Now he had arrived.
In the gathering dusk Karl Oskar Nilsson from Korpamoen appraised the location of the land: Northward lay the endless wilderness, a protection against winter winds; to the south the great lake; to the west the fine pine forest; to the east the protruding tongue of land with the heavy oaks. And he himself stood in the open, even meadow, the grass reaching to his waist, hundreds of loads of hay growing about him, covering the finest and most fertile topsoil; he stood there gazing at the fairest piece of land he had seen in all of North America.
Now he needn’t go a step farther. Here lay his fields, there grew the timber for his house, in front of him lay the water with game birds and fish. Here he had fields, forest, and lake in one place. Here things grew and throve and lived and moved in whatever direction he looked—on the ground, in trees and bushes, on land and water.
At last he had found the right spot: this was the place for a farmer’s home. Here he must live. And he would be the first one to raise his house on the shores of Lake Ki-Chi-Saga.
He turned left to the stand of oaks and selected the biggest tree he saw. He cut wide marks with his ax; then he took out his red pencil, his timberman’s pencil from home, and wrote on the wood: K. O. Nilsson, Svensk.
This would have to do; if it wasn’t sufficient, he must do it over some other time.The red letters on the white blaze in the oak could be seen a long way and would tell anyone passing by that this place was claimed. Besides, he wasn’t able to do more, not today. After the few cuts with the ax he suddenly felt tired, more tired than he had ever felt in his life. He sank down under the tree, heavily, and laid his pack beside him—his gun, ax, water keg, knapsack, all; he had forced himself to walk a long way, and now he had no more strength, he fell at last under the tree on which he had just printed his name.
He felt he couldn’t move, couldn’t do another thing this evening; he was too tired to make a fire, to gather moss for a bed, to take off his boots, open the knapsack, eat. He was too tired to do anything at all, even to chase away the mosquitoes—he no longer felt their smarting bites. He didn’t care about anything now, he was insensible to everything except the need to rest his body: he stretched out full length on his back, on the ground under the big oak, with his coat as a pillow.
He was satisfied with his day; he had persevered and reached his destination before the end of the day. He had found what he so long had striven to find. And this evening he rested, unmindful of all the dangers of the wilderness—he rested with the assurance of having arrived home, protected by his own tree, on his own land: The farmer from the Stone Kingdom had arrived in the Earth Kingdom which he would possess.
He went to sleep at once, his weary body fell into the well of oblivion, peace, and renewal. Karl Oskar Nilsson slept heavily and well during his first night on the shore of Lake Ki-Chi-Saga, where he was to build a farmer’s life from its very beginning.
XIV
A SMÅLAND SQUATTER
—1—
The next morning Karl Oskar returned to the small lake where the other three settlers awaited him, and before nightfall the four of them were back at Anders Månsson’s cabin in Taylors Falls.
The following day the men began to stake out and cut a road through to their claims, so as to be able to move their belongings and whatever they might need for the settling. Their clearing work began where the logging road ended; they continued past the small lake where Danjel and Jonas Petter had decided to settle, all the way to Lake Ki-Chi-Saga. They were five menfolk. Five axes cut all day long, through thickets and groves, felling and chopping and clearing. They built a road, digging here, filling there, until wagon wheels could roll along over the ground. The distance from Taylors Falls to Lake Ki-Chi-Saga was estimated to be ten miles, and it look the five men ten days to make a passable clearing.
Then it took three days to haul boards from the Taylors Falls mill to their places of settling. With these boards they intended to raise huts in which to live while building their log houses. For the hauling they hired Anders Månsson’s oxen, which moved so slowly on the newly cleared road that a whole day was required for each load.
Their almanac indicated to the Swedish settlers that the year had reached the last week of August. Only two months remained before winter would come to the St. Croix Valley; they were told that snow and cold weather would begin early in November. But the autumns were mild in the river valley—during all of September and most of October pleasant weather was said to prevail. For another two months people could live in huts and sheds without discomfort or danger from cold. And during this time they must build more permanent houses, able to withstand all weathers. They had not one day to lose if they were to have comfortable log houses before winter set in with its severe cold and blizzards.
First they must build a shanty on each claim. “Shanty” was Anders Månsson’s name for a shed. Jonas Petter was an experienced carpenter and timberman, and in three days he had built his small hut on the shores of the little lake; then he helped Danjel and Arvid build a larger one for Danjel’s family to move into. As soon as this was done they began felling timbers for their log houses.
Karl Oskar chose as the site for his first home the oak grove where he had slept during his first night at Lake Ki-Chi-Saga. With Robert as helper he soon raised a hut of rough boards, about nine square feet in size; he made the roof of young lindens, on top of which he laid bark and sod. This work took him and Robert four days. There were not sufficient boards left for flooring, and the two brothers stamped down the ground and covered it with a thick layer of hay, which they gathered from the meadow. They had left an opening to the south, facing the meadow, and now Karl Oskar hammered together a door, which he hung on hinges he had made of willow wattles; then he cut open a few holes to let in light. He did not bother with a fireplace, as it would be difficult to get rid of the smoke. Instead, he built a makeshift cooking place of clay, sand, and a few stones outside near the door. This could be used as long as the warm season lasted. But he had to search widely along the shores before he found enough stones. To search for stones was a new and unusual occupation for the farmer from Korpamoen!
