Unto A Good Land Page 13

  Kristina was uneasy each time she boarded a new means of transportation—she was afraid her family might be separated during the journey; she wanted them to hold on to each other all the time.

  The American steamer was new and the middle deck roomier, lighter, and drier than the immigrants’ living quarters on the old Swedish ship; nor did this vessel smell musty. But when all had gone aboard and packed themselves in down there, it was just as crowded and uncomfortable as it had been on the Charlotta. The passengers’ belongings were stacked together helter-skelter on the lower deck, and the owners had to look after them and watch that nothing fell overboard. On the Charlotta they had been allowed the unrestricted use of the upper deck in fine weather, but here they were confined to the lower deck. Yet they could see there was plenty of space on the upper deck, where only a few passengers walked about. The immigrants enviously watched these fellow travelers who had their individual cabins and more room than they needed: why was that deck up there in the fresh air and daylight reserved for only a few, while such a great number of people must stay below, packed together?

  Long Landberg explained that the upper deck was first class, which cost much more than a berth in steerage, and the ladies and gentlemen up there were wealthy travelers on a pleasure excursion.

  Kristina noticed that the passengers on the upper deck were dressed like the people she had seen walking about near the harbor in New York: the women in silk skirts and velvet shoes, the men in tall hats and long coats of costly cloth. And here, too, the women went about with open umbrellas even though it wasn’t raining. Those passengers up there were not, like themselves, traveling to find homes; they already had homes. Why did they travel when not forced to? How could anyone, of his own free will, roam about on lakes and seas? If Kristina ever found another home in this life, she would certainly stay there.

  And these passengers who traveled just for fun were allowed to keep the whole upper deck to themselves, while the immigrants, forced to find new homes, were crowded and jostled down here. Kristina thought that the passengers in first class were like the gentry at home in Sweden, and she asked her brother-in-law Robert, who had learned so much from all kinds of books, to explain this: Hadn’t he said that the inhabitants of North America were all alike and not divided into gentry and ordinary people?

  Robert tried to make himself clear: He had only said that different classes did not exist in the New World, no one was born into a class. But there was, of course, a difference between people, in that some were rich and others poor; some could afford to spend more, others less; some could afford first class, others could not. There were only two kinds of people in North America: those who had lived here long enough to grow rich, and those lately arrived and still poor.

  There was no other difference between people, Robert insisted. Kristina could observe for herself—did she see anyone who took off his hat or cap to another? Did she see any man bow or any woman curtsy? Here one didn’t stand on ceremony, the poor didn’t kowtow to the rich as they did at home in Sweden.

  The ship’s fare was ample, even abundant, but to the Swedish peasants it seemed oddly prepared and peculiarly flavored. American food consisted mainly of things mixed together, and one’s tongue was unable to distinguish one kind of food from another; the immigrants did not always know what they were eating. But still more foreign than the food were their fellow passengers in the hold. They were lodged with other immigrants, people who, like themselves, came from countries of the Old World, each speaking his own language. Their fellow passengers were dressed in outlandish clothes, they laughed and sang and behaved in the strangest ways, and they were loaded down with an amazing variety of things: axes, hoes, spades, harnesses, saws, tubs, barrels, cradles, clocks, pots, yarn winders, ale kegs. The Swedish immigrants began to feel that they had arrived empty handed in North America when they saw what these others carried along. Many of those who crowded the ship with their belongings were Germans, the guide told them; a German was wedded to his possessions and would not part with them when emigrating. But when they saw a spade with a six-foot handle, said Landberg, they might be sure the owner was Irish: the Irish were too lazy to bend their backs while digging; at work they stood upright.

  He pointed out some tall men in skin jackets who carried guns and hunting sacks and had knives in their belts. They were fur hunters on their way to the forests of the West for autumn game.

