Unto A Good Land Page 7

  Did they speak this year of one who had been among them before? Did they mention her name—Kristina, who had moved away with Karl Oskar to North America? Did they ask how it was with her this moment, this afternoon, this Midsummer Eve?

  She knew how it was at home, but those at home did not know how it was here.

  She had traveled a long road, almost endlessly long; she knew the sea that separated her from her homeland, that incomprehensibly wide water which separated home and here. She would never again travel that road, never again traverse the sea. So she would never again be with them at home.

  Now for the first time she began to think deeply into this: Never again be with them at home.

  The thought suddenly disturbed her profoundly, not less because she could still see the ship, over there in the harbor, the ship that was to turn about, to sail home again. This ship on which she had suffered so horribly, what did it mean to her now? Did she want to go back with it again? Did she want to stay another ten weeks in a pen in the dark hold? No! No! Why was it then that her tears were breaking through? Why? She did not understand it.

  Karl Oskar sat down and wiped the perspiration from his forehead with his sleeve; even in the shade the heat was melting.

  “We are to board a ship and ride on the river this evening,” he told her.

  She was thinking of the road behind them—he was thinking of the way ahead.

  “We are late getting started,” he said.

  He was afraid they might have arrived too late in the season. No one could have imagined they would sail the sea until Midsummer. He had expected them to reach their place of settling by now and have time to hoe some land, sow some barley, plant some potatoes. What would happen to them next winter if they didn’t get something into the earth before it was too late this year to grow and ripen?

  Karl Oskar agreed with what Kristina had said, and it worried him: this town of New York swarmed with people; perhaps the whole country was already filled up. No one in their group had ever seen so many human beings in one place. Great numbers must have come before them, this they could see with their own eyes, and every day new ships arrived, with great new flocks of people. Perhaps they had been deceived, perhaps it was too late, the best land already taken; perhaps America was entirely filled up with new settlers.

  But he must not disturb Kristina with these thoughts on their very first day in the new land. He must, rather, try to cheer her up, she was so weak and depressed after her illness. He had just given her a foretaste of the delicacies offered them on entering an American store, and he must assure her that all he had seen and heard so far was promising.

  “I think America is a good land. We need have no regrets; that I must write home.”

  Kristina swallowed hard and turned her head. Karl Oskar must not see her tears today, their day of landing. And why did she cry, after all? She was on solid ground, she had all her loved ones around her. They were drinking sweet milk and eating fresh white bread—what more did she want?

  Karl Oskar continued: For the past three evenings he had been writing a letter to Sweden, and now while they were waiting here in the park he must finish it. He could write on the lid of the America chest, it made a good table, then he could send the letter back with the ship. It would be September before it reached home, it would take from spring until fall before the nearest ones at home would hear anything about their voyage.

  Kristina had not spoken for a long while; she had not said a single word since he had told her that American apples ripened before Midsummer. Could that have surprised her so much? He turned and looked at her. Something must have made her sad. But he would not ask her—whatever it was, a question now would only increase her sadness.

  He handed her the bag with the bread: “Eat some more, Kristina.”

  “It tasted awfully good. If you think there’ll be enough for . . .”

  She ate one more white roll. And her first day on American soil was ever after to be a memory of sweet milk and fresh bread—milk and wheat rolls.

  IV

  A LETTER TO SWEDEN

  North America, 26 Day of June, 1850

  Dearly Beloved Parents and Sister,

  That you may Always be well are my Deep Wishes to you.

  I will now let you know about the journey from our Fatherland. We completed it in 10 Weeks and arrived in the town of New York. The Swedish Ship reached the American strand safely on Midsummer Eve.

  There was great Joy among us as we beheld the New Land, the Americans are noble folk, letting all foreigners through their Gates, none asked us One word about our Situation, no one is denied Entrance. We were not asked if we were Poor or Rich.

  All in our family are with Life and Health. The Sea heaved considerably but we endured the Journey well. I must tell you that Danjel of Kärragärde was stricken by the great Inconvenience that out at Sea He lost his wife Inga-Lena. Her time was up. But it would be too cumbersom to describe our Journey.

