cool—they would rest again later in the day when the sun was high.

The pot was on the fire again, the food baskets open. Blinking, still with sleep in their eyes, the immigrants sat down to their morning meal and scratched their mosquito bites. The men keeping watch had not once had to warn the sleepers. Several times during the night Karl Oskar had heard a howl in the distance—it might have been wolves but it could also have come from human throats, for it had sounded almost like singing, and he didn’t think wolves could sing. During Jonas Petter’s watch a sly, hairy animal had sneaked to the food basket and attempted to scratch it open. It looked like a young fox, it had a sharp nose, a long bushy tail, and was yellow-gray in color. He had shooed away the creature with a stake and hung the basket in a tree, to be on the safe side. But the beast had scared the devil out of Jonas Petter later—it had come back and climbed the tree to get to the food basket! He had had to throw a fire brand at the animal before he could get rid of it. He hoped he had burned the beast good and well—in fact, he was sure he had—he had smelled the singed hair for quite a while afterward.

It couldn’t have been a fox or a wolf since those beasts didn’t climb trees. Jonas Petter thought perhaps their night visitor had been an ape or large wildcat: the animal was long but short legged, and moved as quickly as a monkey.

Fina-Kajsa had her own opinion: “You say he was hairy? Then it must have been Satan himself. He must have tried to fetch you when you were awake alone!”

“If that was the devil, then I’m not afraid of him any longer,” retorted Jonas Petter. “If he is so badly off that he must snoop about nights and try to steal our poor fare, he must be near his end.”

But Fina-Kajsa knew that the devil was afraid of fire only, and if the brand hadn’t been thrown after him, Jonas Petter would have been missing for sure when they awoke.

“Did you hear the screech hoppers?” Ulrika asked. “I thought at first it must be ghosts or goblins. I couldn’t see a sign of them.”

All had heard the continuous screeching noise, but no one had seen the animal producing it. Kristina said that crickets and grasshoppers were, of course, also different in North America—perhaps they were invisible here.

Their walk was continued, but today the immigrants moved at a slower pace than yesterday, their legs weren’t so limber. Karl Oskar was footsore from his heavy boots, and his left leg gave him trouble intermittently. Johan, riding on his shoulders, grew heavier and heavier and he tried to persuade the boy to walk on his own legs. But after a few steps he wanted to ride on his father’s back again: “You carried me before, Father.”

“But don’t you understand, dear child, your father is worn out,” said Kristina.

“He wasn’t worn out before. . . .”

Arvid had a strong back and could carry more than his allotted burden—he relieved Karl Oskar and carried the boy now and again. Karl Oskar was more heavily laden than the others, and Kristina felt sorry for him; she could hear him puff and pant as their trail led uphill, and she knew that his left leg wasn’t quite well yet. He didn’t complain, not one single word, but she wondered where his thoughts might be: Hadn’t their troubles and inconveniences been greater than he had anticipated when deciding to emigrate? Here he lumbered along like a beast of burden—had he ever expected to haul his children on his back miles and miles through wilderness in America? She was sure he hadn’t. Yet he would never admit this, he would never admit anything was more difficult than he had thought it would be.

“It’s too much for you to carry two children,” she said.

“You also carry two,” he reminded her.

They kept up their walk during the morning hours when the weather was cool, rested for a while during the noon heat, and continued in the afternoon as the sun grew lower. During the second day they did not meet a single person, either red or white. This did not surprise them. The forests were vast, yet sparsely settled. But as long as they were able to manage by themselves, they were just as pleased to find the forest empty of people—strangers weren’t always trustworthy.

The ridge with the trail wound its way through ravines and clefts in the rocks. The terrain was hilly, the soil poor, and for long distances the ground was bare, with no signs of the trail. Then they walked where the going was easiest and kept close to the river that was to show them the way to Taylors Falls.

The second night they made camp in a cleavage of the ridge. This night no furry animals came to sniff their food boxes, and they were disturbed by no living creature except the mosquitoes.

They had been told they would arrive about evening of the third day. During the afternoon they began to look for the village in the forest where Anders Månsson, Fina-Kajsa’s son, had his home. As yet they had seen no sign of human habitation, no sign of people.

