Unto A Good Land

by Vilhelm Moberg

  Why in hell would a farm woman go out to sea at such an age? Why should the shipping company be expected to pay three hundred dollars for an old, worn-out hag-body? One way to avoid the bond, perhaps, would be to keep her on board as long as the brig remained in port. While they unloaded the pig iron and other freight, the old woman would no doubt die, and then the health officer would come and fetch the corpse, and the captain wouldn’t even have to think about the funeral.

  It was always easier to get rid of dead cargo than living.

  —2—

  The passengers were now coming to the cabin to collect their money. A tall, husky man hit his forehead against the cabin ceiling as he came down the ladder. The captain said, “Look out for your skull! You might need it in America.”

  An unusually large nose protruded from the man’s face; Captain Lorentz need not ask the name of this farmer, he remembered him well. One night during the voyage—while the worst tempest was raging—he had stanched a hemorrhage for this man’s wife. The peasant had thanked him and said that his wife owed her life to the Charlotta’s captain.

  He consulted the passenger list: “Karl Oskar Nilsson. Paid 515 rdr. bko.”

  At the exchange rate of one dollar for each two and a half daler, the farmer had two hundred and six dollars coming to him. But from this sum the captain must deduct the exchange fee and the landing fees for man, wife, brother, and three children.

  He told the farmer, “You have to pay thirty-seven and a half daler for six people.”

  “Is that the entrance fee to America?”

  “We might call it that. There is also the exchange fee. Four dollars—that is, ten daler.”

  Lorentz counted and deducted: Balance to pay—a hundred and eighty-seven dollars. He counted out this sum in twenty-, ten-, and one-dollar coins, gold and silver, which he gave to the young farmer, who himself counted the money slowly and carefully. Then he put the coins, one at a time, into a homemade sheepskin belt which he carried around his waist under his shirt. The captain gave the hiding place a nod of approval.

  The big-nosed farmer, having received his money, still remained standing in the cabin.

  “Do you think you’ve been cheated in the exchange?” the captain asked.

  “No. No, it isn’t that. But I would like to ask you about something, Mr. Captain.”

  “Yes?”

  Karl Oskar Nilsson continued: There were fifteen of them, eight full grown and seven children, all from Ljuder Parish in Småland, who had undertaken the voyage together to this new country. Now they had been delayed at sea, the summer was already far advanced, and they were anxious to reach their destination as soon as possible, so as to be able to find land and get something planted before winter set in. All of those from Ljuder Parish intended to go to Minnesota, where land was said to be reasonably priced for people with little money. Now they wanted to continue their journey without delay; would the captain be kind enough to advise them how to get started inland?

  “Have you any definite place in mind?”

  “Yes. Here is the name.”

  From his purse Karl Oskar took out a soiled, worn piece of paper, once part of an envelope:

  Mister Anders Månsson.

  Taylors Falls Påst Offis

  Minnesota Territory

  North-America.

  “Who gave you this address?” asked the captain.

  “An old woman on board the ship. Månsson is her son. She’s going to him and we’ll all be in the same company; they say there’s good land where her son lives.”

  “You rely on the woman? What’s her name?”

  “Fina-Kajsa. She is from Öland; her husband died in the first storm.”

  Captain Lorentz suddenly straightened. “You mean the old woman who is so sick?”

  “She is better now, she says; she feels so well in her body she’ll be able to go with the rest of us.”

  “Then you’ll take the old woman in your company and be responsible for her?”

  “Yes. She has money for her journey. And we’ll look after her as best we can. When we get there, perhaps her son will help us find land.”

  The captain’s face had suddenly lightened; it was not the first time Providence had helped him out of a difficult dilemma. This time, apparently, Providence had chosen the farmer to get him out of his difficulty with Fina-Kajsa Andersdotter, and thus save his company three hundred dollars.

  He handed the important piece of paper back to Karl Oskar.

  “It’s a long way to the territory of Minnesota. About fifteen hundred English miles, I believe.”

  “Is it so . . . so . . . far away?” Karl Oskar’s face fell, and he scratched his head with its unkempt hair, yellow as barley straw, grown very long during the voyage from Sweden.

  “Of course, it’s only two hundred and fifty Swedish miles,” the captain hastened to assure him. He did not wish to frighten the farmer by dwelling on the journey’s length, but rather to encourage him to undertake it. He continued: Every time he had transported farmers in search of land he had advised them to go as deep as possible into America; the farther west they went, the richer the soil was, and the broader were the regions to choose from. Most of the distance they could travel on river steamboats.

  “Two hundred and fifty miles! It isn’t exactly next door.”

  The infinitely long road which had worried Karl Oskar at first had shrunk to one-sixth, but it was still two hundred and fifty times the distance from Korpamoen to Ljuder church. He thought to himself, he must be careful how he spoke of the distance to others in his company; it might dishearten them.

  “I will arrange the contract for the journey,” Captain Lorentz assured him. “Including the Widow Andersdotter, there will be sixteen in your company?”

