At the sight of this she had awakened. Her shift was drenched through with cold sweat, but a joyous relief filled her: only in her dream had she been pregnant. But today she was unable to mount the steps where she had experienced her birth dream.
Kristina had never believed that dreams came true or were a premonition. But the birth on the church steps had shaken her more deeply than any dream she could remember. What could it mean? She knew at least why she had dreamed this particular dream; two months in succession her bleeding had been delayed a whole week beyond the expected day. Twice in a row she had suffered a week of anxiety, waiting for her body to give the sign which meant comfort and peace for another month. And when the sign at last appeared she felt wild with joy for a few days. Fear of a new pregnancy had disturbed her sleep so that in a dream she had experienced what she feared. That must be it. That the repulsive heathen and whoring man Nöjd stole her child added to the horror of the dream.
For years now she had carried within her the fervent wish that God would make her barren for the rest of her life. But she had not dared voice her desire and pray to him to grant it. She had often wondered about this: a woman who refused the blessing of fertility and prayed for the curse of barrenness—didn’t she sin against God’s commandments?
In her fear of a new pregnancy, increased by the dream birth on the church steps, the old temptation returned to her. She thought it over, hesitated, doubted. She decided to ask the advice of Danjel Andreasson, and the next time she saw her uncle alone, she asked, “Would I commit a grave sin if I prayed God to relieve me of further childbirths?”
Danjel was accustomed to his niece talking intimately to him in matters she would not even mention to Karl Oskar, and he was not surprised at her question. He replied that the Almighty could see into the hearts of all his creatures. He knew all her thoughts, wishes, and desires. If she wanted to be relieved of bearing any more children, then this wish must already be known to God. And it was assuredly permitted for each person to pray according to his understanding; if she were praying for something that was good for her, then the Lord would grant her prayer, otherwise not.
Kristina interpreted her uncle’s opinion to mean that a woman’s prayer for barrenness was not a sin against any of God’s commandments. Of course Danjel was only a poor sinner himself and could not with assurance tell her when she sinned and when she didn’t. But if she transgressed with this prayer, then she must already have committed the sin in her heart. Wasn’t she courageous enough to do in word what she already had done in thought?
In every need a person must turn to his creator, every worry, great or small, must be carried to him. God demanded simply that a worried person turn to him, ask his aid.
And now she was a worried and deeply frightened person. Why did she hesitate? Why did she delay? Why hadn’t she been bold enough to offer this prayer long ago? But now she would do so.
Not at the same time as her evening prayer, however, which she read every night in bed before going to sleep. Not so much because Karl Oskar would lie awake in his bed across the room and listen, but mostly because this was a prayer of great importance to her. This urgent prayer must be said secretly, alone, with no one looking on. She wanted to feel entirely alone with the Almighty. And if she sought out a lonely place for the prayer, then he must understand how important it was to her, how fervently she sought its granting.
And this prayer would always remain a secret between the creator and her.
On a light, balmy July evening Kristina stole up the hill to a grove of immense oaks a few gunshots’ distance from the house. She had been careful to see that no one noticed her leave; she sneaked away like someone on a forbidden errand. God saw her, and he would listen, but no one else must see or hear her. She felt she was on her way to a sacred meeting—which she was. Tonight she was meeting God in his own beautifully created oak grove.
Below a mighty oak she fell down on her knees to offer her secret prayer.
Her knees in the lush grass, her forehead against the oak trunk, Kristina prayed to him who had all power in heaven and on earth. She prayed for that which was good for her. A seven-times blessed woman prayed for barrenness for the rest of her life; she prayed the Lord to have mercy on her tired, worn-out body, and not create any more lives in it.
“Dear, dear God! Don’t let me become pregnant again! I am unable to endure it! Think of me, dear God!”
The tall oak crowns swayed above her head. The wind, rustling in their leaves, was the only sound in the grove up here tonight. The silence and the stillness aided in making her feel alone—alone with God. The soft wind she heard in the crowns of the trees she took as a touch of the creator’s own soft hand, as a breath of confidence from the heaven above her; the father in heaven touched his praying child.
After the prayer a great calm came over her. When she rose from her bent knees, she felt sure her prayer had been heard.
XXXII
PARTNERS OF AMERICA
—1—
On May 11, 1858, a new star shone on the flag of the United States of America. On this day the Congress admitted a new state, the thirty-second, into the union. The state was Minnesota.
But a great distance separated Washington from Minnesota and it was two whole days before the 150,000 inhabitants of the far-away territory learned that they now lived in a state of the Union. On the beautiful May day, when the decision was made, the settlers were busy with the spring planting of their fields, unaware of the transformation of their status: in the morning they went to work as territorial residents, in the evening they returned as citizens of the greatest and mightiest republic in the world.
Up till now the Minnesota settlers had felt that the government in Washington was their guardian: the representatives they had sent to Congress had no voting rights. Washington had appointed their governors, made up their budget, and generally supervised their activities. This had made the people feel that they weren’t trustworthy. And they had waited a long time: Congress had more than once denied the territory state rights. The southern slave states would not admit Minnesota unless Kansas too were admitted. But since the Kansas constitution permitted slavery it was not acceptable to the Northern states. However, after many bitter debates in Congress, both territories had now at last been admitted.