The family’s first home in North America was now ready, and they could move in under their own roof. Kristina and the children had remained with Anders Månsson and had not yet seen their new home. Karl Oskar prepared his wife cautiously: “It’s only a simple weather break: soon I'll raise a sturdy log house.”
She looked forward to being in her own home where she could have her own say; this had long been her fervent desire.
Karl Oskar borrowed the oxen from Anders Månsson for the moving, and their belongings made a big load. Besides their things from Sweden, they must bring a supply of foodstuffs, which Karl Oskar had bought from Mr. Abbott, the Scot, in Taylors Falls: one barrel of rye flour for bread, one sack of salt, a few pounds of sugar, and other necessities for the household; he had also bought various articles needed for the building of the main house. He had dug deep into his cash, spending almost twenty-five dollars. The barrel of flour would last a long time for bread baking, but he had bought no meat or pork: for more substantial food they must depend on game from the forest and fish from the lake.
It was a pleasant morning in early fall when the family from Korpamoen set out for Lake Ki-Chi-Saga. The weather was now cooler, with mild sunshine over the green forest wilderness; perfect weather for moving. Kristina and the children rode on the wagon, Karl Oskar and Robert walked on either side of the load, holding on to it now and then to prevent the wagon from turning over. Karl Oskar drove, holding the thongs in one hand and steadying the load with the other. The new road was rough and the wagon was no soft-rolling spring carriage: it was entirely made of wood.
The wheels of Anders Månsson’s ox wagon consisted of four trundles sawed from a thick oak log. The axles fitted into holes in these rough blocks and had pins of wood on their ends, like the pins in a single-horse pull shaft. The front wheels were a little smal
ler than the back pair; the wagon tree connecting the two pairs had holes in it to lengthen or shorten the wagon, if required. The dry wooden axles groaned as the trundles turned, they squeaked loudly at the friction of wood against wood. And the clumsy wheels jolted and rolled heavily over hollows and stumps.
The children yelled in delight; they had not been on a wagon pulled by a team since leaving the horse wagons in Karlshamn last spring. But Kristina was not so well pleased to sit on this jouncing, shaking wooden vehicle. And was this clearing through the forest called a road? Even a person walking would find it difficult to get through between stumps and thickets. She wondered that the wheels were able to roll at all, she sympathized with the whining, whimpering wagon; if she had been a wagon she too would have complained about being forced through this wild woodland.
Karl Oskar explained that the wagon was not greased; Anders Månsson did not keep his implements in good order. Nor had he himself been able to find any fat—animal tallow, or such—to use this morning for greasing the axles. The wagon reminded him that iron was as scarce here as wood was abundant.
Kristina called the vehicle “The Whimpering Wagon,” but the day they hauled the boards to the claim, Robert had already named it “The Screech Cart.”
The riders on the big load were soundly shaken; the wagon jolted and bumped, almost worse than a ship on a stormy sea—it rolled and pitched more than the Charlotta. After a few miles Kristina felt sick: “No! I want no more swinging! Neither on water nor land!”
She stepped down from the load and walked. She was afraid of being badly shaken; it might injure the child she carried in her. Only ten or eleven weeks remained before she would be in childbed, and she might have a miscarriage if she weren’t careful. She would rather walk than sit on a load that shook like a threshing floor, even though she had begun to be heavy of foot.
The ox wagon crept along the wretched road, squeaking and screeching. The load nearly turned over many times—only through the efforts of the two men was it kept upright. The oxen moved at a snail’s pace, and Kristina walked on one side and kept an eye on her children.
The trail skirted a glen in the depths of the forest, and here stood a strange pole which the Indians had erected. The settlers stopped to let the oxen rest while they inspected it. Karl Oskar and Robert had seen this image before—now they wanted to show it to Kristina. The pole was made from a cedar tree and stood taller than a man. But it did not represent a man—it ended in a snarling wolf’s head.
The wooden image in the midst of the forest seemed to Kristina a phantom, and she was afraid to go near it. Robert guessed it was some kind of god whom the Indians worshiped when they gathered here—remnants of huts were to be seen close by. Kristina knew that heathens lacked knowledge of even the first of God’s Ten Commandments, she knew they worshiped images, but she couldn’t understand how they could worship so horrible an image as this one—a wolf with ravenous jaws. She urged the group to continue their journey: the savages must revere their image; should they happen to arrive and find people gaping at the pole, they might do harm. And since she had seen what horrible idols heathens made unto themselves, she thanked her Creator from the bottom of her heart for letting her be born in a Christian land.