  Karl Oskar had never seen this taciturn, unobliging man so talkative and willing to help as he was today. The captain spoke almost as to an equal: Yes, he often arranged contracts with honest companies for transportation inland. His conscience bade him help immigrants leave New York as soon as possible; they couldn’t stay here in the harbor, they couldn’t settle in Battery Park. And he knew an honest Swedish man in New York whom he often asked to guide the immigrants and act as their interpreter. The man’s name was Landberg, he had once been carpenter on this very ship, the best carpenter Lorentz had ever had. But several years ago, when the captain was transporting a group of religious fanatics from Helsingland, followers of the widely known prophet Erik Janson, Landberg had been so taken by their religion that he had left the ship in New York and joined the group. After half a year, Landberg had lost faith in the prophet, who had plundered him. The poor man had been forced to flee from Janson’s tyranny penniless and practically naked. Landberg now earned his living by acting as interpreter and guide for Swedish immigrants. He spoke English fluendy, and it was Captain Lorentz’s custom to send for him as soon as the ship docked in New York. This time also he had notified the one-time carpenter, and Landberg had been given a pass by the health officer to come aboard the brig.

  “How much would the interpreter cost?” Karl Oskar asked.

  “It depends on the distance he must accompany you. I believe he charges three dollars for each grown person as far as Chicago.”

  “Hmm . . . Well, we can’t manage by ourselves. None of us can speak this tongue.”

  The captain thought, to leave these poor, helpless peasants to shift for themselves would be almost like driving a flock of sheep into a forest full of wolves. He said, “If you would like speedy transport inland, you must take the steam wagon from Albany. Landberg will get contracts with all the companies concerned.”

  “Thank you, Captain, for your great help.”

  It had been reported to the captain during the voyage that this big-nosed peasant had been dissatisfied with his quarters, had complained of the small ration of water, and had been insubordinate to the ship’s officers. But Lorentz no longer disliked the man: Karl Oskar undoubtedly had a good head; and then, he was
the tool of Providence.

  “. . . And you think the old woman is strong enough to be moved?”

  “She says she is. She was on her feet again today.”

  It was indeed strange; a few days ago the Widow Andersdotter had been shaking in every limb with the ague, fallen off to the very bones from diarrhea. But such miraculous recoveries had happened before, and even though Lorentz had little use for the customs of the North American Republic, he had to admit that the mere sight of the country worked like magic on people; one day they were lying in their bunks sighing and crying and ready to die, unable to lift head from pillow, and the next day they were on their feet again. When semi-corpses saw the shores of America, they returned to life.

  —3—

  As Karl Oskar felt the new money in his belt, it seemed to him that a hundred and eighty-seven dollars was a poor exchange for five hundred and fifteen daler. His property had somehow shrunk on his arrival in America. And what he now carried in his belt was all he and his family owned in worldly possessions; it was all they could rely on for their future security.

  He went to tell his fellow passengers that the captain would arrange for their continued journey; all were anxious to get away from the crowded ship’s quarters and were disturbed over the delay on board.

  On the deck he met Jonas Petter of Hästebäck, the oldest one in their company; he should really have been the one to plan the journey, to act as leader for the group, rather than Karl Oskar.

  “Ulrika is stirring up the women,” Jonas Petter told him.

  On the foredeck, next to the watchman whose duty it was to prevent anyone from going ashore, stood unmarried Ulrika of Västergöhl, the Glad One, talking to a group of women, gesticulating wildly, loud, upset.

  “She insists our captain is a slave trader,” Jonas Petter said.

  What had the Glad One started now? Karl Oskar had long been afraid she might bring shame on their company.

  He went to Ulrika; her cheeks were blossoming red and her voice was husky with anger.

  “So it’s you, Karl Oskar! Now I’ve found out the truth! Now I know why they won’t let us land!”

  “It’s because of the cholera,” said Karl Oskar.

  “No, it’s not! It’s the captain! He keeps us confined here because he is going to hold an auction and sell us! He is going to sell us as slaves to the Americans!”

  The women around Ulrika listened fearfully. They might have been listening to the auctioneer she predicted calling for bids on them; one woman had folded her hands as if praying God for help.

  Karl Oskar seized Ulrika by the arm. “Come and let’s talk alone.” He pulled her away from the others and they walked over to the mainmast.

  “Don’t spread such lies,” he warned her. “You might have to pay for it.”

  “It’s the truth,” insisted Ulrika. “We’ve been swindled! We are to be sold on arrival—that’s why the captain keeps us penned in on the ship!”

  “What fool has put such ideas into your head?”

  “You don’t have to believe me if you don’t want to. But I’m going to run away; I’m not going to stay here and be sold as a slave!”

  Ulrika’s eyes were flashing. As a little girl in Sweden she had been sold, she knew what it meant; she had been a four-year-old orphan when she was sold at auction, to the lowest bidder. The one who had offered to take her and bring her up for eight daler a year had been a peasant in Alarum, and he had raped her when she was fourteen. The only difference between Sweden and America was that in this new country you were sold to the highest bidder, instead of the lowest; perhaps it might be considered more flattering to be sold to a high bidder, but nevertheless she would have nothing to do with it; she had left that hellhole Sweden to get freedom in America. Now she was going to take her daughter with her and escape from the ship.