  But strangest of all the steerage passengers were two Indians. The immigrants studied them with timid wonder. The two men were draped in pieces of red-striped woolen cloth which covered them from head to knees and which they usually held closely around themselves; they wore trousers reaching the middle of their thighs and held in place by strings to a belt around their waists; on their feet they wore skin shoes but no socks. From the Indians’ ears hung beautiful glittering silk bands; the color of their faces was sooty brown, and their sloe-black eyes lay deep in their skulls, lurkingly under their brows.

  Most of the time the Indians sat immobile, staring moodily before them, each holding his blanket tight around his body as if this garment were his only possession. No one addressed the brown-hued men, and they themselves seemed inclined to silence. When they spoke to each other they used a language which sounded like a series of short grunts. These Indians could not be wild, as they were allowed to travel unhindered among white, Christian people. But they sat apart from the other passengers, who walked by them in silence and with some uneasiness; perhaps they were heathens after all; one couldn’t know for sure; there was something dark, threatening, and cruel in their looks, something inspiring fear. The immigrants did not know what to think of or expect from these curiously draped figures.

  The steamer had a large crew—bosuns, engineers, stokers, and deckhands. Negroes served in many capacities; those black men with hair like wood shavings prepared the food and served it, loaded the ship, cleaned it, and busied themselves everywhere. The black crewmen were free, but among the passengers in steerage were two Negro slaves shackled in foot chains, because they were said to have wild tempers.

  Kristina felt pity for the two black-skinned men sitting there chained together, unable to move. Why were people put in chains and foot irons when they had done no wrong? The slaves’ owner was among the pleasure travelers on the upper deck: Kristina would have liked to ask him to unshackle the poor Negroes, had she been able to speak his language.

  Little Johan watched the Negroes for a long time in silence. Then he asked his mother: How long had their faces been so terribly black?

  “They have always been that way.”

  “Are they black both morning and evening?”

  “Yes. Negroes are always black.”

  “But, Mother—how can they know when they need to wash themselves?”

  “I don’t know. . . . Quiet, now.”

  But the boy insisted: “Tell me, Mother, how do the Negroes know when they are dirty?”

  Kristina was unable to give Johan this information. She herself was deeply disturbed by the dirty white passengers in steerage. No Negro could help it that the Lord God had made him black, but when God had given people white skin, then they owed it to their Creator to keep it white. Children and menfolk seemed to crave a little dirt for comfort’s sake, but Kristina demanded more from women. Here she saw womenfolk who were sorely in need of a thorough scrubbing in boiled lye-soap, and their children appeared never to have touched water since they were baptized. Fina-Kajsa, to be sure, wasn’t very clean, and washed herself unwillingly, but compared to these foreign women she stood out as clean as an angel. They were probably too lazy to keep dirt from them; slothfulness bred uncleanliness and uncleanliness bred vermin; among these people they must be careful or they might again become lice infested.

  In the hold there were no spittoons, which seemed strange; one would expect to find them in nice places, among cleanly people. The deck soon was awash from the tobacco-chewing menfolk’s spittle, and Kristina had to hold up her sk
irts as she walked over it; she was horrified to see little children crawling and creeping about on their hands and knees on this bemired floor; only with great effort was she able to keep little Harald away from it.

  Washing buckets were set up for the steerage passengers, but the water was never changed. After a score of people had dipped their hands and rinsed their faces in the tubs, the water became as thick and black as though blood sausage had been boiled in it. And the same towel passed from one hand to another—there was only one for this multitude. Perhaps the ship’s command felt: If fifty people have dried themselves on the towel before you, then it’s good enough for you too! But Kristina washed neither herself nor her children in water used by dirty fellow passengers. The very first morning on board she asked their guide for help, and as soon as the steamer touched shore he managed to get her a tub of clean water. Then she used her own towels, which she had brought along and laundered during the voyage.

