Robert felt as if he had got another kick in the behind throwing him still farther back across the American continent. Two hundred miles!
Mr. Jameson continued. It was too late for them to join the caravan of gold seekers this summer, a whole month too late. It was May now, the train to California had left Independence in April and was on its way west. A new caravan would not leave until next spring. When the buffalo grass turned green next spring, then the gold seekers would gather again.
And so Robert and Arvid discovered they must join others with the same intention. But this spring it was too late to sign up in the gold army; it had already left. New grass must sprout on the prairie before they could join. They would lose a whole year.
Their host wished them goodnight and good sleep and left. They sat down on their mattress and opened their rucksacks, still full of the bread and cured pork Kristina had packed for them, and ate. The food prevented Arvid from talking; for him to talk while eating would have been as sacrilegious as swearing in church. But Robert too sat silent now as he chewed. What he had just heard required some thought.
While peeling potatoes on the boat, they had figured that their twenty-five dollars would take care of their food and lodging for a month’s travel from St. Louis to California. For they had hoped to reach the goldfields in a month, and once there they would have no further need for money.
And now this—they couldn’t get there for a whole year.
When Arvid had finished eating he took hold of the nickel chain on his vest and pulled his watch from its pocket. He said that whatever else happened on this journey, he wouldn’t sell his cylinder watch. They might have to go without food but he wouldn’t part with his watch even if they starved. It was his inheritance and could not be touched. And Arvid’s watch showed ten minutes after nine this May evening of 1851, in Mr. Jameson’s manure-smelling lodging in the town of St. Louis, Missouri, where they had paid 25 cents apiece for sleeping accommodations. Gentlemen please take off their boots in bed!
Robert and Arvid, once having shared the same stable room, had sworn to stick together forever, never to separate. Now they crept under the same horse blanket: they had traveled far into the world, almost to the center of America, and they needed to stick together. Tonight they felt again like comrades in service, sharing a stable room. They were once again a couple of farm hands—and far from the Land of Gold.
—2—
Later in the summer they began to dig in the earth again—but not for gold. They got work on a farm near town whose owner wanted a potato cellar dug. Their pay was seventy-five cents a day plus board, and in the farm kitchen they could eat as much meat and potatoes and beans as they wanted. But their room was a ramshackle shed where they were worse housed than in the stable room they had lived in in Sweden. The cracks between the boards were so wide that the wind blew through unhindered. But there were no bedbugs in the walls as there had been at Nybacken, where each morning they had awakened with fresh bites on their necks; this shed was so miserable that no vermin wanted to live there.
The boys were farm hands again. They had set out to dig for gold, but when they dug into the ground they found only sand and gravel, clay and rocks. Arvid, however, couldn’t help looking at his spade now and again, letting the dirt pour slowly from the blade: perhaps . . . perhaps . . . ! But never a glowworm spark of anything glittering. Robert counseled his friend to be patient, as they couldn’t get any farther this year they must remain here and keep alive until spring. Next year they would find something different on their spades!
Arvid worried that they might be delayed so long that all the gold would be gone before they got there. Robert reassured him. In an American newspaper he had read that a very learned man, Mr. Horace Greeley, had said that California had at least two thousand million dollars’ worth of gold. As yet only two hundred million had been dug up; there was still eighteen hundred million left. Did Arvid think that with so much there would not be enough for him? Did he want more than eighteen hundred million dollars?
When the potato cellar was finished, they were put to work helping with the harvesting and the threshing; this kept them busy during the fall, and when winter came they were put to cutting wood. Now their wages dropped to fifty cents a day, but they could still eat as much meat and potatoes and beans as before. They might have liked their jobs if they had been better housed, but when winter came the sharp wind blew through the cracks of their shed and plagued them miserably, so that they crept close together at night to keep warm.
The winter continued and the cold increased, and Arvid began to complain. Why had they traveled so far to sleep in this rotten shed? It had been warmer in the stable room at Nybacken. Had they immigrated to America in order to lie here and freeze and suffer at night? Robert comforted him; they must be patient through the winter; then all suffering and evil would be over. And what they were doing furthered their plans; they were working their way to the gold land. They had peeled their way on the river, here they had dug their way along in summer, and now they were cutting their way to California. Every single ring of the ax brought them closer to the gold land by earning money for them. And they would get there if they had to creep and crawl the whole two thousand miles!
The younger boy always found words that cheered the older one. And they continued to saw and split and stack wood in tall piles. In the evenings it might happen that Arvid asked: how much gold was still left in California—how many millions? But one evening when they returned to their cold shed after a day of work, Arvid sank down on the bunk, his hands to his face:
“I can’t stand it any longer! I want to go home!”
He began to cry: he wanted to return to Minnesota, to his service with Danjel Andreasson, to the people from Sweden he knew. He had thought about it for a long while and he had made his decision: he didn’t want to go on to California. He didn’t care about the gold any more. He would give up the riches—it didn’t matter to him if he were rich or poor. He would just as soon be poor if he only could be with people he could take to and whom he knew. He didn’t want to work for an American farmer any more and have to live in this shed; he had had it much better with Danjel. As long as he must remain a farm hand anyway . . .