  “But this is a lie!” exclaimed Karl Oskar. “The captain is not a slave trader.”

  “Ask your brother if you don’t believe me! He is the one who told my daughter.”

  “Robert? What do you mean?”

  “I’ll fetch him. Then you can hear for yourself.” And Ulrika of Västergöhl hastened to find her daughter Elin and Robert, Karl Oskar’s younger brother, dragging them with her as she returned.

  “Now tell Karl Oskar what you heard!” she demanded.

  Elin looked trustingly from her mother to Karl Oskar. “Robert said the captain is keeping us on board until he gets permission to sell us to the Americans.”

  The youth looked reproachfully at Elin. “I only said one of the crew told me so.”

  Karl Oskar turned sternly toward his brother: “Now, tell the whole truth!”

  Robert’s jaw fell in embarrassment and he looked down at the worn and splintered deck: he had asked one of the seamen why they weren’t allowed to land, and the man had said they must stay until the Americans came and got them; they were to be sold at auction. Last voyage, he said, the captain had sold all the passengers to the Turkish Infidel for ten thousand dollars; this time, he didn’t wish to rush things, and that was why he kept them aboard. Last time he had sold everyone except two old, worn-out hags who couldn’t be used for work or aught else. And no complaints had been raised, for no one had had any relatives in America on whom he could call for help.

  The seaman had said he was telling all this to Robert because the captain had refused to share his ten thousand dollars with the crew. The seaman was angry that he couldn’t share in the profits from the slave trade in New York, and that was why he had warned Robert and other passengers to get away from the ship before the auction was advertised.

  Robert admitted he had not believed the seaman; if the captain wanted to sell people to the Infidel, he would undoubtedly have sailed to Turkey, where the Infidel lived, and not to North America. There was no sense in shipping people back and forth across the Atlantic. Moreover, Robert knew from a book he owned—Description of the United States of North America—that it was forbidden to sell white-skinned people as slaves; a person had to have curly hair, and black skin to boot, before he was allowed to be sold.

  Robert had told the seaman’s story to Elin only because it struck him as funny.

  “But you didn’t say it was a lie,” Elin protested.

  “I thought you would know I wasn’t serious,” Robert explained in embarrassment.

  Thus Karl Oskar killed the rumor. And he urged Ulrika to quiet the anxiety she had aroused in the other gullible women. Neither she nor anyone else on board need fear slave chains or sale at auction in North America. The captain was an honest man who was doing all he could to help them, he had even promised to help them get started on their way inland.

  Ulrika now turned her anger on Robert: “You brat! You’re responsible for this! Karl Oskar, better keep your brother in line from now on.”

  And Robert was severely reprimanded by Karl Oskar for sowing lies in the mind of a credulous girl. Suppose these stories reached the captain; then there would be trouble. Now they must go and find the man who had started the rumor.

  “He isn’t on the ship any longer,” Robert said hastily.

  “You just come and show me the liar!”

  “I can’t find him. They say he has run away.”

  Karl Oskar gave his brother a stern look; it had happened before that Robert had been caught in a lie, and it did seem strange that the man had vanished. But this time Karl Oskar let Robert off with a strong warning: If he didn’t stick to the truth he might get himself and others into great danger. He was now seventeen years old and he must begin to have some sense of responsibility; he must remember that here in a foreign land unknown dangers awaited them.

  Robert felt he had been betrayed by Elin. He had told her this story about the slave trade in strict confidence. The way it had happened was this: Not far from the ship stretched a park, a real manor-house park, with tall, green, thick trees, below which lay cool shadows. But Robert was not allowed to go there, he must remain here, on this rotten ship,
in the burning sun. So he had just had to talk to someone to make the time pass more quickly. This he could not explain to his older brother, but he thought Elin might have understood. He certainly would tell her no more stories if she must run to her mother and repeat them.

  —4—

  The Charlotta’s ex-carpenter entered Captain Lorentz’s cabin, stooping so as not to hit his head against the low ceiling. Long Landberg, as he was usually called, was the tallest man ever to sign on this vessel—almost seven feet. His lengthy arms hung loosely against his narrow body. A well-trimmed full beard half hid his healthy smile.

  The captain greeted him with a warm handshake. “Any news since last time? This infernal heat is the same.” He could easily see that the man he had sent for was eager to unburden himself, and even before Landberg sat down he began: “Yes, I have news this time. You haven’t heard, then, Mr. Captain? Wheat-flour Jesus is dead!”

  Lorentz stared at him.

  “Yes, it’s true. Wheat-flour Jesus was murdered. Last month.”

  “Whom are you talking about, Landberg?”

  “Erik Janson, of course. A prophet even in the old country, where he traveled about and sold wheat flour. That’s why they called him Wheat-flour Jesus.”

  “The prophet Janson? Murdered?”

  “Yea. He was shot like a dog at Cambridge, in the court where he had brought suit. The defendant shot him.”

  The captain was not surprised by the news. He thought he had some knowledge of the handling of legal matters in this country. Perhaps, tacked to the wall of the courtroom, was the same notice he had seen in a saloon in New York: “Shoot first! Live longer!”