  But in spite of her annoyance at this lack of external cleanliness, Kristina was unable to dislike her fellow passengers. These foreign people—poor, dirty, and badly dressed—appeared so friendly; only kind eyes and smiling faces were turned on her and her children. When strangers spoke to her, Kristina realized they spoke no evil, but rather something kind and cheering, wishing her only well. She felt ashamed that she could not answer them with the same kindness, that she could not make herself understood by them. All she could do was to smile back as broad a friendliness as she could and shake her head for the rest. She longed to enter into conversation with them; she suffered from being unable to do so and felt as though she were doing the strangers a rudeness. Besides, here she could have found honest friends, and these friends she turned away, again and again, through her silence.

  Kristina suffered and worried over the lot awaiting her in the new land: to walk like a deaf-mute among other people.

  —2—

  It had been agreed that the interpreter Landberg was to accompany the immigrants to Chicago and from there return to New York.

  While he still was with his countrymen he tried to advise and inform them about the things they needed to know. Landberg said he had traveled all the great seas, he had seen much of the world, on land and water, but he had found himself most at home in North America. Nowhere had he been less disturbed by the authorities, nowhere had he been so free to make his own decisions, nowhere were people so helpful to each other as here. His deepest needs—freedom to move as he pleased, and sufficient food—he had found in North America. Yes, more freedom and cheaper food than anywhere else on the globe. Just as an example—pork could be bought for three Swedish shillings per pound, pork so tasty and fat that the grease spurted between the jaws while one was eating it. Long Landberg called the North American Republic the Land of Liberty and Fat Pork.

  But, he reminded them, they must remember that here, as elsewhere in the world, people were good and evil, industrious and lazy, generous and greedy, honest and crooked. They must be particularly on their guard against two types: the runners, who wanted to rob them, and sectarians, who wished to snare them into their fold. Among the latter he warned them against the Jansonites, who had come earlier from Sweden. Their prophet, Erik Janson, had been a plague to humanity, a torturer of his followers. First he had forbidden marriage in his sect, as childbearing interfered with the women’s work, but when his adherents grumbled at this, he was forced to allow it, and prepared a wedding for fifty couples at one time. But the sectarians were allowed no will of their own; when a married man wished to sleep with his wife, he must announce his wish to the prophet far in advance and obtain his permission. And when the tyrant gave his assent to the bedding, he insisted also that husband and wife must perform it in full view of all the other sectarians. Many hesitated at this. Landberg himself had for a while been a member of this sect, but he had soon left it, with many others, who, like himself were unable to put up with Janson’s demands.

  They must also be on the lookout for the Shakers, who served God by making their bodies shake and shiver, nay, even danced and hopped about, singing and howling until, exhausted, they would fall to the ground and faint. The dancing and the shaking themselves into insensibility were supposed to illustrate the ascent into Heaven by the saved ones. These sectarians maintained that the praising and blessing of the Lord should not be confined to the tongue only—the whole body, head, and limbs had the same right to share this joy. (To this point Landberg was inclined to feel there was some reason.)

  Another dangerous sect was the Whippers, who exorcised evil spirits by beating each other with scourges until their bodies were a bloody mass. Sometimes the evil spirits might resist the mistreatment and remain in the body until the soul had left it. Yes, these sectarians actually whipped each other to death.

  Landberg himself had by now returned to the church of his forebears, the Evangelical-Lutheran religion, and he earnestly begged the Swedish immigrants to remain in the faith of their fathers, to stick to the only right God here in America; they must not allow themselves to be led astray by irreligious and false prophets. He was pleased to see that they had brought along their Bibles and psalmbooks, so that they could hold their own services.