As soon as the decision was made in Washington, the great news was dispatched by telegram to the Minnesota legislature. But the telegraph wires reached only as far as Prairie du Chien, Wisconsin, and from there the telegram had to be carried by steamer up the Mississippi. On the morning of May 13, when the new state already was two days old, the steamer arrived in St. Paul. There the papers spread the happy message with the biggest headlines ever seen in the territory: GLORIOUS NEWS! MINNESOTA A STATE! BRING OUT THE BIG GUN! And half the front page of the St. Paul Pioneer depicted a cannon being fired under a flag with thirty-two stars. BRING OUT THE BIG GUN! The letters above the cannon were so large the readers could almost hear the firing.
Fort Snelling at St. Paul fired all its guns, with the consequence that people who hadn’t yet heard the news thought the Indians were on the warpath and began to leave their homes in panic. But as soon as the word spread, each owner of a firing iron added to the noise and celebration. Every settler with a gun fired a shot of joy. For several days one would have thought war had broken out in the new state of Minnesota with battles in every settlement. Old breach-loaders and blunderbusses were fired, Kentucky rifles and Samuel Colt’s new revolvers, percussion rifles, English guns, Scottish shotguns, Irish carbines, German cavalry pistols, French bird guns, and—not least—old Swedish muzzle loaders. In the Minnesota forests, the salutation of all its inhabitants thundered in unison. No gun had a report exactly like another; each rifle and gun and revolver and pistol had its own voice: European people fired their different weapons, uniting into one many-voiced greeting and salutation to the free land of the new world where they had become citizens.
BRING OUT THE BIG GUN! Now
they could choose their own government. Now they could elect representatives and have a voice in Congress, could participate in the great decisions! Minnesota’s settlers now had a right to sit in the Capitol, at the table of great deliberations.
The echo of great expectations rose with the salutation in the clear May sky. Those who fired were themselves fired of a great expectation: their territory had grown up, had become a state. Now more immigrants would arrive, to break more fields, build more houses, more churches and schools, build better, more passable roads. Railroads and telegraph lines would now be built, mail-service would improve; the one-time territory would be drawn closer to its older brethren-states in the Union. Money matters would be regulated; new laws concerning printing and issuing of bills would destroy wildcat money forever. Reliable currency would make business grow again, and prosperity would return to the young state ruled only by the settlers themselves.
Joy reverberated in the spring air, this spring which had brought good weather for sowing and growing. The sap in the sugar maples flowed more abundantly than ever before, grass and flowers and all the plants of the earth sprang up in a profusion such as no one had previously observed—this spring when Minnesota became a state.
—2—
In the settlements at Chisago Lake, the news of statehood was celebrated joyfully. Here no one could afford to waste ammunition but this time everyone was generous with his powder. Karl Oskar shot off three salutes from his old muzzle loader—the only shots he ever fired just for fun in America. His gun was old but it had been made by the most famous gunsmith in Småland and it made more noise than any of the other guns in the district. Karl Oskar said that since he was the first one to settle at this lake he must fire a shot loud enough to be heard all the way to Washington by the President himself!
This same spring Karl Oskar and his family received their papers as American citizens. There were five of them to get such a paper—he, Kristina, and the three children born in Sweden. Each paper cost a dollar. It cost him and his family five dollars to become citizens of the United States. The American-born half of his flock were citizens as soon as they left the mother’s womb; because of this they saved three dollars.
Since they had left Sweden and were stricken from the Ljuder parish records they had not belonged anywhere; they had not had papers that they rightfully belonged in any country; they had in a sense been vagrants in the world. Now they had printed papers to prove they belonged to a new homeland.
When Karl Oskar a few years earlier had assured the court in Stillwater that he wanted to settle in America and become a citizen, he had been asked to forswear all allegiance to foreign rulers and potentates. Without a moment’s hesitation he had forsworn Oskar I of Sweden all obedience and allegiance. He forswore the Swedish king with an easy conscience since he could not remember that he ever had taken an oath to uphold that ruler.
In order to become a citizen of the North American republic you were also supposed to renounce your nobility status and all titles and prerogatives adhering to your status in the old country. Because in this country no one had greater rights and advantages because of his birth; counts and barons and similar lords were forbidden. In whatever mother-womb one had lain meant nothing here; it did not make one a ruler over other people, as in Sweden. But Karl Oskar need not renounce any patent of nobility or inherited rights; from his homeland he had only brought the title of farmer, and this he could keep in America as long as he wished.
Karl Oskar spent several evenings reading their citizenship papers; with the aid of his son Johan, who had learned English at school, he searched out the meaning of the words and interpreted them for Kristina. Their names were now incorporated in the official papers of their new country; they would forever remain recorded in official American records as citizens of the United States. They were now equal to the families who had lived here for a hundred years or more. And it was printed on paper that they had changed from Swedes to Americans.
“Are we no longer Swedish people?” wondered Kristina.