“But I can’t find the way back . . . I can’t ask in English . . . Won’t you come with me, Robert . . . ? Let’s go back, please, Robert!”
“No, Arvid! I won’t return! Never!”
“But I can’t go back alone . . . I can’t manage . . . Please, Robert, come with me!”
“No! I want to see California!”
His friend’s weeping and pleading bothered Robert but his mind could not be changed. He would go on; he would not return to his brother in Minnesota until he had found gold and could return as a rich man.
And he reminded Arvid of their mutual promise, a promise for all times and all circumstances: whatever happened, the two of them must always stick together! Didn’t he remember the Sunday when they had made a bonfire at Lake Ki-Chi-Saga? They had been sitting there at the fire, warming their blue-frozen hands, and they had sworn that they would be comrades forever here in America, they would never part company!
Would Arvid now fail his comrade, and his oath?
They talked about it until late that evening—until at last they agreed again and shook hands on the promise: when the prairie was green with next spring’s grass they would continue west on the California Trail.
Yes—I heard it so well: I heard you and Arvid agree. The two Swedish farm boys would never part in America.
I want to see California! you said. You wouldn’t change your mind. You persuaded him to stick to his promise. You can’t deny you did.
But you must know that already that first winter you had begun to doubt; your eyes had been opened, you had seen the road before you—you hesitated and thought, shouldn’t we turn back? Your eyes were no longer blinded by the gleaming gold two thousand miles away. For you knew already you hadn’t set out to look for gold!
That wasn’t your reason. You took off to get rid of masters, all masters in the world. But you did not know what you were looking for instead. Something you had heard in a song . . . ?
And it was that first winter that I began to buzz and annoy you—perhaps because of the cold wind in the shed. Since then you have never been able to silence me for long; you have been forced to endure my sounds. And during your woodcutting winter in St. Louis that yellow, evil-smelling fluid began to run again; it is always an ominous sign.
And I have recorded and still keep Arvid’s voice: I can hear his words whenever I wish—that time, and that, and that! Please, Robert! he pleaded, like a little child. Please, Robert! Almost the same words, later. We come to that soon.
Yes, dear Robert, I have now buzzed for you so long this evening it’s time to buzz you to sleep. At last you always get so tired you go to sleep. Sleep now!
Good night, gold seeker!
XVI
WHILE THE RICHES LAY HIDDEN IN THE HOUSE
—1—
Karl Oskar and Kristina often recalled to mind that week in June, 1855, when Robert had returned on a Monday.
Robert slept late on that June Tuesday morning of 1855, and no one disturbed him; he must be tired to death, they thought, and in need of rest. Karl Oskar had intended to do a day’s work on the church building, which had been started that spring, but as his brother had just come back, he stayed at home and did ordinary small chores. Kristina wanted to prepare good and strengthening food for the prodigal, so she robbed the chicken nests of fresh eggs, and for her brother-in-law’s breakfast she also made dumplings, which she knew he liked.
Robert rose at last and sat down alone at the kitchen table. After a while Karl Oskar came in; he had something he wanted to say to his brother which he should have said last night only everything had become so confused: a hearty thanks for the big bundle of bills—if now all this money was meant as a gift! He had inspected the bills, both by candle flame and in daylight, and as far as he could see they were real and must be good currency. He would put them in the bank at Stillwater at once. Nowadays so many bills were worth only half their face value, or nothing at all, that he hoped Robert would understand why they had been suspicious at first. To himself he thought that the only thing that troubled him about this money was the fact that he himself hadn’t earned it with his own hands.
Robert mumbled that he hoped his brother and sister-in-law would enjoy the money. Apparently he didn’t want to talk any further about the gift. He himself had little feeling for his fortune; last night he had handled the bills as if all he wanted was to get rid of them, the sooner the better.
By daylight his leanness was more marked. And his yellow skin was not a sign of health. Kristina now understood why Karl Oskar had wondered if he suffered from some gnawing disease. Perhaps he had had to sacrifice his health for the gold. And if he couldn’t buy back his health with it, he had indeed made a poor bargain.
They had many questions to ask Robert, as they wanted to know all that had happened to him during his four years’ absence. But he discouraged their questions; perhaps he would tell them more once he was rested. Now he was the one to ask: what had happened here since he left?
Karl Oskar and Kristina described to him the activities around the lake, the new houses that had been built, and told him the names of their neighbors, all new immigrants from Sweden. The population had increased so much they had now founded a Swedish congregation.
“We timbered up a schoolhouse last summer. Now we’re hammering together a church,” said Karl Oskar.
“Yes, at last,” added Kristina. “They crabbed a whole year about the location of God’s house.”