  Kristina asked how it would be possible for Swedish Lutherans to partake of the Sacrament out here. Their last Sunday in Sweden, before they started out on their fateful journey, she and her husband had received the Lord’s Supper. At that time she had felt as if she were undertaking a death journey. Now again she was in great need of the Sacrament. At home they went to the Lord’s Supper table every month; three months had already elapsed since they had enjoyed the Sacrament, and man sinned in many matters daily. How much time they’d had to sin in the last ninety days! Idleness breeds sin, according to the old saying, and they had long been idle. Kristina had lately felt the burden weighing on her, disturbing her mind and soul. Original sin clung to her like an invisible, loathsome mange; it was a degradation. She longed to be cleansed in Christ’s pure blood, and no doubt there were many in their company who were in need of forgiveness for their sins, and absolution; how long would it be before they might again enjoy the Sacrament? The Swedish pastor who had come aboard their ship in New York had promised them communion, but when they heard he was a Methodist, not one among them had dared follow him to his altar.

  Long Landberg answered: In Chicago there was a Swedish Lutheran minister by the name of Unonius; he was an upright man and a true Christian. Landberg said that a few ministers of the right religion were to be found also in Andover and in Moline, both places in the state of Illinois. When they arrived in Chicago, he would himself look up Pastor Unonius, who surely would be happy to give the Sacrament to all wishing to partake.

  Landberg said that he intended to leave Chicago as soon as he had performed his duties there. This town was the only place in North America he detested. But it was the gateway to the West, which all travelers must pass through, although most thanked the Lord they could journey farther. Chicago was a swamp hole and a blowhole, built on the low shores of a lake and a river. On one side was the lake and on the other the prairie, with no protection against the winds, which blew so intensely that eyebrows and hair were pulled off people’s heads. The town had only three decent streets: Chicago Avenue, Kinzie, and Clark Streets. Yard-high stumps still stood in the other streets, and almost all the surrounding country was desolate wasteland where cows grazed. The houses were newly built, yet gray, dirty, and unpainted, for the hurricanes blew the paint off the walls. And the whole town stank from the mud and ooze of the swampy shores. Pools of water abounded, filled with crawling snakes and lizards and other horrible creatures. Thirty thousand people lived in Chicago, and of these, several thousand earned their living as runners, robbing immigrants passing through. Grazing was fine in Chicago, and cattle lived well in that town. But honest people, non-runners, could ill endure an extended visit in the place. Landberg thought Chicago would within twenty years become entirely depopulated and obliterated from the
face of the earth.

  Pastor Unonius worked zealously advising all his countrymen to settle in Chicago, but the guide thought that on this point the minister had wrongly interpreted God’s will.

  Landberg was indeed like a father to the immigrants, and all agreed he had well earned the three dollars each person was to pay him.

  “He is an upright man and an honest guide,” was the way Karl Oskar summed up their feeling. And he worried a little about their future when they would no longer have an interpreter to help in their dealings with the Americans.

  Landberg had given Robert a new English textbook: A Short Guide to the English Language. This book had a chapter entitled “Instruction in Pronunciation for the Swedes.” Here were enumerated those English words in common use, as well as advice in general for immigrants. Landberg’s gift was quite a small book, hardly bigger than the almanac; Robert could carry it in his pocket and take it out when he needed it. Landberg had explained Robert’s difficulty with his first language book. The Swedish youth had been unable to comprehend why the sentences in English were spelled in two entirely different ways, one sentence always within parentheses. Now he was informed that the words were to be pronounced according to the spelling within the parentheses. Robert had learned English altogether wrong from the very beginning.

  The first thing he had tried to say to the Americans was: “I am a stranger here,” and he had pronounced the words carefully, according to their spelling and Swedish pronunciation. But people had only stared at him, he had been unable to make a single soul understand that he was a stranger. From this new book, he learned how the words were supposed to sound: Aj äm ä strehn’djër hihr.

  And Robert began at once to practice the pronunciation of the twenty-six letters of the English alphabet. He hurried his study of the language, in order to help himself and to lend his mouth to others of his group when their interpreter left them. He must show the others what he could do, and they would then value him the more and show him the respect due to learning. From now on he read in his language books every free moment, and always without Elin’s company. He told her, somewhat sarcastically, she was supposed to know English already; hadn’t the Holy Ghost filled all the reborn ones?