According to her son’s letters, insisted Fina-Kajsa, his home was situated near a river with great cliffs along its shores and many falls and rapids. One place was called The Devil’s Kettle because it was the entrance to Hell. Now they could see how steep the cliffs were along the shore of the St. Croix River. All stopped to look at the rapid current as it came rushing along down the cliffs with a terrific roar. This could well be the region Anders Månsson had described in his letters. But there wasn’t the slightest sign of people living near by.

They walked on a little farther, and Fina-Kajsa was now sure they had lost their way. A farm like the one he had described could not possibly be located in this region—her son couldn’t live near here. She suspected that the little Norwegian who directed their way from Stillwater had been false and unreliable: he had undoubtedly led them astray on purpose. By now the old woman was completely exhausted, dragging her feet, stumbling and falling into holes in the trail, she had to be helped up several times.

“Oh my, oh me! We’ll never get there! Oh my, oh me!” said Fina-Kajsa.

They had only a few hours until darkness would fall and their third day would come to an end. They must again prepare to sleep in the open. And their food was running low, they would hardly have enough for the evening meal. They had eaten a lot of berries during their walk, but berries did not satisfy hunger.

The men were talking about what to do, and all walked with slower, wearier steps as the sun sank lower. Should they make camp or go a little farther? Then they came into an opening in the forest and suddenly discovered a clearing where every pine had been cut down. They stopped short in surprise.

“These trees were only recently cut down!” Karl Oskar exclaimed.

The stumps were new, and branches and logs were strewn about. The stumps were three feet high—yes, those lazy bastards had stood straight backed while felling the trees.

“And there they have left the ax,” said Arvid, and pointed to a tall stump. Karl Oskar quickly stepped up to the ax and loosened it, not only because he wanted to inspect an American tool but for a much more important reason: If a pregnant woman let her eyes fall on an ax stuck in a stump or chopping block, then her child would be born with a harelip, and this was an incurable defect. Karl Oskar hoped that Kristina had not noticed the broad-bladed ax.

Jonas Petter, who was a bit ahead of them, now called out in great happiness: “Folks live back there!”

A few gunshots to the left of their trail, the clearing ended in a green meadow where a cabin could be seen against a stand of leaf trees.

It took only a few minutes to reach the newly built shake-roofed log cabin. A small field near by had growing crops, and two cows grazed in the meadow, fine, fat animals with full udders.

This was a settler’s farm, here they could buy milk; cows with such splendid udders must give many gallons at each milking. They all sat down in the grass outside the cabin, and Karl Oskar brought out his stoup from the knapsack; then he went up to the door and knocked.

A middle-aged, scrawny woman with heavy men’s boots on her feet opened the door. She looked curiously at the group outside. There was fear in her eyes as she turned them on Karl Oskar. Seeing her look of fright, he remembered what Kristina had said about his unkempt beard and hair. Not wishing to be mistaken for a robber he tried to look as friendly as possible and greeted her pleasantly in Swedish. The few English words he had learned he could never remember at such a time, but he talked with his hands and held out his stoup, then he moved it to his lips as if drinking. He tried in this way to tell her that he wanted to buy milk. The woman in the doorway said something incomprehensible and then she just stared at him. He opened his mouth still wider and acted as if gulping gallons from his vessel, at the same time pointing to the cows—the woman must understand what he wanted.

But she looked still more frightened and stared at him as if he might be insane. Perhaps she thought he was making fun of her. He was unable to make himself understood and he had little confidence in Robert after their experience on the street in Stillwater.

However, just as the woman prepared to shut the door, Robert stepped up and said clearly in English: “We want to buy milk.”

She looked searchingly at the English-speaking youth who was beardless, but long haired, and they realized she understood him. He repeated his request a second and a third time, and each time she nodded in comprehension. Then she left them and disappeared into the house, returning in a few moments with a large wooden pail filled almost to the brim with milk.

Both Kristina and Ulrika spoke heartfelt Swedish words of thanks to the woman, and all gathered with their mugs around the milk pail.