  New York is a large town and the Houses are large and high. It swarms with People of all kinds of the known World, Black, Brown, and Colored in Skin. But they are People. We are met with kindliness by all.

  The Americans are Thin and Pale, they say it comes from the Heat. The air is warmer here than at home.

  All strange Phenomena can be seen here—they can not be described in a Letter. They say the Time in North America differs six Hours with the Time in Sweden in such a Way that all Clocks and Watches have been turned back Six Hours. Swedish Paper Money is not allowed to be changed here, except with the Captain on the Ship, but Gold and Silver have their value here the same as at home. Our Swedish money is less in value than American money.

  Carry no Sorrow for me, kind Parents. Here we are well taken care of. I left satisfied my Fatherland. If Health and Strength remain with me I shall fairly well take care of Myself and Mine here in North America. When I get something to work on with my Own Hands I shall look well after it, I think it will not be hard to get along here.

  On our Arrival we met a Nobel Woman who gave us Apples from her basket. Apples in America are uncommonly large. Many Fruits are offered here but not Planted in Sweden. The Americans eat wheat Bread at nearly every meal and use Good food.

  Our dear Children are healthy and well, they talk much of you. Go with Our Greeting to Kristina’s Beloved Parents and Family in Duvemåla, say to them their Daughter has arrived in America with health and Satisfaction.

  Our Ships Captain has bespoken a Boat which will freight us deeper into the land. On the enclosed piece of Paper I have written down a Place where we intend to Stop and settle. Will you, Sister Lydia write to your Brother, we wish next time to hear of the changes at Home.

  Be kind and let us know the date when this letter arrives in Sweden so that I may figure out how long Time it takes from North America. Do not Pay the Freight for the Letter, then it is more sure to Reach us.

  I send my Greetings to all friends and relatives in Our Parish, we are alive and well bodily and Our Souls, Nothing in this world is Wanting Us.

  Written down in great haste by your Devoted Son

  Karl Oskar Nilsson

  V

  THE MOST BEAUTIFUL STREET IN THE WORLD

  —1—

  It had been generally understood on the brig Charlotta that about half the inhabitants in the town of New York were loose people—thieves, rogues, robbers, and criminals. Consequently, none of the immigrants dared go alone on the streets of this town. But the second mate had promised Robert and Arvid, who was Danjel Andreasson’s servant, that he would go with the boys and show them New York as soon as they arrived. And on the afternoon of the day of landing he had to do some errands for the captain and invited the boys to accompany him through the city.

  The second mate had been kind and helpful to them during the voyage. They had never heard his real name mentioned—when anyone spoke to him, he was called Mr. Mate; when anyone spoke of him, he was referred to as the Finn. He was a talkative man and the o
nly one of the ship’s officers they had come to know.

  The Finn now went with the two youths, walking by the long row of ships tied up at the piers; on the East River there were piers along the whole shore, it seemed. And the Finn pointed and explained: In this port flew all the flags of the world, side by side; over there lay a frigate with the American flag, strewn with stars and stripes. They must learn to recognize this flag, now that they were to settle here. This vessel was an East Indiaman, as seafolk called it. It had a beautiful sail. American ships had nice hulls. The ship over there, the one like a barge, was a Dutchman; nothing fine about that one; it was called a smack. And that long ship loaded with planks was Norwegian, or half Swedish, for after all the two countries had the same king. But they had better not mention that to any Norwegians they met, they might get their heads knocked off.

  On the broad river arm the ships were crowding each other, steamboats, sailing ships, sloops, rowboats, ferries, and barges in one great galaxy. In the middle of the river, boats moved with the aid of sails; nearer the shore, wheels under the water drove them. The tall narrow smokestacks of the steamers rose like a forest of black, burned tree trunks over the harbor. The Hudson and the East River, with their bays, estuaries, and canals, flowed around the city of New York, encircled it in their arms, and the city of New York pushed its piers and embankments into the rivers and broke them up. Smoke from house chimneys and steamer funnels flowed together into great clouds, floated by a weak westerly breeze toward the Atlantic.