The plodding ox team pushed on sluggishly, step after step, and the wooden wheels rolled along, turning slowly while the axles cried out. Robert said the noise hurt his ears, particularly the injured one. To Kristina, the four wooden wheels sang a song about impoverished wanderers: their long-drawn-out wail was to her a song of their own tribulations, of their eternal struggle, of loneliness in the wilderness. Long had their journey taken, long would it be before they had a home. As slowly as these wheels turned on their axles, keeping up their constant groans of complaint—so slowly would they manage to establish a home.
But Karl Oskar, walking beside the wagon and urging on the team, said many times: “If these were only my oxen and my wagon!”
The complaint of the ungreased wheels did not dishearten him. He was stimulated, in high spirits at being able again to drive a wagon, however much it groaned—but he drove someone else’s team, someone else’s wagon. A settler who owned a team had improved his situation. If this had been his own team and his own wagon, then the squeaking wheels would have been a beautiful tune. If he had been the owner of this team and this wagon, he would be walking along listening to a happy song—a song of persistence, tenacity, and reward—a song of comfort to the ears of a settler.
—2—
Their newly built road made a circuitous turn to Jonas Petter’s and Danjel’s settlement, lengthening the distance to Lake Ki-Chi-Saga. Karl Oskar had cleared a short cut to his own land which he now followed, thus lessening the distance by one mile. From Taylors Falls to Ki-Chi-Saga the road was now only nine miles.
Therefore, they did not drive by the smaller lake where their companions from Sweden had settled. Kristina knew full well that Karl Oskar had taken his claim farthest away—she had known this a very long time, long before he knew it himself. She had known it before they left Sweden—she had guessed he would search for a settling place as far away as he could within America’s borders.
How far away from people must they now settle down? She thought the road to their new home was long and tedious. But Karl Oskar explained to her, they hadn’t actually driven very far; it was the oxen, they were so slow and lazy that it took a long time to reach the claim. That was all. They could have traveled this road faster by foot.
Kristina asked: Wouldn’t they be there soon?
Karl Oskar answered: Only a little stretch farther.
Some time elapsed, and then she asked again: How much farther?
. . . Oh, not very much; they would be there presently . . . But when they had driven on some distance, her patience ran out: now she insisted that he must tell her exactly how much of the road was left.
He said he couldn’t tell her exactly, he hadn’t measured the road in yards, feet, and inches. Moreover, they were now supposed to count in American measurements, so he couldn’t compute the distance.
Kristina flared up: “Don’t try to make a fool of me! You’d better figure out that distance!”
He had jested with her about the road length only because she had asked so many times. He said, “Don’t be angry, Kristina. I didn’t mean anything.”
“You might at least have talked it over with me before you went so far away for land!”
“But I had to make the decision alone. You couldn’t have gone with us out here in the woodlands.”
“How far do you intend to drag us? Speak up now!”
“I’ve told you before—I’ve selected the best earth there is hereabouts.”
“But the road to it—it’s eternal.”
Karl Oskar assured her that when she arrived she would forget the tiresome journey to the wonderful land he had chosen. She must have confidence in his choice, she must rely on him here in America as she had done in Sweden.
But she was still vexed: he mustn’t think she would always endure his whims. He never asked anyone’s advice, he always thought he knew best. It was time for him to realize that he was nothing but a poor, wretched, fallible human, he too could make mistakes and wrong decisions.
“But I often ask your advice, Kristina. . . .”
“Maybe sometimes. But then you do as you please!”
His wife was touchy in her advanced pregnancy, she was easily upset, but he mustn’t let this affect his temper, he must handle her carefully. She angered him at times, but when he controlled himself, she soon calmed down.
Suddenly he heard a cry from Kristina. He reined in the team with all his might. Little Harald had fallen off the wagon.
Robert picked up the boy before his mother reached him. Luckily the child had fallen into a mass of ferns, so soft that no damage was done. He cried only a few tears, caused more by fright than hurt. But now Kristina climbed onto the load in order to hold Harald in her arms the rest of the way. S
he was regretting her earlier outbreak: it was as if God had wished to give her a warning by letting her child fall off the wagon.
They now came onto more open, even ground, and Kristina no longer had to “ride a swing.” She looked over the landscape and saw many flowers; the countryside was fair and pleasingly green; she caught herself comparing it with the prettiest parts of her home village, Duvemåla in Algutsboda Parish.
In a moment the wagon rolled slightly down a wide meadow toward a lake. The ground sloped gently, and in no time they had reached the shore. The team came to a stop on an outjutting tongue of land.
Karl Oskar threw the thong across the back of the left ox: they had arrived. According to his watch, it had taken more than five hours to move their load from Taylors Falls. But that was because of the sluggish oxen; a good walker could cover the distance in three hours; their home here was not at the end of the world!
Kristina climbed down from the oxcart and looked about in all directions: this then was the lake with the strange name, Ki-Chi-Saga. The sky-blue water with the sun’s golden glitter on its waves, the overflowing abundance of green growth around the shores, all the blossoms and various grasses in the wild meadow, the many lush leaf-trees, the oaks and the sugar maples, the many birds on the lake and in the air—this was a sight to cheer her. This was a good land.
Unto A Good Land Page 27