“We’re stricken out at home. We’re American citizens. We’re partners of America. We have renounced Sweden for eternity.”
“In case of war between the two countries—will you go out and fight against Sweden?”
He laughed. “I guess I must if I’m asked.”
“Never have I heard such craziness!”
“But the Americans have once and for all gotten rid of the English king and will never again fight the old country. They have better sense.”
Kristina eyed the citizenship papers without understanding a syllable. In her, America had acquired a citizen who never used the language of her new country. She kept to her resolution not to try to learn English. Yet Karl Oskar insisted that through these papers she had been turned into an American.
Kristina felt it couldn’t be that easy to change a person. This paper couldn’t change her, even though it was large and thick and decorated with stamps and ornaments around her name, which was printed in large letters. In this paper it stated that she was an American citizen: “Wife of Charles O. Nelson.” But what did this new name mean to her? It changed her neither inside nor outside. She was sure to remain the same as she had been since her birth: Kristina Johansdotter of Duvemåla, Algutsboda parish, Sweden. And however much her name was changed on American papers, she would continue to think as often and as longingly as before of her old homeland.
She had noticed that Karl Oskar had changed these last years. Not in clothing or external things but in his speech and his way of thinking. He accepted the customs here, he felt that Americans were clever and industrious, he approved of most of their ways and tried to ape them.
He himself testified to this change as he now asked his wife: Should he begin to use the name on the American citizenship paper, should he call himself Charles O. Nelson? What did she think?
“I don’t like it!” said Kristina. “You may renounce the Swedish king, but if you change your Swedish name I’ll laugh at you! For then it means you’re getting to be uppity!”
This was a clear reply and he said nothing more. Kristina was really right, he thought. And he continued to write his name in the old way; he was still Karl Oskar Nilsson.
—3—
The powder smoke of the May festival days blew away, and plans for the new state’s government took its place. Liberty always brings with it great concerns and much trouble, and liberty is most troublesome to those who are unused to it. It now fell upon the shoulders of Minnesota’s inhabitants to agree on how to govern their state; they must prepare and agree to a state constitution.
In the old territorial days, Democrats and Whigs had fought for power. But in 1855 a new party had come into existence, founded in Michigan the year before. Its members called themselves Republicans. They promised great advantages to the settlers and wanted to give land free to newcomers. They became the party of the settlers. Alexander Ramsey, the territorial governor, previously the Whig leader, joined the new party and became its leader. The Democratic leader was Henry H. Sibley, earlier the government’s Sioux Indian agent. The Democrats were soon outnumbered by the fast-growing Republican party.
Republicans and Democrats met in St. Paul to work out a constitution for the state of Minnesota. But the differences between the two parties grew ever wider, and soon made it impossible for the delegates to work at the same table. It turned out to be very difficult to work out one constitution for the new state; on the other hand it was very easy to arrive at two. The two parties sat in different rooms and each made up a constitution. The two documents differed in about two hundred points.
In the Old World people shot each other when they disagreed about forms of governments, but Republicans and Democrats in Minnesota agreed on one thing: this must not happen among them! They must come to peaceful agreement. And after long and tiresome negotiations the two constitutions were finally fused into one, acceptable to both sides.
Now the young state must elect it
s first governor. But its inhabitants had come from countries in the Old World, where they never had been permitted to select their rulers, and their highest lord—the king—had always been appointed by God, who never asked their advice. The selection of a governor would be the first test of the people’s ability to govern themselves.
Both parties nominated candidates: Alexander Ramsey on the Republican ticket and Henry H. Sibley on the Democratic. A bitter campaign ensued.
In the Swedish settlement at Chisago Lake many immigrants who never before had participated in choosing representatives for governmental posts, must now for the first time in their lives learn to handle a ballot. To the Swedes, this participating in their own concerns, seemed a strange and novel business. Most of the Swedes at Chisago Lake wanted Ramsey. His party promised aid and easing of taxes, while the Democrats advocated raising taxes for farmers. And Ramsey’s personality and background inspired confidence. Born to poor people he had been orphaned at ten, from which time he had supported himself, often through manual labor. He had worked as a carpenter and forester and like themselves learned to get ahead in the new country. He was the right kind of governor for men who wielded the ax and the plow. In Sweden one must be born in a castle to reach such a high position, in America a log cabin sufficed. Colonel Sibley was a businessman, one of the higher-ups in the American Fur Company, the richest and most powerful business venture in the territory. Sibley, the Democratic candidate, had grown wealthy from dealing in furs; he would be a governor for money-men. About him his opponents said: Sibley is honest in this way, that he never makes any promises except those he won’t fulfill.
In Red Wing, a Swedish paper had been started, Minnesota-Posten. While Hemlandet was intended as an organ for all Swedes in America, the Minnesota-Posten directed itself especially to the immigrants in Minnesota. The new paper was more American than its predecessor and championed the new homeland above the old. In its first issue it explained that the Swedes in America would never really have a chance until they were entirely integrated with the Americans. “Minnesota-Posten aims to devote itself to the new generation and wishes particularly to be a friend of young people and a guide for their transition from Swedes to Americans . . .”
The Settlers Page 47