  A small vessel without sail, wheels, or oars moved with great speed across the water and aroused Robert’s interest. He asked what made it move so speedily. The Finn said it was a steam ferry. Didn’t they see the smoking funnel from a small house in the center of the ship?

  The Charlotta’s second mate pointed out and explained things to the boys; he spoke of barks and smacks, schooners and galleasses, but of this they understood little. From the deck of a large sailing vessel came song and loud, gay voices. A group of men in broad-brimmed hats, apparently passengers, were making merry on the ship. The boys wanted to stop and listen to them; they were quite curious.

  The Finn said that this was a clipper ship from California, ready to sail for San Francisco. The ship was a new, fast sailer, sheathed in copper; the men on board were California bound, to dig for gold.

  The ship’s name was Angelica, and from her prow hung a red, flapping pennant with jolly words: Ho! Ho! Ho! For California! This pennant did not resemble the flags on other ships, nor did the passengers resemble other ships’ passengers; these men were laughing, noisy, singing lusty songs. It seemed to the boys as though the ship had no command.

  The Finn further informed the boys that a shipload of women, both white and colored, was to sail from New York for the gold fields. There was a scarcity of women throughout America, in San Francisco there were only fifty, and the gold diggers were said to be languishing from lust. Cases of attacks on mules and mares had been reported—woman hunger could drive men insane.

  But there was plenty of gold out there, it grew in the earth as potatoes grow in Sweden. In the rivers they could fish for gold lumps, big as eggs. The Finn himself had seen samples of twenty-three carat California gold right here in New York. Beggars in California, of course, went about in rags, as did beggars the world over, but California beggars were dressed in glittering golden rags. A hundred ships had arrived in the port of San Francisco, and every crew member had run away to the gold fields. The gold would soon be spread all over the world, and in a few years the whole world would be rich.

  But very few men returned alive from the gold fields. The Finn had heard that the passengers on the Angelica had ordered their tombstones in New York and were taking them along—this to save money, since it was cheaper to have them engraved here.

  Robert came to new life, seeing and hearing about this clipper ship; he looked wonderingly and longingly at the Angelica. She wasn’t like the Charlotta, either in name or otherwise. She was a happy ship with happy passengers; as soon as the men finished one song they immediately started another:

  Blow, boys, blow for California!

  There’s plenty of gold,

  So I’ve been told

  On the banks of the Sacramento. . . .

  The men waved, hats in hand, to the crowd on the pier. The passengers on the Swedish Charlotta also had sung, but mostly hymns, funeral hymns, and seldom had any of her passengers laughed. And while Robert didn’t understand the words of the songs from the Angelica, he didn’t think her passengers were singing hymns. Yet these singing gold diggers were traveling with their own engraved tombstones. How could people be so boisterous and happy, sailing with their tombstones? Perhaps, thought Robert, they were happy and sang because they were doing the wisest thing people can do in this world: their course might be perilous, but anyone wanting to get rich in America must, danger or no, head for the place where gold could be picked from the earth itself.

  “They have fun on that boat,” said Arvid with a touch of envy.

  “The men on the gold-rush ship are drunk,” explained the Finn. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they drink up their tombstones before they leave.”

  The Angelica—Robert looked at the clipper ship’s stern where the name was painted. Angelica and Charlotta were two women’s names. Charlotta was heavy, hard, dour, stern, harsh, and commanding; Angelica easy, soft, light, and gay. Charlotta sounded like the name of a fat farm mistress, authoritative, masterful; Angelica like a tender, delicate girl, like a bird’s twitter in a flowering meadow early in spring; there was joy and freedom in that name.

  The next ship he would travel on must have such a name.

  Now the passengers on the clipper ship began jumping about in wild leaps.

  “Those men must be dancing the polka,” said the Finn.

  “What kind of dance is that?” asked Robert.