Well, each one of the settlers had wanted the church near his claim, said Karl Oskar. People had wanted it on both the north and the south, on the east and the west lakeshore, in every imaginable place. Ten different sites had been under consideration. Those Swedes who had come here were so stubborn and selfish; what could one do with ten heads, each with a different opinion and none willing to give in? It had looked as if they might have to build ten churches, for all had the same right to decide; and only with ten churches would all have been done full justice. But at last they had been forced to agree. A site had been selected on the Helsinge farmer Lars Sjölin’s claim, on a tongue of land across from Nordberg’s Island. It was a pleasant location on a promontory near the lake, as nearly as possible in the center of the Swedish settlement. It was really a good place for the church, only twenty minutes’ walk for them, so they couldn’t complain.
“But our parish is so poor we can’t even hang a bell,” said Kristina.
“We’ll raise a small steeple for the time being,” said Karl Oskar. “We can hang the church bell when we’re better off.”
To build a church was a difficult and tiresome job, that much he had learned. Everything was to be done voluntarily but some sort of organization was necessary: each household was to cut, rough-hew, and deliver three loads of lumber, and each grown man was to give twelve days’ labor. But no one could tell yet if this would be sufficient to complete the building. And many members were poor newcomers who barely had had time to raise a shelter over their own heads, and who must first of all see to their own needs. At least a thousand dollars in cash was needed to finish the church and as yet they didn’t know if they could scrape together this sum.
“They can’t agree on anything, these people,” insisted Kristina. “They quarrel about the slightest nonsense.”
“They had no chance to decide anything back in Sweden so now they make up for it in America,” said Karl Oskar.
There had been great fights about the little schoolhouse, too, before it was completed last fall. The parish elder, the Helsinge farmer Petrus Olausson, had forced them to build it on his land, half a mile from the church. The young pastor, Mr. Törner, had promised to act as teacher and kept school two months in spring and two months in autumn. During the winter there was no school as the children couldn’t get out on the roads because of the cold and snow: they couldn’t risk the children’s freezing to death in the drifts. Johan and Marta attended regularly, and Harald would begin this fall.
This was indeed news to Robert; great changes had taken place.
The children were curious about the stranger who had brought the sweets. Robert asked if they learned Swedish in school, and Johan wanted to show him how much he knew. The boy reeled off some Swedish words. Only once did he stumble, repeating from memory. Marta too wanted to show what she had learned; she found the schools reader and read the story “The Shepherd Who Lied.”
“A liar you cannot believe even when he tells the truth,” she concluded her reading.
“That’s an amusing story,” said Robert thoughtfully. “I was asked to read that story once for Schoolmaster Rinaldo.”
“The pastor says it will teach us not to lie, not even in fun,” advised Marta.
In a low voice Robert repeated the last sentence of the story while his eyes sought his brother’s. Karl Oskar quickly looked out through the window as if he hadn’t heard.
In the kitchen a silence fell. There was a feeling that anything could happen if the two brothers now exchanged a single word.
Kristina felt the silence must be broken. “The girl has a nice singing voice. Sing something for Robert, Marta.”
“What, Mother?”
“Something you’ve learned in school. This for example: ‘We’re Swedes, we’re Swedes, Although we’re small . . .’!”
The mother did not sing the words, she spoke them; she had no singing voice.
“That’s called ‘The Song of the Swedish Boys,’” said the girl. “I know a better one!” And Marta threw her flaxen braids over her shoulders, stood spread-legged in the middle of the floor, and sang in her clear, thin child-voice:
“We go to school,
We stand in row,
Our hands are clean,
Our faces also.
Now let us listen<
br />
With open ears,
What teacher says,
Or it’ll be lost.
Let’s hurry and learn,
Knowledge to earn
Which is better than silver
And gold . . .”
As the last words rang out Robert rose quickly from his chair; his spoon fell from his hand and clattered on the floor. He shied away as if the girl had hurt him; he stared wide-eyed at her until she backed away looking at him in fright.
Slowly he picked up the spoon. Then he sat down, silent and lost in thought. Karl Oskar and Kristina were puzzled by his behavior; Robert seemed frightened at the mere sound of a word in a song—the word “gold.”
—2—
In the afternoon they went out to inspect the farm. Karl Oskar and Kristina wanted to show Robert what they had tilled and planted and built while he was away. He was greatly surprised at the large field with sprouting corn, wheat, rye, and oats on the slope where only four years ago nothing had grown but weeds. And such smooth, even fields! His brother had indeed worked hard.
“If the farmers at home could see these fields they would die of envy!”
The brothers walked side by side along the edge of the field. Robert noticed that Karl Oskar dragged his left leg. “What’s the matter with you? You limp?”
The older brother replied, somewhat embarrassed, that it was only the old ailment in his left shinbone; the injury he had sustained when a couple of men had tried to rob him on their journey to Minnesota; it never had healed, it ached sometimes when he worked too hard, and perhaps he favored that leg while walking.
“You slave yourself to death on your claim!”
Robert seemed serious; nothing in this world was worth aches and limps. Not even the good earth of Minnesota was worth that much.
He was a youth no longer. He had grown so old that he advised his older brother.
They looked at the fat and well-cared-for animals in the stable. Each had been bred on the place except the cow, Lady. Robert had promised Karl Oskar money for a team of oxen but now his brother had raised a team himself. And this spring one of the heifers had taken the bull, so they would soon have five cows.
The Settlers Page 26