  “It’s a new Hungarian war dance; in fact, an unchristian whore dance. Let’s get on, we’ve lots to see today.”

  Reluctantly, Robert left the Angelica with her fluttering red banner; there were many hundreds of ships in the New York Harbor, but only one he wished to board.

  They left the piers and turned off to the left, cut across the Battery, and went into town. If they wished to get a good view of Manhattan, the Finn said, they must go over to Weehawken; unfortunately, he didn’t have time to go with them, but once up there they could see thousands of houses and hundreds of churches; up there they could feel they were really seeing the world.

  In his description book Robert had read about New York, and he knew it was the New World’s largest, most active town, that houses were six stories tall, and streets sometimes seventy-five feet wide. Now he wondered whether it were true that half of the inhabitants were murderers, robbers, and swindlers.

  “It’s a little exaggerated,” said the Finn. “Only one-tenth are criminals.” And he added: It might be better to put it this way: every fourth house they passed was a saloon, every fifth woman they met was a whore, and every fifth man a criminal. Perhaps it would be better not to say exactly, but rather thereabouts, as far as a visiting seafarer could judge.

  Robert began to inspect the people they met on the street more closely, particularly the younger women.

  “Every fifth woman a whore, Mr. Mate?”

  “Yes, maybe thereabouts, yes, just about.”

  The Finn continued: There were in this town twenty thousand known and public sluts, besides all the private ones whom only God could count. There were two thousand whorehouses, open day and night, seven days of the week, except for the hours of service on Sundays. There were ten thousand saloons, and every saloon keeper had in his pay an undertaker, who came with his cart and dragged away the corpses of those who drank themselves to death. The American brännvin was the strongest in the world, and some saloon keepers even put a pinch of poison into the drink to make it smoother and more tasty; from childhood Americans had hardened themselves to spiced and poisoned d
rinks, but a foreigner might fall dead on the floor as he stood at the bar. In the most notorious nests, like the Old Brewery at Five Points, the saloon was on the first floor, the whorehouse on the second, and the morgue in the cellar. The guests got drunk in the saloon, then went upstairs to the girls, where they were robbed, murdered, undressed, and pushed through a chute to the morgue in the cellar. Yes, it was true, there were places here in New York where one was served speedily and efficiently. The police never dared go near such places. One den at Five Points had been demolished a few years ago when more than a thousand corpses were found.

  Robert and Arvid felt their scalps tingle at the Finn’s stories. But, fortunately, remembered Robert, he carried nothing of value with him, and if you didn’t carry anything on a walk, you couldn’t be robbed. His inheritance had been used for the voyage, and only a few Swedish coppers remained in his purse.

  But Arvid clutched the watch chain which hung across his vest and whispered into Robert’s ear: He had brought along his watch, perhaps it was risky, what should he do about it? Robert didn’t even have a watch; no one could rob him even though each tenth person was a thief.

  The boys from Ljuder knew very little about towns. Before coming to New York, they had passed through only one town, Karlshamn. (Arvid had not even read about towns, as he couldn’t read; before Robert had shown him a geography schoolbook, he had thought the whole world consisted only of Sweden.) But the boys did not wish to appear ignorant, as though unused to people. Robert therefore asked the Finn, with an intonation reflecting familiarity with the subject: Were the women in the New York whorehouses born in this country or were they immigrants?

  The Finn answered that nearly all such women were born in the Old World; some had fallen into sin while crossing on the ships; others, perhaps, ran out of traveling money when they reached New York, and when they couldn’t get beyond the pier, they sold that which could be sold most easily and quickly. But a whore’s life in North America lasted only four years at the most. Then came death. That is to say, if she were healthy and sound at the beginning. Most of them became venereal cases, their bodies covered with stinking sores, their limbs rotting away, falling off one after the other. The poison buried itself inside their bones, he had heard; there it reproduced itself, from generation to generation. In this way God’s law was fulfilled, as it was written in the commandment of the catechism: the sins of the fathers were visited on the children, unto a third and fourth generation “of them that hate Me.”